Best Unexpected Bit of News

Mormons, in general, went crazy when they found out that Gladys Knight had really, really joined the church. Today I went crazy when I found out that Arthur Kane, former bassist for the New York Dolls, has belonged to the church for years. This fact had to be pointed out to me by my dad in the shape of this newspaper article about a new documentary about Mr., I mean, "Brother" Kane that premiered at Sundance. So I'm feeling pretty good that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints can now claim an R&B Legend and a Father of Punk Rock among the ranks.

If you need the reminder, the New York Dolls were just about the number one highlight of the magnificent madness that was the Little Steven Underground Garage Festival I caught back in August. Click here and scroll way down to take in my take on their performance . . . I have absolutely no idea if Kane was with the group when they performed. . . Update okay, now that I have actually read the whole article on Kane I'm guessing he definitely was in the show. . . Update No, no, now that I have really, really read the whole article I'm thinking Kane was dead by the time I saw the Dolls. Oh well. Sounds like a good movie.

Best Emergency Content

As threatened earlier, because I haven't much to say, here's my Law School "newspaper" "review" of the Jimmy Smith concert I went to a couple of weeks ago.

Famed jazz organist Jimmy Smith visited New York this past week to play four nights of shows at the Iridium Jazz Club off Times Square. Hailed by aficionados as “the Father of the (Hammond) B3” or “the Father of Soul Jazz”, Mr. Smith is most likely to be recognized by the uninitiated of our generation as the man behind the organ sample on the Beastie Boys’ classic “Root Down” (lifted from Smith’s “Root Down (And Get It)”—at least that’s how I suddenly realized who Jimmy Smith was upon first listening to him.

Smith’s second set on January 13 proved that, while the years are catching up to this legend, his spirit remains strong along with his commitment to entertain. Having celebrated his 76th birthday less than a month ago, Smith required a steadying hand to help him climb the four or five steps up to the Iridium stage and looked significantly more frail then the last time I saw him (back when he was just 73). But upon taking the stage, Smith charmed the audience with a few quick shuffling dance moves before taking his place behind his organ, backed by a three piece band consisting of a guitarist, bassist, and drummer. (I suppose if I were a true arts journalist I’d have noted who his bandmates were, but, hey, I’m not a true arts journalists.)

Smith’s set consisted of just a handful of lengthy numbers, ranging from the mellow to hot. Smith eschewed organ solos (Smiths lack of soloing these days is a common grip of real jazz critics), deferring to his backing musicians for solos on their own instruments (which they provided quite nicely) and substituted entertaining moves like striking at the keys with his hat or playing a few chords with his chin (a move that Smith told the audience “I ain’t never done before”) for his virtuosic runs of yesterday. But I don’t mean to come down hard on Smith, the show was excellent and the crowd was fortunate to catch Smith willing to perform classics of his like “The Sermon” and “I Got my Mojo Working.” Smith himself seemed to be in a fairly lighthearted mood and embellished several of his numbers with especially ridiculous scatting—which is saying something, when you consider the inherently nonsensical nature of scat.

All in all, it was a fine show, and one that I’m glad I caught. And a word on the Iridium: I’d never been to this club before, but I found it to be one of the most accommodating and well-run jazz clubs I’ve visited in the city with excellent sight-lines throughout the club—and no seats along the back of the stage (I’m looking at you, Blue Note), which is especially nice. Should you notice a favorite artist of yours is headed to the Iridium (located at the southeast corner of Broadway and 51st) I’d recommend taking a trip up to catc them.

The first time I saw Jimmy Smith, at the Catolina Bar and Grill in Hollywood, Arsenio Hall was there and I had to ask him to get out of my way so I could get into the bathroom. He did.

I'll be back with fresh content when I've got it.

Yeah, you've already heard this, but the Oscar nominations are out. Yawn. I'd really like to be able to say that I'll not be watching the Oscars this year, but who am I kidding.

Rumors on the newest Nintendo system are surfacing. Check it. For me, the most interesting items are 1) That Nintendo is putting their Okay on HD-DVD instead of Blu-Ray (poor Sony, its the return of VHS vs. Betamax, but maybe this time the power of the Playstation will have the world agreeing with Sony's notions of where technology should head?) 2) This notion of gyroscope controls . . . remember how, when you first started playing games and if you had a hard time getting Mario over a pit you'd heft your controller in the direction of the jump, instinctively, in hopes of getting a little more air? Seems Nintendo is latching onto that instinctive motion and now your furtive body language will actually get Mario over the pit or Pirhana Plant.

Best So-So Content I Can Provide

Not the hottest weekend I just had. Friday: M.I.A. tickets sell out as I'm buying them, my IBM laptop ("The Stepchild") murders itself during Con Law, the kind of computer death that causes people to gather around your monitor and shake their heads because definitely there is nothing that can be done, the Death from Above 1979 show also sells out before I can get my hands on tickets, Saturday I eat a horrible plate of nachos and my evening sociality consists in me trying to make the most perfect BLT possible (complete with special mayonnaise), blah blah blah, it wasn't so bad, really . . . because I'm not a regular rider of the A or C anymore, becuse then I'd really have something to complain about for the next million years.

So, I ask myself and I ask myself, do I blog about Johnny Carson dying? The answer: if I were a Grandparent blogger, I would. While I did watch his final show ever whilst babysitting for the French people across the street from my house, he was definitely before my time, to say the least. I do remember my own Grandfather remarking that he (Mr. Carson, not Dr. Taylor) wore a different suit every night. But Johnny Carson did make this joke about death, and it's fairly funny, in the old people way: "For three days after death hair and fingernails continue to grow but phone calls taper off." But I am definitely not missing Letterman tonight (not Monday night, it's a repeat) because I know it'll certainly be something else. Leno tonight? So-so. But what can you expect?

Best Behavior: Be On It

As you may know, if you are my mother or a close friend, I am nuts about manners. Etiquette books captivate me. I'm pretty much walking around the time, thinking about good behavior (if only I could act on this fascination . . . but that's another post altogether.) Anyway, a week ago the Meddler wrote a post on the importance of good manners and it just set my manners brain on fire and I've been thinking about etiquette extra hard for the last week and I've finally come up with this, the Steady Mobbin' A to Z of Brilliantly Great Behavior. You might think this is a big joke, but I'm totally serious, and you may think this is a big rip off of something you may have seen in Vice once, but I'd rather you not dwell on that.

THE STEADY MOBBIN' A TO ZED OF BRILLIANTLY GREAT BEHAVIOR

Apartments One of the first things I learned about Manhattan manners is that it is not rude to ask people what kind of square footage they’ve got or what sort of rent they’re paying. It’s pretty much how one says hello to someone they’ve just met out here.

Busses If it’s the early evening and you’re supposed to meet up with a friend, it is very bad manners to take the M14 bus because it will take forever and you will be late. “I had to wait forever for the subway” is always an acceptable excuse for tardiness, “I was on the bus forever” is never an acceptable excuse because we all know it was really sloppy for you to think you could take a bus in the first place.

Car Door It has always been my manners fantasy to get to open the car door for someone who was getting out of a car.

Dog Runs The signs at the dog runs always say that you aren’t supposed to bring your dog to the dog run if it is in heat, and this always cracks me up, because I’m not very mature . . . especially if you were also going to break the rule about bringing a big dog into the small dogs dog run (but I suppose it’d be more funny if you were to bring a little dog to the big dog dog run, but I’m going to far.) Also, the signs at the dog runs also say you aren’t supposed to pick up your dog, because an exposed dog belly is a sign of weakness and invites attack. Sorry Kelsi.

Elvis Costello I’m sure Elvis Costello really appreciates how discreet I am about how he lives in the same apartment building as me and how I may give him good, long stares whenever I see him in the lobby but never get all up in his grill. But should we ever wind up in the same elevator, whoah boy, he’ll be getting an earful. (Note to Self: learn something about Elvis Costello’s music)

Friends It isn’t polite to tell your friends if they’re doing something that’s bad manners, which is a crying shame, because you’re a real pig sometimes.

Garbage Room I say it isn’t rude to take your neighbors old magazines that they’ve put in the garbage room recycling bins home for your own perusal, but I’m not sure what they’d think. Also, it is very good manners that if you’re leaving a defective appliance at the curb to be taken away to leave a little sign on it like “Danger! This Lamp is Dangerous!” because you know somebody is going to see your old lamp and want to take it home.

Helping People Move If someone helps you move, you pretty much owe them, or someone else who comes along in the great chain of moving karma, help moving—or you at least owe it to yourself to have a really, really good excuse as to why you can’t help them move (besides “I’m sorry, I really hate moving—that’s why I had you help me that first time, you know” even though if honesty truly equals goodness it would be the best excuse in the world.)

Ice Cream It was rude of me to eat an ice cream cone in front of you because I always make the biggest mess. I’m realizing that the cup is no longer a sign of weakness or lack of fancifulness but a statement I shouldn’t be afraid to make, “Yes, I Wind Up Sticky When I Get a Sugar Cone.”

Jokes Everyone loves jokes, if they’re appropriate. If you think of a funny joke, but it’s inappropriate, then you shouldn’t tell it. But if you think of a funny joke, and it’s really, really inappropriate, then you should definitely tell it. Works for me, at least.

