Hectic times abound. some brief updates, whilst i have some real live substantive posts planned for the weekend...

+ Job is driving me a little bit mad. Will explain when I'm not at it. Suffice to say I'm printing out new resumes.

+ Band is doing phenomenal work. The album is mixed, and we have release parties scheduled for June 21 at the National Underground and July 5 at Piano's. Our mastering engineer in Chicago has told us he'll be unable to do the project on schedule, but pointed us towards an engineer in Brooklyn who looks to be equally talented...

+ Going up to the academy this weekend for commencement weekend. I'll be seeing dear friends, Kay will be attending a reunion, it will most likely turn into me sitting on the roof of my beloved old radio station swilling forties with whomever will tolerate me.

+ Waterpipe Theater, an old project I was involved in at the above radio station, is being reborn in New York, as most of us are now living fairly close to one another again. For the time being, at least, we've access to the studios where Kay works as a producer, and we've secured an on air slot at the old station.

A New Low

This is utterly terrifying.


But when we live in a culture that treats desired emotional response as the answer to a chemical equation, what, really can you expect? Psychiatrics and the death of agency. When we've stripped "inalienable human rights" (as detailed in the constitution) from non-citizens, and this against the backdrop of a medical culture that portrays people as chemical amalgams for the medicating... is this really surprising?

The question of freedom

This is something I will return to when I'm not slacking off at work, I'm sure. But it interests me greatly... The New York Times, for the past two days, has been running a series on Love in Saudi Arabia. As I was reading today's piece, about women and what love means for them, I found myself struck by the lack of rebellion to the situation as it stands, and further struck that it's the same shape as the lack of rebellion described in Marxist writings (and later feminist writings) commonly referred to as "false consciousness" -- the fairly straightforward notion that the dominant paradigm convinces the oppressed that they in fact have all of their needs met, and don't want for what the opponents of the paradigm term liberation.
But False Consciousness is a damn slippery slope. In the sense that it supposes that a revolutionary knows what you want and what you need, and you don't. False Consciousness reasoning has "justified" terrible massacres across the globe, is one of the theoretical foundations of maoism (of which I am not a fan), and has been a big part of second-wave feminism. It implies a universal truth about freedom that the oppressed cannot be expected to "get". And, in my not so humble opinion, that's a huge problem.
Yet clearly there's an extent to which that kind of mechanism does exist... we live in advanced capitalism. Everywhere we look we are being told what are needs *really* are (a 28 inch waist, chemically maintained happiness and a luxury sedan). In a point of fact overlooked by most of the commentators on the Times site, religious fundamentalism is the same as economic fundamentalism is the same as philosophical fundamentalism, and its a fact of daily life, everywhere, that an external source with a stake in some sort of power game is informing us of our needs. And because it's easier to live within a power structure that is not trying to get you to be different, a fair number of people take that informing as gospel, no pun intended. To say that there is no such thing as "false consciousness" is to allow a whole slew of people, both down your block and around your planet, to get pushed around in the name of structures of power and/or knowledge. (god, have I really become that Foucaultian?)

So what we get down to is what it means to be a person acting freely in the world. So given that to be free is to be an unfettered agent, and given that agency is acting as one intends, and given that intention comes in part from information at hand, and given that information at hand is necessarily a facet of the social (by which i simply mean "beyond the level of the individual") world around us,

How do we even begin to think about freedom in society?

Apartment Apartment

Wherein I list things I need for the apartment. Hit me back if you have any of these you're willing to part with:

+ Iron / Ironing board
+ Bookshelf- or floor-style speakers for a Hi-fi
+ A small couch or loveseat
+ Dining room-style chairs
+ Potted plants in need of a good, light-filled home

distance has no way

So it's been about four months since my ex-girlfriend L went off the deep end, left me for a guy she'd met a few days prior, and severed contact for such stellar reasons as "when we talk about this I feel like you're trying to make me feel guilty." (for real?) Since then, in my life, I've come across a new apartment, a new job, and started seeing someone who I instinctively trust and have come to care quite a bit for. I'm not going to say life's perfect, but it's certainly pretty grand. The band is doing really well (four shows in the next month and a half, album is done and en route to Chicago for mastering), I'm in the best shape I've ever been in in my life, I've moved to a neighborhood where I'm surrounded by my friends; and yet still, about once a week, L pops up in a dream of mine. Usually in the context of me shouting at her, or me telling her friends and boyfriend how she left me or how she lied to her now-boyfriend about our then-status. And then I wake up, really underslept. I can't quite figure it, except that maybe I'm trying to suppress everything that has to do with her in order to feel more secure about the present.
That's why I'm writing this... with the hopes that if I air it, it won't just live in my brain anymore and it'll let me get some sleep...

Day 4

As of last night, we had no water pressure in the kitchen, no internet access, no gas for the stove, no hot water and a dead breaker in the breaker box, rendering Elias' room devoid of power.

This morning I avoided the shower situation altogether, a decision which was validated when a certain someone's "I need to shower before work" quickly turned into shrill curses drowned out by ice-water, audible from the kitchen.

On my way to work today I got a text message from E. informing me that "a squad of people" had arrived, and were beginning to fix everything. If all goes according to plan we should also have internet by this afternoon as well.

I haven't heard from him in a while though.

Radical Chic

Jay sent this to me. It's an excellent little piece in Slate about elitism and the left. I don't always see elitism in the mainstream left, but maybe I'm a little elite myself. In the left-left, elitism is practically the membership card. Anyway, its a good little piece; read and ruminate.

Stealing Internet in Brooklyn

Moved in. Light in the apartment is beautiful. Set up the desk under a window looking out at the aerials of the building across the way. Elias moves in tomorrow. Spent the day cleaning because under the surface the kitchen and bath were very dirty. Spent the afternoon in Ft. Greene with Kay and the folks. We dont yet have hot water so I'm going to stay at Kay's in order to steal her shower... moving is a frustrating and ultimately very satisfying adventure.

Summer of Art

Make cheap art:


+Polaroid Transfers

+Pinhole Cameras

+Cigar box Guitars

How to Hush a Sick Transmission

In a few days, I move into Brooklyn. Yesterday I held my new keys in my hand, finally after 23 years, a New Yorker.

Tonight I sped up 440 listening to Califone as the sodium lights winked around me. The turbo howled, competing with the grunt of the cylinders as the volvo soared across the back roads of Hudson County. It's a fitting way to bring my time on the peninsula to a close. Today I looked up the phonetic specifics of the North Jersey accent. Apparently what we do is rhotic and lacks a short a split. (wikipedia it. "new jersey english.") For 23 years of my life I continued my mothers dream of getting out of Hudson County and becoming a New Yorker. Now I know simultaneously that this will always be home, and that it's sensibilities will always somewhere be a part of me.

I'm moving into a place with Elias in Bedford-Stuyvesant, part of a network of beautiful brownstoned blocks. We have a beautiful if unimpressive view from the third story, and I will be within walking distance of John.

There's a new woman in my life. We'll call her Kay. And she makes me very happy.

I have a new job, working with Jay, as an "Investigator Journalist" at a due-diligence investigative firm. I write boring reports on hedge fund managers, and have a blast trying to catch mistakes that the research team makes. It's nominally enjoyable. It pays the bills. The office and the people in it are pretty good. Writing slogans in French from May 1968 on my impromptu bulletin board is only marginally helpful. Once I'm more on my feet, I'll look for something creative again.

Oh, and also, apparently, the PATH train is on fire.

Each one of those things could be a full post. But I am very tired. I'll try to write y'all more asap, but the move may make that difficult. Many happy regards to all. Boredom is counter-revolutionary.

Passaic and Ganges One

Three issues of the Paris Review ago, there was a phenomenal interview with a poet that I knew nothing of (little surprise there; I'm a bit of a Philistine). Dude's name was August Kleinzahler, Jersey City's own, and he riffed about writing and life about as well as it seems he has written and lived. Anyway, he gets some props in the New York Times this morn. Check it out. An excerpt of note:

Ultimately Mr. Kleinzahler boiled his case against Mr. Keillor down to these three-and-a-half sentences: “Multivitamins are good for you. Exercise, fresh air, and sex are good for you. Fruit and vegetables are good for you. Poetry is not.”

---

Life's moving fast over here, by the way. New job, and it looks like I'll be moving to Brooklyn (though my heart still belongs to the crown jewel of Hudson County). I'll catch y'all up when I'm not on the clock.