Karate Chops If your friend is practicing his karate chops, it would be rude of you not hold a wooden board for him to chop—but if he’s practicing his flying karate kicks, it’s okay to say you’d rather not hold the board in front of yourself for him, because he’s probably going to go flying right through it and into you.

Love If you love a new TV show, it’d be rude of you not to start a website or bulletin board about how much you love that new show, especially if it’s a reality show.

Mala Educacion Pedro Almodovar’s new movie is called “Mala Educacion”, and all the signs in English call it “Bad Education”, but, in Spanish, to say someone’s got a “mala educacion” is to say they’ve got bad manners. No wonder everyone is giving this movie four stars, it’s probably a totally awesome Spanish movie about the importance of manners. For cross-dressers.

Nerf Weaponry Even though your Nerf sword is soft that doesn’t make it okay to hit people with it whenever you want. (Especially if those people are old.)

Old People You should always be nice to old people, especially old people you don’t know, because, hey, that could be someone’s grandma, you know? And how would you feel if some stranger was rude to your grandma? However, it isn’t rude of me to ignore the crazy old lady who lives next door to me when she’s lying in the hall, moaning for help, because that’s just a game she likes to play.

Puppies I sort of regret that paragraph I wrote on dog run manners. I could’ve been a little more mature than that.

Questions It is good manners to say "There are no stupid questions" but in my life I have definitely heard at least one stupid question. I was on a tour of JPL in Southern California (it's pretty much the NASA of unmanned spacecraft) and we visited this fake Martian landscape where they had tested the Mars rover before sending it to, uhm, Mars and the dirt was all red and the rocks were all red and craggly, y'know, just like in the pictures of Mars and when our visit was opened up to questions this lady asked "How did you get all these rocks down from Mars?" That, dear reader, is a stupid question.

Really Late Being really late is like the worstest manners there are. What, you caught a bus or something? Oh, you were waiting for the subway? Ok, nevermind then.

Sushi The sushi chef takes great offense if you soak that sucker in the soy sauce because it is his fishy little work of art. Also, word is the pickled ginger isn’t a topping. Keep that in mind. And rubbing your chopsticks together to de-splinter them is rude because it’s a sign of stinginess, and who wants to look stingy on half-price sushi night?

Television Everytime you watch something like “The Fabulous Life of . . .” or “E! True Hollywood Story” you are being rude to yourself because that is time taken from your life that you will never, ever get back, no matter how much you learn about the cast of Gilligan’s Island or the spending habits of Hillary Duff. However, watching "I Love the 90's" (or any of the "I Love . . ." series of programs) and "Best Week Ever" actually makes you smarter.

Unusual Smells If you notice an unusual smell in mixed company, don’t make a scene. It’s not polite.

Vampires Say what you will about Vampires, they have very good manners. They’re pretty much the only psychotic monsters that absolutely won’t come into your home unless invited. But once you have invited a vampire into your home, there’s not much accounting for their manners from that point on.

Walking In my notes I’ve indicated that I wanted to address the etiquette of walking. I cannot imagine what I had thought I should say about the walking manners. Uhm, don’t walk in weaving line down crowded sidewalks, maybe? Here’s another one: Wanting to Be a Writer. Make no more movies, plays, musicals, or books about people who want to be writers. I'm not having it any more. If you want to be a writer, that's great, but don't make me watch a movie, play, musical or read a book about your desire to be writer.

X-Men Dear Makers of X-Men (the Comic Book): The reason I quit reading your comic in the 90’s is because you kept reforming the team every fourteen months. That was bad manners. I started reading Uncanny X-Men just in time to catch the Mutant Massacre story arc back in 1986 or 87, and I kept reading for the next seven years waiting for the team to completely recover from the beating they took from the Marauders and then I finally got it: the X-Men I knew weren’t going to get back together, you just wanted to keep coming up with new lineups and costumes and STUPID characters like Bishop.

Yoga It’s not polite to stare, but if one of your law school classmates does yoga poses like this one in the hall during breaks, that’s your freebie right there.

Zoning When NYU Law started building their (our?) new law school building and realized it’d block the sun from reaching the stained glass of a nearby church they built a giant box of light bulbs to simulate the sun for that window. That, my friends, is very good manners.

And if you were wondering, yes, this was my special post I mentioned earlier that I was working on. I know, I know, you probably expected lots of photos or something. And since there's been some questions, yes, I came up with this whole post on my own, to have taken other people's ideas without giving them a shout out, that'd be bad manners.

At all Best? You Decide.

Here's the new Postal Service video for "We Will Become Silhouettes" directed by Jared Hess, the director of Napoleon Dynamite.

Best Batch of Brand New Bentleys

First off, too bad there aren't any synonyms for "new" that start with a "b." Nextly, check it, instead of actual content today, I've got pictures of the new Bentleys.

First up, the Continental Flying Spur, the four-door answer to the beautiful new Continental coupes that always make my jaw drop when I see them around town. 0-60 in 5 seconds? 190 mph top speed? Perhaps more beautiful than anything else in the automotive world? Word.


And here's the "drophead" (crazy Brits with their funny words) version of the Arnage. Despite the Continental hotness, the Arnage remains the company flagship and stays all classy looking, but I dig the tweeking they've done to the headlights and look closely, the flying B hood ornament has returned. It really has the look of something you could drive to a picnic, y'know?


As far as truly original content goes, I've been working on a post for a few days (here and there, not day and night) that I hope to finish soon. And also, like five minutes ago I got this idea for a book or a movie that'll probably be the most popular book or movie ever born.

Also The Fantastic Four trailer is up. I have to admit it looks better than I had feared, there's not much good word on this movie. It's sort of too bad that a perfect Fantastic Four movie was made this last year by Disney, it was called "The Incredibles." Someday, when I'm not about to start reading my Con Law, I'm bound to expound upon the importance of there being an awesome Fantastic Four movie.

Best Alternative to Outer-Space Thai Food

I didn't have to visit too many Thai restaurants out here (particularly those belonging to the Spice family of restaurants) to discover that the thing about New York Thai restaurants is that they're the most super-futuristic looking restaurants in the city (next to the Lever House, of course), full of neon, 2001-looking chairs and tables, reflective ceilings, and out of the ordinary bathrooms. But do you remember that old lady with the odd grown son who still lived with her and her little house full of all kitschy, miss-matched decorations that your family would take you to visit every now and then even though you weren't related to her? (in my case that would be Betty's house, if I remember correctly) Now imagine her living room, with all its beaded curtains and photos of animals and curios ordered out of the back of Parade Magazine as a thai restaurant and you're imagining the East Village's Fake Orchid, a charming home-style Thai restaurant that I noticed a few months ago and finally visited this weekend with some amigos before heading to an amiga's birthday party. Though absolutely tiny, it was a fun place and the food was plenty good and plenty cheap and the music they were playing kept the group nostalgic for 80's movies I never saw.

Here Lexia delights in her tilapia:

Lauren, Alejandro, and Reghan don't notice they're being photographed:

And I munch on my chicken satay appetizer, which I got for free!


So, yeah, it was fun and stuff.

Wait a Second I've forgotten to keep you abreast of my most recent celebrity sightings: A week ago I saw Peter Dinklage and a ladyfriend walking down 6th Avenue, Saturday night I saw Elvis Costello in my building for the first time in a while (he was carrying a poinsettia) and a little bit after that I saw Danny Glover in Soho. So I'm doing pretty well these days, but, as usual, I'm mostly just spotting older dudes.

Best Big Ol’ Bucket of Culture

Man, the last week or so, I’ve been getting so much culture, it’s crazy. Like, right now, at this moment, I’m probably the most cultured person in all of New York, if not the world. Here’s the short version of how cultured I am right now:

Little Women: The Broadway Musical Spectacular When my folks were in town they wanted to go to a Broadway show and I agreed to go see the new production of Little Women (still in previews, actually) because 1) I didn’t know the story of Little Women and 2) It stars Sutton Foster, whom I saw in Thoroughly Modern Millie and dug plenty (let the record show that Millie is the only musical I’ve ever spoken about enthusiastically). But imagine my disappointment when we got to the theater and discovered that Sutton wasn’t going to be there that night and that we’d be getting some understudy. Despite our little understudy’s hard work and our awesome seats (second row, yo, gracias a the cheap ticket booth) I didn’t fall in love with the show, mostly because I really, really couldn’t stand the main character. For some reason, I really, really wanted her to fail and never realize her dreams of becoming a famous writer, or whatever. Why is it movies and plays are always about people who want to become writers? Like, it’s the easy way to stamp a main character as a free-spirit, a dreamer, and someone to admire, or something. I want the next musical I see to be about a girl who moves to New York and gets a job in an office filing and that’s it. Nothing else happens.

Tales of Hoffman at the Met That’s the Met that’s an opera house, not the Met that’s a museum. Tales of Hoffman was probably the best opera I’ve ever been to, and I’ve been to 6 operas . . . maybe 7. Why the best? For starters, I could actually follow the plot. For seconders, the set design and production can’t be messed with. A good way to leave me dang impressed with something is to have one massive set suddenly sink into the stage as another giant set rolls forward. For thirdly, there was a robot girl in it. When it was revealed she was a robot (one of those sorts of revelations that’s obvious to the whole audience but no one on stage) they actually sang “A Robot! A Robot!” And finally, it was funny . . . and when I say it was funny, I mean that opera is typically so devoid of any joking around that a single kick towards a crotch at the Met will have the entire audience rolling in the aisles like they’d never seen America’s Funniest Home Videos.

Jimmy Smith at the Iridium Jazz Club Did you know you can text questions to Google? That’s how we found the Iridium, at 51st and Broadway, on Thursday night. Jimmy Smith is, as all the flyers say, the Father of the (Hammond) B3 Organ. I had seen him once before in Hollywood, two years ago or so, and Jimmy has aged a lot since then (he’s 76 now) but this organ-master still knows how to keep the crowd well-entertained. Although he’s now replaced virtuosic solos with slapping at the keyboard with his cap or playing a couple of chords with his chin. Best thing about the show is he played “The Sermon”, it was great. I wrote a much longer review of his show for the Law School paper, I’ll probably post it on a slow day this week.

Second-Hand Memories Sometimes Saturdays start like this: *ring ring* “Hello?” “Dude, we’ve got tickets to Woody Allen’s new play, do you wanna go? It starts in an hour.” Next thing I know I’m catching a matinee of Woody Allen’s new play, Second-Hand Memories, at a little theater in Chelsea. All I knew going into the play was that it was the story of a Jewish family living in Brooklyn in the 50’s, so I was expecting lots of talk of stickball and radio shows and whatnot (yes, sometimes I mistake the 50s for the 30s and 40s). But it turns out it was a story of awful people making awful decisions being awful to each other . . . but as far as total bummer plays go, it was actually pretty good, if you’re into middle of the afternoon bummers. Also, Michael McKean (from Lavern and Shirley and Best In Show and stuff) was in it, and he was great. I had hoped that nervous little guy with the glasses that’s in all of Woody Allen’s movies was going to be in it, but no such luck. Oh well.


Yeah, I know that’s an old Simpsons joke. But it’s a good one.

Best Commencement of a US Invasion, I Hope

I just discovered that the video for M.I.A.'s song "Galang" is up at the iTunes music store, along with heaps of Galang remixes. I hope I never regret writing this, but I'm inclined to want to say overly-enthusiastic about M.I.A., things like "M.I.A. is someone I plan on digging for the rest of my life." I just cannot be reasonable in my praise of M.I.A., "Galang", or the video for Galang which is exactly the sort of awesome I hoped it would be. Remember back in High School where the thing to do was be like "Yeah, I liked (band name) back before they were popular, now that they're popular, I'm just not so into them . . . it's like they sold out or something." Forget that, with M.I.A. (if I dare say I was ever ahead of what bandwagon I pray developes) I hope she becomes the most popular artist in the world, from nursery schools to nursing homes around the world. SO, if you've got the iTunes on your computer, click on the "Music Videos" link and you shall easily find this video. Watch it, then either wonder what my deal is or thrill in its awesomeness.

Previous M.I.A. ranting can be found here. (Check it, she's wearing that same jogging outfit in the video.) And had I made a "Hottest Joints of 2004" list like I said I might, it would've been topped by "Toxic" (Britney Spears--seriously), "Fire" (Joe Budden), and "Galang." UPDATED: My bad, "Fire" came out in 2003, but no one heard it before the party scene in Mean Girls, right?

Whilst I'm suggesting visiting iTunes to watch music videos, may I recommend you search out "I'd Rather Dance" by Kings of Convenience (it's in there, you just have to seek it out, which is much easier if you choose to sort by Artist Name or Song Title over there on the right hand side of the screen). You will never see a more charming video. It will warm your day and spread a smile across your face, this I am certain of. And it'll give you a good idea of how I wish I could decorate my apartment.

Also Can someone explain to me in what way 50 Cent's new track "Disco Inferno" is at all different from Lloyd Banks' summer hit "On Fire"?

Best Inexplicable Internet Phenomenon of the Day

I cannot explain how this happened, but The Firearm has reappeared on the internet. The Firearm would be the thing, I suppose it was like a newsletter or something, that Andrew and I made during my last year at BYU. I'm still proud of it. Several of the issues, they are filled with brilliance. Again, I don't know how The Firearm dot Com as returned to the interweb, but it has, and if you're a fan of Steady Mobbin', you should check this thing out.

PS No, there was never a Firearm book.

Best Reason for You to Hate Me, Maybe

Camera, camera, camera. Why do I always leave you home when I’m going to need you most? If I can think to bring my camera to my brother’s Eagle Scout Court of Honor, why can’t I remember to bring it along when I head off to indie-hipster-hip hop shows? It’s like I’m trying to make people hate my blog.

Anyway, tonight (or maybe I should say “last night”) I caught some of the Definitive Jux Records show at Mercury Lounge. As it was a Tuesday night and I feel I’ve got plenty going on right now, I mostly headed out because the one performer on the bill with whom I was the most familiar, Rob Sonic, was performing first. I figured I’d check out Rob, then stick around as long as I felt like it afterwards, and call it a night. So that’s what I did. I almost feel I could stop this post right here, but I’ll carry on a bit longer.

The crowd was slow to arrive for the show, even if everything got started an hour later than had been advertised. When I got there, about ten minutes after the supposed official start time, two dj’s were spinning records for a nearly empty room habitated by a smattering a wall-huggers, and the crowd wasn’t all that thick when Rob Sonic took the stage. At various previous times here at Steady Mobbin’ I’ve praised Mr. Sonic’s work, and it was fun to see him live, but as rappers just rap over records of their tracks from their records, the benefit of a live show isn’t always so big, unless the energy of the place is off the hook . . . and in this case it wasn’t really. So, mostly catching Rob was an exercise in making sure he could remember all his lyrics (and he could) and checking out what sort of between-song banter he had going on (pretty good.) While this appraisal of Rob’s work doesn’t sound so incredibly positive, let the record show that I did dig his performance.

Rob was to be followed by an MC known as Beans. I had heard of Beans, and since I had a little name recognition going on (but no music in my head that I could attach that name to), I stuck around for his set. And this Beans, he is why I wish I had my camera with me . . . because I’m pretty sure that Beans is the world’s greatest OCD rapper. Howso? Let me explain: For starters, he dressed quite sharply, in the hipster way, with a colorful scarf hanging in a loose knot around his neck. He stopped between songs several times to step back and adjust the knot of his scarf so that it was just how it needed to be . . . at first I was pretty sure this was the affectation of a showman shooting to entertain his audience with his every nuance, but as Beans continued to take the time to fix his scarf, I began to feel he was doing it for himself. Also, there was his dancing. Were I not a kinder fellow, I’d suggest that Beans’ dancing suggested a more profound mental affliction than “simple” obsessive-compulsive behavior. Beans had a different wiggly worm dance move for each of his songs, ranging from an off-kilter gyroscopic swiveling of the knees to one song, a hopping twist dance around his microphone stand during another, and swinging his arm above himself as he hunched over, quite close to the stage (he may or may not have called this move “doing the ice pick”, it’s in debate right now.) And then there was the meticulous arranging of the water bottles on the stage, water which he didn’t really drink, but liked to have lined up in a certain way. All in all, very interesting fellow to watch, also, not a bad rapper at all.

By the time Beans was done, the place had gotten plenty crowded and numerous acts were to follow him. But I felt my need for Tuesday night entertainment was taken care of and slipped out of the club with Mike the Model and Lisa from High School as one of the dj’s was announcing that Aesop Rock was “in the house.” (Though I don’t know if his announcement was meant to simply indicated that Aesop Rock was at the show or that he’d be performing later on that night.) The three of us headed over to a 31 Flavors where I ordered a rocky road milkshake, the preparation of which seemed to be the greatest mental and physical challenge the girl behind the counter had ever faced. She kept looking up at the Baskin Robins “menu” for clues as to what this mysterious milkshake might entail, considered the workings of their blenders quite carefully (and eventually got it to work using a guess and check system of trial and error) and after my 16 oz. treat was finished, I’m pretty sure she headed to the back of the store to take a breather and to talk to someone about getting milkshakes taken off of the menu.

That wasn’t supposed to sound mean. Thank you rappers for rapping, and teenage slaves to corporate ice cream giants for preparing my delicious chocolate ice cream and marshmallow beverage.

Best Scoop That's About to Become Obsolete

The scoop, that is. The computer itself? About to become incredibly hot. This is the "first picture ever" of the new Headless Macintosh that's gonna be selling for $500.

You can just call it phase two of the new world Apple domination that started with the iPod. I imagine full details on this product (being announced at the MacWorld expo at this very moment) will be up at the Apple website before most visitors see this post.

Update Yup, less than thirty minutes after I first posted that picture Apple has got their Mac mini page up. Just read the copy, clearly directed at people who might be moving away from PCs.

Oh yeah, I totally forgot to tell you. When I was in Chicago, we went to the Museum of Science and Industry, and I got a root beer.

Best Dining Marathon

Well, I returned to New York on Thursday and brought my folks with me. To get dinner. And lunch. Sure, we caught some shows, I kept up the culture level, but really, eating was our business. Here's the rundown.


Here's Mom and Dad at Dumont with the lobster bisque Thursday night. Dad wondered what was up with me taking him out to Brooklyn for dinner, but I'm all "Dad, don't worry about it, I'm just taking you to the best restaurant in the world that's across the street from a gas station." Aside from the lobster bisques all around, we had sea scallops with potatoes and bacon, the mad-delicious crab cake, Dad had the duck, which was crazy good, Mom had the strip steak, and I had the skirt steak, the only thing I've ever eaten at Dumont that didn't make me almost fall out of my chair. For dinner, some fallen chocolate cake and the insane chocolate custard.