Airmen

A birthday E-mail I received today from a dear friend:

Dear Charlotte,

Happy Birthday! From me and the folks at Merriam-Webster.

with love.


The Word of the Day for April 7 is:

luftmensch \LOOFT-mensh (the "OO" is as in "foot")\ noun
: an impractical contemplative person having no definite business or income

Example sentence:
I worry that my nephew, who has several advanced degrees but no practical skills, will be a luftmensch all his life.

Did you know?
Are you someone who always seems to have your head in the clouds? Do you have trouble getting down to the lowly business of earning a living? If so, you may deserve to be labeled a "luftmensch." That airy appellation is an adaptation of the Yiddish "luftmentsh," which breaks down into "luft" (a Germanic root meaning "air" that is also related to the English words "loft" and "lofty") plus "mentsh," meaning "human being." "Luftmensch" was first introduced to English prose in 1907, when Israel Zangwill wrote, "The word 'Luftmensch' flew into Barstein's mind. Nehemiah was not an earth-man.... He was an air-man, floating on facile wings."

I am touched.

Today is my birthday, and it has already been beyond splendid. I am so happy about today. Today makes me very happy.







!!!

Word Juice

So I'm sitting in the office, drinking a fresh cup of coffee (or as I like to call it, "word juice"), writing up a few little pieces for the paper's daily web updates. Listening to a digable gal I just met on the radio. Wearin' a t-shirt 'cause it's warm.

Life's pretty OK. And a there's a lot to update y'all about. Like the giant leaps forward that the band is making. Like how I'll soon be starting a job working alongside Jay as a private investigator (I know, right??). Like how I might be an extra in some photoshoot.

But earlier today, I was hanging out in my favorite bike shop, shooting the shit with Malcom as I was re-lacing a wheel and changing out an axle, talking guitars, life, women and bicycle racing, when I realized I was late for work. So I ran downtown, wheel strapped to my back, wolfing a slice of pizza on the way. The last two bites tasted awful, and the whole day I've been smacking my well-lubricated lips, quite concerned that I ate a significant amount of bicycle grease.

Accelerate

Today is a sacred day for two reasons.

First, it is April Fools Day, the most high holiday of my friends from academy. They are on the west coast now, yes, but I'm half expecting to leave my apartment today to find my door cardboarded over, or at the very least to receive a few forged e-mails. So watch out.

Second, today R.E.M.'s new album drops. Growing up, R.E.M. taught me what indie rock was. They painted pictures of a south I had not yet seen, they said to high-school-frosh me "there is a world where crazed yet mellow guitars create beautiful landscapes where Michael Stipe is busy weaving threads, but Mike Mills will invite you in for a glass of lemonade." And I liked that. I was a guitarist reared on Hendrix and the blues, but R.E.M. was this wonderful alternate sonic possibility, constructed of blends and arpeggios. I went through the entire discography voraciously. I was about done with the then-last album, "up", when "Reveal" dropped. I dug the singles, but the album felt like someone else trying to be R.E.M. After hearing the singles for "Around the Sun", the last album (in the current issue of SPIN, guitarist Peter Buck refers to it only as "the Last Record") I didnt even buy it. I felt it was an important if bittersweet facet of growing up... Watching my heroes lose their touch, slide into the inevitable loss of inspiration and energy that befalls all who don't burn out. I tightened up my guitar strap and started rocking harder with Maxwell's Demon, to do my part filling the void thus opening in the world. I didn't look back, it was too painful. I just learned how to play half of "Reckoning", that's all.
Well.... A little bird sent me a copy of the new "Accelerate", due to drop today. Popped it in last night, and, damn--the boys are back. Now I'm not going to go off the deep end as some reviewers have. This is no grand return to the IRS years. There're still relatively few post-punk Four-on-the-floor, we're-gonna-knock-down-half-the-buildings-in-Athens drum beats (do check out Horse to Water, though). Buck's arpeggios are back (thank GOD!), but not as frenetic as they once were. The production clearly cost what all the albums from the IRS years cost combined, and I would like more Lo-Fi to match my favorite sonic landscapes. But all that being said... damn, this is good! Mills is on point as ever, returning to his off-mic backup-vocal-cries, Buck is getting his tone dirty again, not just distorted, and Stipe finally sounds like he's having fun again.

It's a good day for music.