Our first stop on our two-restaurant lunch Friday was at Cafe Habana. Here's Mom and Dad with the Mexican-style corn on the cob (ah, sweet street-food memories). I'm always impressed with Cafe Habana, like, it does not need to be nearly as good as it is. Mom had some salad, Dad had the excellent black bean + avocado + white cheese torta and I had the fancy synchronizada, which, if I may repeat myself, did not need to be as delicious as it was.


Then we went over to the Dumpling House on Eldridge, because my parents demand dumplings when they come to New York. Here's Dad with the sesame pancake with beef.


And Mom with the dumplings. Dumpling House is insane, almost as insane as the various gazillion-star reviews they have posted on their walls now.


For dinner we went to the Burger Joint. Perhaps you have been to the Burger Joint, and if you so, you then I need say nothing more than "We went to the Burger Joint" to make you jealous.


Dinner Saturday was at the Stip House. Very good, Mom had the Rib Chop, Dad and I both had filets, we had their truffled spinach and goose fat potatoes as sides . . . unfortunately, truffled spinach and goose fat potatoes sound a lot more decadent than they taste. No complaints, though. Man, I just love spinach these days.


Sunday we got a brilliant hookup for Five Points brunch. My folks demand Five Points brunch when they come to New York, and I am not one to deny such a demand. We had some polenta, the churros y chocolate (as seen here), Mom had a frittata with olives and stuff in it, Dad had the oven-roasted eggs and tomatoes, I first ordered the pork shoulder, but they ran out of pig shoulders, so I had a fine, bloody burger (that's a positive, y'know) -- although I now wonder why I didn't order a brunch speciality, I mean, one can get a burger at any time. There isn't much in this world that surpasses a Five Points brunch.

Later I'll talk about the other stuff we did. Later. Until then, lots of people had better leave lots of comments about how cute my Mom looks in these pictures.

Best "Isn't This What It's All Supposed to Be About?"

Back in the early history of the internet, I believe blogs were supposed to just be sites with links to more sites. Now, blogs are like just about pictures from vacation or feelings or Top 140 lists. But, today, today Steady Mobbin' is gonna be about links to other sites. And then, after today, Steady Mobbin' is going to be about "My Top 25 Feelings I Had About My Pictures From Vacation."

The Olympic Watercube (a.k.a. "Where everyone is going to be swimming at the Beijing Olympics") might be the most awesome looking thing ever, if it winds up looking just like these drawings of what it's supposed to look like.

These dishes look cooler than the ones I got at Ikea.

A Battle of the Planets Movie? Produced by Jerry Bruckheimer? For Disney? Combining CGI and live-action elements? I won't lie, I'm down with the idea. Battle of the Planets ("G-Force" to some) was my first favorite cartoon, I've got very pleasant childhood memories of watching it wrapped in blankets fresh from the dryer in my Alhambra home. And when the internet first came into my life, about all I used it for was looking up stuff about Battle of the Planets.

Beastles, you are no Grey Album.

Fake Mormonads? Somesay best Provonian-humor since the Firearm (RIP).

A few posts ago I sent shout-outs to friendly bloggers, and I totally forgot to plug Kristen and Cory's blog. If you think Steady Mobbin' doesn't have enough pictures of my niece and nephew, then Bruises and Bragging Rights is the place for you.

Sometimes I write a word like "niece" and wonder for a second if I spelled it right, so I type it into dictionary.com, and that's when I find out that "niece" also means "The illegitimate daughter of an ecclesiastic who has taken a vow of celibacy." So, it's like, yeah, I have a niece, but I don't have a niece, if you know what I mean.

Hey! Hey! Did you hear about the turtle that adopted the hippo? Make sure to click on the link to see the other photos, if you want your day to be as warm and fuzzy as it can possibly get from animals without fur.

Also How tall it 5'7"? How tall is 5'8"? Is anyone reading this 5'7" or 5'8" (I'm actually interested in the difference between the two heights)? If you can say "Hey, Brigham, I'm Five-Seven" or "Hey, Brigham, I'm Five-Eight" it'd be greatly appreciated. If you know me, you know I'm always trying to imagine heights. And now that I think about it, how tall is my sister Kristen?

Best Bunch of Words about Bunches of Words

Trapped within the depths of finals, it was easy to imagine I'd spend Christmas break reading book after book. But the truth is, I've barely read a thing--mostly, I've been perfecting my Tetris game (and let me tell you I'm getting hotter than ever, don't even bring your Tetris trash talk 'round here if you can't beat Level 15 [for consistency's sake, I've been playing Tetris Worlds on the GBA]). The one book I have read is Neil Labute's new short story collection, "Seconds of Pleasure." I picked it up at the Oak Park Library and I'm really glad we've got such a well-stocked library because otherwise I would have bought this book and I'd be stuck with it. Since he's a fellow Coug, my reaction whenever I come across anything Labutian is to go "Ooh, Neil Labute has a new [book/play/movie/etc.] and I'm drawn in and what do I find? The same really dark, disturbing stories where people are awful awful to each other. But I'll give it to "Seconds of Pleasure," the title is quite fitting because I stuck in out until the end and every now and then I'd go "huh, that story was actually good . . . for a second." But for the most part, I don't understand Mr. Labute obsession with being the Modern Poe of Urban Unpleasentness. [Yet, whenever I walk down Christopher street and pass Fat Pig I can't help but think "Ooh, the new Neil Labute play!"]

Along with "Seconds of Pleasure" I checked out David Foster Wallace's "Oblivion" from the library, too. I've been working on it, but Wallace's maximalism hasn't really caught my attention in this particular volume of short stories. BUT "Oblivion" has made me think about Mr. Foster Wallace a bit (just like bloggin' late at night has had me dashing into the den to catch Blind Date repeats for the first time in a long time.) I think of all the modern authors of the moment, DFW most deserves ridiculous renown. There really are a lot of great authors putting out great stuff right now (the McSweeneys folk and Jonathan Safran Foer, for example) and while, yes, Dave Eggers put out a jealousy-inspiring memoir and started a publishing mini-revolution and Safran Foer's "Everything is Illuminated" is simply stunning (and I mean this not in the way that you'd tell a bride she looks stunning but in the way you might read a book and suddenly be stunned and freeze up and maybe accidentally drop the book as you're being stunned [and, for the record, I heard Safran Foer read a portion of his new novel ("Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close") that's coming out this year and it made "Everything is Illuminated" seem vulgar and inconsequential by comparison--but that's just me using strong words]) and David Sedaris makes us all chuckle good at his stories, David Foster Wallace is a real renaissance man who just shuts things down. Just consider what he's produced, the experimental-fiction compendium (at least that's what I'm calling it) "Brief Interviews With Hideous Men", the spot-on New New Journalism essays of "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again", the modern monstrosity "Infinite Jest" which I'll never finish yet people around me read and reread and underline and annotate like dude was the new Joyce (I won't go that far), and he's whipped up "Everything and More", his little book on the history of infinity . . . plus, there's "The Girl With Curious Hair" (more short stories) and "The Broom of the System" (which I'm about to start talking about.) [No, I'm not going to link to each of those books, but here's all of them on one page.] While his peers refine themselves in set categories (and prove, as was the case with "Know Our Velocity", that they really ought not venture outside of their better genre's) Foster Wallace has proven himself a reporter, an inventor, a storyteller, and a scholar. All he's got to do is write a children's book and maybe publish a book of photography and he'll have proven he can do it all quite well.

So, anyway, as you may have figured from the paragraph above, Oblivion got me thinking about Mr. David Foster Wallace and I started thinking about his novel, "Broom of the System", which I read in Berkeley, CA and Nashville, TN two years ago after finishing up college and before finishing up the LSAT. I couldn't remember much about the book, except that it was long but I shot through it in no time at all [it's the second-longest book I've read in as short a time possible. The first-longest quick read was "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay", so I'll say "Broom of the System" rivals Chabon's ability to tell an enormous tale full of fascinating characters) and that there was a suburban desert in it and it touched on some Wittgenstein. So, tonight, as the great Midwest Snownami (I invented that) began to descend on Lake street, I ducked into Borders to grab myself a new copy of "Broom of the System" (no, the library didn't have it.) I think B.o.S. was out of print for a while, but now it's looking a little thinner and has a prettier cover, so I'm set. As soon as I stop talking about David Foster Wallace, I'll start reading him. And then, maybe I'll tell you why it was I liked B.o.S. enough to read it twice. But no matter what happens, I just tricked you into reading a really, really long post . . . if you really read it. Oh, also, "Broom of the System" was published when DFW was 24, which makes me feel really great about myself and the fact that I haven't finished writing a story for like 4 years now.

And Another Thing did anyone, like, TiVo or DiVo or whatever that new show Committed? 'Cuz I watched some of it and it seemed good, but then I had to go park my car.

Best Family-Oriented Content of the Year

You know what's totally back in for 2005? Getting your Eagle Scout Award, if you're a Barnes family boy. It's like your bar mitzvah or something. Only 13 or 14 years after I got mine, my brother Owen just had his Court of Honor tonight . . . and for some reason, I think it's really, really blogworthy.

Here you'll see the Barnes family Scouts: Greg, Owen, and Me (as you can see, my mother dug up an unused Boy Scout uniform for me to wear.)



In case you didn't notice from the picture, Owen just got his Eagle.


And I've had my Eagle forever.


But Greg? No Eagle. Yet. He's just a Life Scout. Ha! Just a Life!


And here's the whole family (like I said, it was like a Barnes family Bar Mitzvah, everyone came out for it.)


Also Perhaps you have read in a magazine at a dentist's office about how Bloggin' is the big thing these days. I suppose it is, I mean, something has to be, right? But, f'real, everyone's a stinkin' blogger these days. Mary and Emily have recently begun bloggin (If I were named Mary, my blog would be called "Mary, Mary . . . why you bloggin'? Don't get it? You must not have listened to Run DMC on their way out of style. Click.), and Sariah's been bloggin for a while now (I expect you all to know this). And, as I said before, the Mulcock boys have a site of their own, and Matt and Mike Lemmon have websites, not that they update them much or anything.

I Steal Only the Best for You, Dear Reader

Here's a picture of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen singing "Jesse's Girl" with John Stamos on New Years Eve. Yeah, that's Michelle(s) and Uncle Jesse gettin' down in Miami. Wild.
Stolen, wickedly and blatently, from epiclylaterd.com, the website of some photographer guy that hangs out with Jason Dill and Chloe Sevigny all the time.

Best Brief Christmas Rundown

I haven't had a lot to say lately. I haven't been doing too much on this vacation, and that was the plan on all along. But here's some pictures of some stuff that has happened (as you can see, I've been keeping it pretty casual around the house.) First of all, I got a Millenium Falcon for Christmas. Just when you thought my apartment couldn't get any more awesome, how does it feel to know I'll soon have a Millenium Falcon there, sitting on my bookshelf?



Also, since coming home, I've been trying to teach the dog a new trick: letting me hold her. Training has consisted of various stages of trust-building (as seen here):



And actual dog-holding:



Now, remember, I didn't say anything in my first paragraph about this post being interesting. But if you knew our idiot dog, you'd understand how much I've accomplished here.

Here in my Chicago-home the computer sits beside a vent above the cat's room in the basement. I sit here, wishing I could blog, but the stench of left-out catfood wafting up from below is too much for me. Thought you had to know.

Best Contrarian Best of List

The year is dying, and that means everyone is posting their Best of 2004 lists, and for the most part, Best of 2004 lists don't look so different from each other--particularly Best Album lists, particularly when those Best Album lists are put together by internet coolsters. You see a lot of repeated favorites, which makes sense, because there's only so much music all the cool people in the world can be listening too, and since we all know how cool I think I am, if I were to make an official list of my favorite records of the year, it wouldn't be super different either except for a few records that I disagree with very much. So, here's my list of "Albums of 2004 that I'm Saying Weren't as Hot as Other People Say they Are."

Air, "Talkie Walkie" First of all, every time I see this record on a Best of the Year list, I'm just dumb with disbelief. I can't believe people even remembered this record existed, let alone remembered it to be one of their favorites of the year. Here's my brief history of Air records: Moon Safari comes out, everyone says "Ooh!", we're introduced to chill French-electro. I loved this record so hard from 1998-2000, I probably have no idea how much I really listened to it. Then Premiere Symptomes comes out, its a collection of pre-Moon Safari tracks, but it sounds like Moon Safari, and I totally dig it for all of 2000. Also, the Virgin Suicides score comes out, and its good, but all the tracks are too short, although "Playground Love" is a dope track. Right now we've got three records worth of chill French-electro, everyone's cool with it. Then, summer of 2001, the 10,000 Hz Legend comes out. It's like Air's version of Midnight Vultures, it's a total turn-off, the kind of record that at first is panned by critics, then embraced, then panned again when everyone gets their senses together. 2004, Talkie Walkie comes out, its a return to the mellow French-electro we liked on the first three records, with a few twists, a little this, a little that, but guess what? We loved those mello records back in 2000, its 2004 now, Air records age as well as a Nine Inch Nails record. No thanks, Air. I don't need any mellow French-electro right now, and I really don't need car commercials set to the tune of "Surfing on a Rocket." So not a best record of the year.

Madvillain, "Madvillainy" What? I'm calling the year's most popular underground hip-hop collabo a not-the-best-record-of-the-year? Yes. I am calling it that. I was as into this record as anyone else when it first came out, mostly because I wanted to be into streetlevel stuff SO BAD (still do, I guess) but it doesn't hold up to the multiple listens. While the tracks are short and the record is skit-free, 1/3 of it is still nearly unlistenable, and MF DOOM really doesn't rap that much, like, 10 lines a song, maybe. I got into this record because of the throw-back Silver Age Marvel lookin'-video to "ALL CAPS", and I think I'll always like that track and a few others, but just because we all bought this records and listened to it a few times doesn't mean we have to have it on every Best of the Year List. If I was going to pick an indie-rap collab for 2004, it'd definitely be "Ghetto Pop Life" from Dangermouse and Jemini. SO much hotter than Madvillainy. And for an indie-rap solo record, "Tellicatessan" by Rob Sonic. But I'm not hating Madvillainy (I was hating Talkie Walkie, in case that wasn't clear) and I hope any rapper who wears a metal mask finds all the success he deserves, especially when putting out records as "Viktor Vaughn" because that's the best comic-book insider nod I've ever come across in a record store.

Futureheads, "Futureheads" I saw these guys live this year and they brought the fun and made the crowd move. But their record is dead in the water, brings none of the love I felt from their show. Putting this record in a Best of List is like trying to show you were struck by the Franz Ferdinand lightning twice. I bet you're wondering if I'm going to be putting down Franz Ferdinand on this list . . . nope, not gonna. That record really was something, it set something off back in March, some balls really got rolling, people liked it, and I feel that if you live in a land where you're not killing yourself to be into the next big thing as soon as possible at all moments, in those lands Franz Ferdinand can be your next-big-thing for a long time.

The Arcade Fire, "Whatever the Arcade Fire Record is Called" I haven't listened to this record, but it topped lots of lists. I don't know how, they played some soldout shows at the Mercury Lounge and the whole world is losing their mind and this record is topping lists off left and right and I just don't feel I have the energy to be an expert on it. I thought I heard this band has a whole lot of members in it? How can a big band be good? Whatever. If this is your favorite record of the year, then you really, really love being into the hot new music. If this is your favorite record of the year, then you must have seen Franz Ferdinand at Maxwell's last February and laugh at how popular "Take Me Out" still is in Chicago. I, however, thought I could get around to listening to the Arcade Fire and Bloc Party until later on, and now, look. Arcade Fire is everyone's favorite record. If I was going to pick a record from the end of the year by a band with some buzz to go nuts over, I'd pick Death From Above 1979's "You're a Woman, I'm a Machine." To imagine the total amazingness of this record, imagine the White Stripes, but with two Meg Whites instead of a Jack White and a Meg White, and you're headed in the right direction. It has the loudness going for it.

Scissor Sisters, "Scissor Sisters" No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Not cool. Maybe if the whole record was as good as their "Comfortably Numb" cover (definitely one of my #1 Joints of 2004) but it isn't. It's just piano-y songs. These guys should be a weird European techno band that makes one song that gets totally popular in Mexico (that would be "Comfortably Numb") and then no one ever figures out what they were all about, not some band that winds up on SNL in their overalls singing "Take Your Mama Out" or whatever it was called.

The Walkmen, "Bows + Arrows" When this record came out I loved it I drained my iPod listening to it. I also loved the Secret Machines record when it came out. Now, we're reading best of 2004 lists. Bows + Arrows is all up on them, but not Secret Machines. How come one record gets all the love and the other's forgotten? Don't tell me its 'cuz Bows + Arrows is a masterpiece that will be remembered forever, because they're both just rock records. I'm sorry. Maybe I'd still be in love with this record if the Walkmen concert I went to wasn't an encore-palooza. "The Rat", however, was another Top Joint of 2004.

Dizzee Rascal, "Showtime" C'mon, no one really liked this record that much, did they? It had two stand-out tracks ("Stand Up Tall", which set my brain on fire the first time I heard it, and "Dreams") and the rest doesn't sound all that different from "Boy in the Corner" (and you can take that to mean "The rest of the record is difficult to listen to.") And I say this as a guy who has seen Dizzee Rascal twice and would see him again. If you're going to make Showtime one of your favorite records of the year, did you even listen to Rob Sonic?

And Exactly what Best of 2004 lists do I refer myself to here? Pitchfork's mostly, of course. And Stereogum, Tiny Mix Tapes, some others, I dunno, dig around a bit.

I believe I've painted myself into a corner where I'll need to be producing a list of my "Most Slammin' Jams of 2004." I'll try to do that by 2005. It's my end of the year resolution.

Best Killing of the Time

My sitemeter is blowing up, Steady Mobbin' is getting non-stop visitors, and this can only mean one thing: people want content! They're wondering if I'm ever going to post again after Christmas. And most of these visitors are visiting from within my own house, using the very computer I'm sitting at. Trying to come up with content under these conditions is like trying to use the bathroom with someone watching, but here, here's something.

I'm a little bored. I've been waking up, eating, and napping. But I just discovered that there are lots of new movie trailers at the Apple website, so I'm going to evaluate them. This should be good, for a couple of minutes.

The Wedding Crashers looks like a buddy movie starring Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughan as guys who sneak into weddings that they aren't invited to to meet girls. Reminds me of a similar plan buddy Andrew and I had one summer when Ashley and Melanie were working as wedding caterers. We were thinking we'd spend all summer going to wedding receptions, for dessert, mostly . . . and for that feeling of having snuck into something. We didn't do it once.

The Longest Yard Adam Sandler stars in this remake of "The Waterboy." I did some licensing of songs for this film . . . am I allowed to talk about that? You always hear about "Attorney/Client privilege." Is that what I'm violating whenever I say, "Yeah, I licensed some songs for that." Naw, they couldn't possibly be talking about that.

The Pink Panther Here's what we know: Steve Martin's take on the Pink Panther films is going to be awful, how can it not be? Yet the trailer doesn't immediately betray any of that awfulness to a complete degree. This I take to be clever marketing, if you want to know how terrible this movie is, you're going to have see it yourself. It's like how they wouldn't show Godzilla in the Godzilla trailers and advertisements at first.

The Chronicles of Narnia not a true trailer, but a behind the scenes thing. Blah blah blah we're Weta blah blah blah, you'll remember us from Lord of the Rings blah blah blah look how authentic we're making everything for the Centaurs blah blah blah this movie is going to have kids in it blah blah blah magical memories from your childhood blah blah blah. Because of the Chronicles of Narnia I bought a piece of Turkish Delight in Edinburgh and it was gross.

Kicking and Screaming Will Farrell acting ridiculous and yelling at kids and grown ups? Sure, why not.

Sin City You have to really, really be into comics from the 90s to even pretend that this looks interesting. Robert Rodriguez doesn't really make good movies, and yeah, Frank Miller wrote this . . . but he also wrote Robocop 2&3.

Dark Water These Japanese-influenced horror movies have gone too far. Jennifer Connelly, she moves into a new apartment . . . and it's leaky!

Rebound I clicked the link to see what this movie was, and as soon as I saw the picture of Martin Lawrence holding the basketball too high for the kids to reach it and looking all grouchy, I just couldn't bring myself to click to watch the trailer.

Racing Stripes Do you want to want to die? Watch this trailer. I saw it in the theater this week, I almost didn't stay around to watch the movie. Good thing they played the Star Wars Trailer right after it.

Ong Bak I saw Hero, and it was boring, and billowy, and all they did was talk about their feelings. I refuse to see another martial arts film where everything is beautiful and billowy and they just talk about their feelings the whole time, that's why I'm not even curious to find out what House of Flying Daggers is about. This trailer gives me faith in fighting movies again. And how. And here's another trailer for it, just in case that first didn't make you die from awesome. Can you believe the kicking this guy does? I can't wait for him to star in a buddy movie with a wisecrackin' comedian.

Best Kept Little Secret on the Internet

Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad! Guess what? I've been bloggin' for the past seven months, and, if Kristen and Cory really can keep a secret (and I don't really know where I really stand on that possibility, I'm just so clever, I can imagine Kristen slipping up during a moment of weakness), you aren't finding out about it until right now. While I'm sure you'd probably like to read through this whole magical site full of secrets right away, let me just warn you: if you dig too deep, many of the great surprises I've got planned for your visit to New York will be ruined. So I urge you, hold back, explore no deeper than October. Three months worth of stuff, that's still a lot to get to see.

And to my regular readers: Yes. I really hadn't told my folks about Steady Mobbin' until now. Yes, I am that awful.

Worst.

I'd been working on a new post for the last 30 minutes when, all of a sudden, my computer committed momentary suicide. If Blogger were magical, it'd have an autosave feature. But Blogger isn't magical, so all is lost until I feel like writing it again.

Best Year and a Half Under the Belt

Well, I've finished my final final of the semester, that means, in the grand scheme of things, I'm halfway to gettin' my cap n gown on like Young Hov here.

Me and Jay share school colors. Imagine that.

Best Quote from a Red Tyrant

One more final to go and I think I'm going to die. I'm absolutely ragged. I could barely sit through church today. I'm home now, finding a great amount of comfort in my music collection . . . it makes me think of this Lenin quote. Lenin.

But I can't listen to music too often. It affects your nerves, makes you want to say stupid, nice things, and stroke the heads of people who could create such beauty while living in this vile hell.

Of course, he was refering to Beethoven's sonatas. Me, my nerves are being affected by Death from Above 1979, Buddy Holly, and the Smiths right now. But in less than 33 hours, I shall be free.

Best Home for a Billionaire?

In a certain sense, the interweb is all abuzz this morning over the announcement that Rupert Murdoch is buying Laurence A. Rockefeller's triplex penthouse at 834 Fifth Avenue. Murdoch is paying $44 million dollars for the 20 room, 8,000 square foot residence, which breaks the city record for "most ever paid for an apartment" (the previous record: $42.25 million for two condos made into one at the Time Warner Center by David Martinez, a Mexican-British finance person.)

But is Murdoch's crib-to-be the most expensive residence on the market in New York? Hardly. Consider the $77 million "Penthouse at the Pierre" on 5th Avenue. Like Ozymandias said, "Look on My Works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

Also, there were Elizabeth Johnson's three floors at the Trump International--5 units that she combined into one, decided she didn't want to live in, and then tried to sell for $62.3 million. But that didn't go so well, so they were divided up again into multiple units with an aggregate price of $66 million.

The NY Observer had a good article when the Rockefeller/Murdoch apartment went on sale.

Brown Harris Stevens (the same company that's selling the Penthouse at the Pierre) brokered the Rockefeller/Murdoch apartment, but there's no listing for it on their site.

Best Journey Through Mystery

I'm taking a 24 hr. Take-Home Final Examination in Evidence right now. Yes, as I type, I am taking a test. Sort of. With 13 hours left to go on the test, I am officially "done" and by "done" I mean I that tomorrow morning I'm rewriting this one paragraph and going over the thing for any hellish errors. Otherwise, my scholarly education in the field of Evidence is through.

Let me walk you through all the things that a 24 hr. Take-Home Can Be:

10:00 AM: I decide that, instead of starting the test right away (which I could take at any time, but I've already decided Thursday is all about the Evidence)I should go across the street for breakfast. A nice, big breakfast at the diner with a newspaper, too. I really want pancakes. And sausage. I get to the diner, and soon my hunger for pancakes and sausage swells up into hunger for the "Lumberjack Breakfast." So there I am, working at a great big pile of eggs, meats, and pancakes for a pretty long time.

12:02PM: That's the time my computer tells me that I officially started working on my final. There were lots of things to read ahead of time, and my internet stopped working for a little bit. (You see, I had to use the internet to download the test, and that starts the 24-hr ticker.)

12:42PM: I'm getting the hang of the fact pattern and then all of a sudden, BAM! My lumberjack breakfast hits me. I can't keep my eyes open. I roll over and sleep, for a little bit. (Yes, "roll over", that means I was doing my test while lying on my bed.

1:11ishPM: I'm awake, I start with my answers, but I'm just not feelin' it. My apartment just isn't the place. I better go to school. Yes, it was my option to take the test home, and now I'm taking it back to school.

1:30PM: Run into Bryant, Nate, and Ajay. They're on their way home from celebrating finishing their Tax Final with some Johnny Rockets. That's how you celebrate finishing law school finals. I find myself talking to Ajay for a while, a good while, and then I head to school. For real.

2:00PM: Now I'm at school. And I have to check my email, and maybe read the news a bit, and play a little RocketMania, but then I really start. I really, really start being an Evidence genius, hardcore.

Okay I'll admit that "being an Evidence genius, hardcore" doesn't prohibit numerous bathroom breaks and several additional games of RocketMania.

6:00PM: Starting to get hungry, starting to get tired of writing . . . but if I just answer three more questions, then I'll be done with the biggest part of the test, just hang in there, man.

7:00PM: Done! (With the big part.) I can't believe it. I made myself sit down and do it, and I did it. I run out for a quick bite, and a little re-energizing. Maybe I'll go to the Dumpling House on Eldridge.

9:45PM: Crap. Right after I left school I got a call from a friend in the neighborhood and we decided to meet up for a little grub at this Indian Place and no joke it took an hour for our food to arrive. And an hour to eat it. And we had to walk down some neat West Village streets, too. But now, now I am back to school. So glad that I just have the little part left.

10:45PM: And the little part is done. With time to spare. But now I'm just repeating what I said in the top paragraph.

So, yeah, sorry. That's all you're getting from Steady Mobbin' today, a rundown on the first 11 or so hours of my 24 hour take home final. Yes, the numbers might not add up right, but I am certain that this thing has to be turned in by 12:02 tomorrow. That much I know is true.

Best Tuesday Night Miscellany

First of All New Yorkers, did you noticed that someone tagged-up our city with the word "Utah" over the summer? I've seen "Utah" on Bowery (or was it 2nd Ave?) near Houston?, where I took this photo. And I saw "Utah" somewhere in Soho very close to Canal street, and I saw it (multiple times on one building) in midtown on 2nd Avenue near the tunnel, I even saw it in the background of the Beastie Boys' "Check It Out" video the one time I watched it all the way through. So, who could this Utah be? Why did he choose Utah as his moniker? And most of all, I know Utah, so is it possible I could know Utah? Pro'ly not.

Next of All You know how some people refer to horse races as "the ponies"? Like, "Stan's down at the ponies" or "Do you like the ponies, Stan?" What if people referred to dog races as "the puppies"? Like, "Stan's down at the puppies" or "Do you like the puppies, Stan?" Just a question.

Last of All Not the best manners in the world to be posting personal emails I've received, but my buddy Jeff, the Columbia Lion and Sullivan and Cromwell Associate-to-Be sent me this message after getting home from the Pixies tonight:

they were too good I couldn't handle it.  every song I love was played. except I really, really really would have liked to hear"dig for fire" but I guess 90 minutes only lasts so long.

how rockin was tame?

Ras

Pixies concerts. Officially the Official Respite of Takers of Law School Finals.

Best Little Mid-Finals Rock-Out

First of all, my corporations final? Really weird. Three questions (pretty standard for law school) with four hours to answer them (also pretty standard). The questions were fairly tricky in their wording, but if you just stared at them long enough, you'd eventually see very simple, direct problems with very straightforward answers readily extractible from one's notes. And that's all I had to do for that final, read the questions until they made sense, then find the right bits and pieces in my notes, and that was it. Also, I don't know why I was up all night getting Insider Trading straight yesterday, there wasn't a single question on it . . . had I known it was going to go like this, I wouldn't have had to have bailed on this Christmas party in Brooklyn that I had to bail on. Seriously, if the party throwers are reading this, for what it's worth: I'm really, really sorry I couldn't make it. I really, really wanted to go. I hope I get to prove my ability to attend parties when the next decent holiday rolls around. Back to the test: Perhaps I'm finally figuring out how to study for law school and how to take tests for law school, or maybe I just completely failed a test without any clue that I was doing so poorly.

And now, the Rock.

The fact that Pixies have sold-out 8 concerts (on 7 nights) at the Hammerstein Ballroom has to be some sort of record, it just has to. And the Hammerstein is a pretty big place, 8 sold-out Hammerstein gigs have got to equal one Madison Square Garden, right? But who wants to wind up in the upper reaches of the Garden when you can sneak like a coolmando right up as close to the stage as possible and witness this great early 90's four-piece in all their mid-00's glory? Let the informal concert reviewing begin.

First off, big, big line to get into the show tonight. It stretched down 34th Street in various segments, I'd never seen anything like it at the Hammerstein and don't really know what it was all about because once we got into the show it wasn't terribly crowded (and there had been a lot of people in front of us) and we were able (We? Meddling Sariah and I) to get pretty close to the stage . . . and every time someone slipped out to grab a beer, we were able to slip even closer to the stage. But, seriously, in two paragraphs pretty much all I've been able to talk about has been getting closer to the stage.

Tonight's (I'm talking about Dec 13 here) opening act was the totally old dudes from Mission of Burma, a band from like the 80s or something who I don't know anything about, but they've reunited in 2004, just like the Pixies, and they weren't bad at all. In fact, they were quite good and they really knew their place (something to hold the masses over until it was time for the Pixies) but it was clear that there were a number of certifiable Mission of Burma fans in the audience very pleased with the performance. I bet if I worked at a record store, like at a medium-cool record store ala 2nd Hand Tunes or Val's Halla Records back home in Oak Park, I would be the biggest Mission of Burma fan and I'd always be trying to get people to buy Mission of Burma or Husker Du records.

I had heard that the Pixies took the stage Sunday night at 9:15 and that's pretty much on the dot when they came out tonight. I hadn't expected Black Francis to be so fat. Or Kim Deal to look so much like Erin Sanchez (that's a friend of mine, not some obscure celebrity namedrop) or maybe a really nice aunt. Or for their drummer (sorry, I'm a Pixies fan, not a Pixies FAN) to dress in a shirt and tie and white pants combo that reminded me of how athletes in High School dressed on game days . . . and when I say the guitarist, I was pretty sure he couldn't be from the original Pixies lineup because he looked too thin and cool (or "normal rockstar") compared to the rest of the band.

The Pixie's set, except for a space of about 5 minutes where the whole band left the stage after the first two songs because of some problem with the monitors, was continuous and relentless, one gentle verse/hard chorus song after another, with the occasional gentle/gentle or hard/hard number thrown in for good measure. There was pretty much no onstage banter, Kim was about the only one who spoke at all. Man, I really, really like it when bands don't talk and just rock instead. And rock they certainly did, at times their set struck me as the most bombastic thing I'd witnessed since the time I saw Jay-Z in Utah (not a joke)--the sound of the evening was big and strong, hitting hard and often and it's just a miracle of sorts that old Black Francis can howl just as well now as he did ten-plus years ago. Seriously, his "I am un chien Adalusia"s sounded as raw and bloody tonight as they do on Doolittle.

The Pixies played for a little over an hour and a half, including their encore, which was one of those sorts of encores where the band doesn't leave the stage, they just step forward to take in the applause while their roadie straightens things up a bit and then they nod at each other and play a few songs. A note on taking in the applause: I don't know that I've ever seen a rock band ever accept their applause so gratiously and earnestly. The four of them honestly looked a little touched to see the Hammerstein spilling over with people clapping and cheering for them . . . although everyone was standing anyway (it's a rock concert, you see?) there seemed to be a collective intentionality floating about that we were giving the band a standing ovation. And they deserved it, it was just a plenty solid, plenty good rock show where the band played the songs people wanted to hear (well, I would've really dug a little "Head On" and "Planet of Sound", but I've no complaints [Honestly, I wasn't so suprised not to get "Head On" but no "Planet of Sound"? That struck me as odd.) (Yet we did get both versions of Wave of Mutilation . . . that's like a treat for collectors of import records or something) That they played "Broken Face" makes up for whatever I didn't get to hear, I suppose.

I could probably just go on making notes about the songs played, instead, here's what I jotted down as the setlist. No, I don't know the name of every single song, there are some question marks, there's nothing I can do about it:

Is She Weird?/Something Against You (gap where everyone left stage) Bone Machine/Cactus/I Bleed/Caribou/Dead/Broken Face(!)/U Mass/Mr. Grieves/?/?/?/Babylonia (pretty sure that isn't the name of the song, but that's what I'm going to call it)/Ed is Dead/Gouge Away/Wave of Mutilation (rockin' version)/Monkey Gone to Heaven/Crackity Jones/One of their Spanishy ones?/?/Tame/In Heaven/Wave of Mutilation (not-rockin' version)/Here Comes Your Man/?/Nimrod's Son/Vamos (featuring totally out of control extended feedback solo by guitarist)/Where Is My Mind Encore: Debaser/Gigantic

Noteworthy Concert Attenders: Mr. David Byrne sitting where I saw Bowie at Interpol (it must be their rock legend section.) And the two fratty-boys who were singing and "dancing" by us the whole time like they were having the absolute best time in the world. I bet they hooked up afterwards.

Of Minor Importance: I just want to say I totally predicted the encores, you can ask the Meddler if you don't believe me. But it wasn't any big trick, just like counting cards in a game of black jack (that's the game where you count cards, right?) Because you know that, among other classics, there's no way that the band wouldn't play Debaser or Gigantic.

Best Monday Morning Journal Entry

I'm just a few hours from taking my Corporations final. You know you're in a weird spot when you're thinking "I can't wait to get this Corporations final out of the way, because then I get to study for Evidence, and I bet that'll be really fun." Also, a good reason for me to be looking forward to this test being done is that tonight I'm going to see the Pixies. I've barely been able to think about this concert since finals started, but I imagine that, had I been thinking about it, I'd be pretty excited. But, instead, I've been studying and haven't even been reviewing my Pixies CDs, as I should . . . I mean, I've been memorizing the details of the Williams Act when I should be making sure I've got the words to "Monkey Gone to Heaven" memorized. Oh well. I'm just glad I remembered I had tickets for the show (I bought them back in August, afterall). Last Monday I had tickets to see Bill Clinton here at school and completely, totally forgot to go. I was walking down the street and saw all these big, black Suburbans and baricades and I'm all "Hmm, looks like someone important is at the Kimmel Center . . . I wonder who?" And then it occurred to me. And then I slapped my forehead really hard.

In about 8 days you won't have to hear me talking about finals anymore. I know. It's been rough for all of us.

Best Return to the Land of the Living

Earlier this week a little dream of mine came true, I got an invitation to a dinner from Mary Benac. It seems friends of mine are always being invited to dine with Mary and Ram, so I was pretty excited to have the opportunity to be counted among the ranks of "Those Who Have Dined with Mary and Ram." And the occasion of the dinner itself, the celebration of the recent birthday of Ms. Emily Kunz, Esq., was something I was definitely willing to support, too. And since I took my first final today and I had spent the week in near-complete study lockdown, I felt I deserved a little socializing.

The dinner was at Jules, a fake French bistro run by real French people on St. Marks place. A little advance research had me a bit worried about the quality of the food to be had, but I'm happy to report that the food was fine, the conversation was lively, and the lighting of the restaurant inspired the taking of poorly-lit photos of people who've never been on Steady Mobbin' before.

Counted among the revelers were the incomparable Molly Ryan


and the one-and-only Tina Baker. (With Myung and Alexandria chatting in the background.)


Here are Mary and Ram starring in something I like to call "The Best Underexposed Photo Ever Taken"


And this is a Perrier bottle with candles and Emily poking at her palm pilot in the background.


Mary gave me one of her scallops. I hope this photo adequately expresses the joy I derived from her generosity and the thrill of the taste of that little butter-drenched mollusk. I wonder: is there a difference between a scallop and a sea scallop? You see a lot of "sea scallops" on menus these days. (Also: note finals-related facial hair situation)


Here are Mary, Emily, and Alexandria outside of the restaurant. Considering that the dinner was in honor of Emily and everything, I sure should've gotten more pictures of her. Please, don't sue me. (Funny, I'd usually consider myself above such a lame little law joke [or is such an otiose attempt really even classifiable as a "joke"?])


Afterwards there was a little after-party dessert action at, man, I forgot the name . . . an old, famous Italian dessert place at 1st and 11th. There I was served a tiny little cheesecake sitting atop a coffee lid. Now I am at home, ready to go to bed and wake up tomorrow to totally study corporations with all my might non-stop until Monday afternoon.

Also the first time someone asked me how my final went today I nearly answered "Piece of sweat, no cake." Seriously. Is that a Spoonerism? Or some other sort of transposition?

To my dinner companions If any of you want big versions of any of these dark but awesome photos, let me know.

Best Setting of the Bar for Crazy

So, here's the Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory trailer. Tim Burton and Johnny Depp are clearly out to prove that they can still do weird. And how. From now on, instead of asking people "Are you on crack?", I'm going to ask them "Are you the Willy Wonka trailer?"

I didn't mean to set out on always posting Willy Wonka news, it just sort of happened.

And Here's something almost as disturbing: I was home for a minute this afternoon and caught a bit . . . okay, almost all of this new show (or maybe its a one-shot?) called "John Mayer Has a TV Show." First off, John Mayer? Probably the musician I'd least like to be listening to ever, but we all know he has a tiny bit of cred because he did that one skit about white people dancing with Dave Chapelle, right? Well, if there's a white version of Chapelle's Show, it might be John Mayer Has a TV Show. Seriously, and I know I sound stupid saying that. But it was full of good jokes, like John Mayer taking Trick Daddy to Nashville to get into country music, or John Mayer wearing a bear suit making fun of "John Myer" fans in the parking lot before one of his shows, or John Mayer rounding up some teenage fans for a focus group to rework his image. Uhm, I guess you sort of had to be there. Here's a description of the show from the VH1 website. Nothing I read on it seemed to have any relation to what I saw on TV this afternoon.

Best Short Little List of Complaints

1) If you use Hotmail, and usually get emails from me, guess what? I've been getting all these emails telling me that stupid Hotmail doesn't want to accept my emails. So it's not like I hate you, it's like Hotmail hates me.

2) Looks like I have to re-install Windows on my PC tomorrow. Because I have a test to take Friday morning. And I'll need that my computer works by then. I've been backing that cursed thing up all night. No wonder I named it "the Stepchild."

3) They were filming a new TV show, "Jonny Zero", by school on 3rd Street. I'd be upset that I didn't have my camera with me, but it didn't look so cool.

4) My jeans are full of holes. They're just falling apart. Now I need another pair of jeans . . . again. And jeans are expensive in this town.

5) There was this weirdo standing in front of me in line at Kentucky Fried Chicken today and it took forever for him to order. Usually, if something goes wrong at Kentucky Fried Chicken, they give me an extra biscuit. I didn't get one tonight. And that's the complaint, because the guy that took forever to order was weird, but funny.

6) Phase One of my Totally Awesome Christmas Present for Everyone has been completed, and it is a success. This is not a complaint, in fact, it is the opposite of a complaint. Because I want to end on a high note. And believe me, should you get to partake in the Totally Awesome Christmas Present for Everyone, the note is very, very high.

The Best I Can Do as I Get my Study On

Apparently the Mulcock brothers have had a website for months and I only just found out.

I've eaten a lot of cheap falafel around my school, mostly from all the joints on Macdougal, but last night I ate at this place on 4th street between 6th Ave and Macdougal and it by far the best falafel I've ever had. Granted, I got their "super combo falafel"--but it was still the best super combo falafel ever. Also, I was really, really hungry.

Biggie Smalls Che Guevara shirt? Sometimes you know exactly what you need to get yourself for Christmas. (About 7 or 8 items down.)

I need to see the Incredibles again.

Best Subway Portrait

Tonight, as I rode the 1 home from up by Lincoln Center, I found myself being the subject of some subway portraiture by a gentleman by the name of . . . well, judging from his signature, "B Owe"? "Bowe" maybe? I think he did a fine job of capturing my typical subway riding smugness and now my walls are one piece of art richer than before. Also, this is the picture of me that will be on the inside of the hardcover book that I write. Now that I think about it, the portrait sort of looks like me crossed with the Gerber Baby or something.

Want a bigger, closer look? Click!

Amazing Discovery! The McDonalds at 40th and Madison has $1 Double Cheeseburgers! They're $1.50-$1.80 everywhere else in the city. Also, I am told that they have $1 Hotcakes. Which is great, I guess.

Well Finals are upon me again. This seems to happen every four months, but after this round I'm halfway done with law school. Anyway, I'd like to imagine that I'll be so consumed by studying that I won't be bloggin' much, but I imagine my impending excessive hitting of the books will fill my head with ideas for content. Still, I'm under a lockdown of sorts until the 21st. Any donations of food, compassion, conversation, or FedCrim notes will be greatly appreciated.

Also Was anyone around the time I used the word "hagiography"? I remember saying it recently, but I can't remember the place or the context . . . I think I was talking about hagiographies. With hagiographers?

Best 556th Page of Anything

Say you decide to read Finnigans Wake. Say you read it and read it and read it. Most of the time, it is a mess. Slowly, you begin to think you recognize certain recurring elements, you think you might be unraveling some of the wordplay . . . but still, who are we kidding, it is a big huge mess. Onward you trudge.

And then, you get to the second to last chapter. Scholars will tell you that now the day is breaking and that Earwicker's dream is ending. Suddenly, at page 556 (just 72 pages to go!), just four paragraphs into the chapter, you find why you've been sticking with this book for so long:

night by silentsailing night while infantina Isobel (who will be blushing all day to be, when she growed up one Sudnay, Saint Holy and Saint Ivory, when she took the neil, the beautiful presentation nun, so barely twenty, in her pure coif, sister Isobel, and next Sunday, Mistlemas, when she looked a peach, the beautiful Samaritan, still as beautiful and still in her teens, nurse Saintette Isabelle, with stiffstarched cuffs but on Holiday, Christmas, Easter mornings when she wore a wreath, the wonderful widow of eighteen springs, Madame Isa Veuve La Belle, so sad but lucksome in her boyblue's long black with orange blossoming weeper's veil) for she was the only girl they loved, as she is the queenly pearl you prize, because of the way the night that first we met she is bound to be, methinks, and not in vain, the darling of my heart, sleeping in her april cot, within her singachamer, with her greengageflavoured candywhistle duetted to the crazyquilt, Isobel, she is so pretty, truth to tell, wildwood's eyes and primarose hair, quietly, all the woods so wild, in mauves of moss and daphnedews, how all so still she lay, neath of the whitethorn, child of tree, like some losthappy leaf, like blowing flower stilled, as fain would she anon, for soon again 'twill be, win me, woo me, we me, ah weary me! deeply, now evencalm lay sleeping:

And so, I ask, what will you do with your life?

"The wonderful widow of eighteen springs" Are you kidding me? If I were to excerpt each of the lines from that paragraph that give me goosebumps and mist up my eyes, I'd wind up rewriting the paragraph three times over . . . but I can't resist "for she was the only girl they loved, as she is the queenly pearl you prize, because of the way the night that first we met she is bound to be, methinks, and not in vain, the darling of my heart . . ." This must be how fathers feel about their baby daughters, I can't imagine it's any other thing. "how all so still she lay, neat of the whitethorn, child of tree, like some losthappy leaf . . . win me, woo me, we me, ah weary me!" James Joyce: more awesome than the Wu-Tang Clan.

"we me"? wow.

Best "So That's What Was Going On?" Revelations of the Day

After class yesterday there was a lot of activity on 6th Avenue of the firetruck and worried people sort. Something was clearly up with the subway, what do I mean? Oh, smoke was billowing out of subway grates, firefighters were rushing in and out of the West 4th station, firetrucks could be seen every few blocks, confused looking commuters stood on the street with a real "what do I do now?" sort of look to them--and the same sort of stuff was going on up at 14th street, too. It was the sort of thing that makes you go home and turn on the TV to see if you can figure out what was going on. Well, thanks to this article at Gothamist, I now know what had happened: some sort of big third rail fire of some sort. Yes, Gothamist is where I get my hard news now.

Also Follow a couple links on today's Gawker and you'll wind up at this article "outing" Alias actor Victor Garber . . . funny, I remember posting about this same sort of thing in my very first Steady Mobbin' post. Did I have a scoop or sorts? Guess that was my moment for internet gossip glory.

Best Weird Makeover

WELCOME GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCHERS: To everyone coming to this post from 8 years ago, maybe you'd also like to see my more recent post about similarities between Moonrise Kingdom and other Wes Anderson movies?

Dude, what happened to Wes Anderson?

The Wes We're Used To:

The Wes of Today:

Trust me, that's him. Look at his mouth. And his girlfriend, Tara Subkoff.

Yes, I stole that second photo. I'm going to stop even saying that I stole photos, I average 8 hits a day.

But I didn't steal this photo. More Neckface! Spotted down by my job.