So. Who wants to ghost-write my blog? eh? eh? Take me up on my offer and there could be some money in it for you...

I'm so sorry. My brain has been on vacation. Responsible blog maintenance to resume shortly.

I'm such a negligent parent.

Siren Festival: bringing hipsters together in the very, very last car of the F train since 2001.

There comes a time of every year when Greenpoint hipsters are put in the least enviable and most disadvantaged positions of all us Brooklynites.

Siren Festival.

Oh, what we all wouldn't give for a two-hour subway ride to the opposite end of brooklyn. On two of the least reliable (debatably the two least reliable) train lines of all the ever-so-inefficiently operating subway system. (Our beloved MTA!) Oh, yeah -- they have it bad. Our cousins from the far, far, far north must endure close to two hours of what is very literally cross-borough transit. The poor suckers have to journey from the northernmost border of Brooklyn to the southernmost. Most of them are doing it by G and F train. And yes.. indeed this is the most efficient way of getting there, sparing you of the most different transfers. To those who must face this grueling commute.. Have fun on that G train for me, yes?

Chaos shall ensue on the G and F trains... especially the F train, for after picking up all the G train transferees of Greenpoint, Williamsburg, and Fort Greene (the north, less north, and not quite north portions of Brooklyn, respectively), it must also accomodate F train patrons from all of South Brooklyn -- Boerum Hill, Carroll Gardens, DUMBO brooklyn, Park Slope, maybe even Redhook.... in addition to the slightly inferior Manhattan subspecies of hipster (encompassing NYU students, a goodly-sized group in itself) coming in from all the places downtown where hipster concentrations are highest. The great mass migration to Coney Island -- I'm sure it will promise to be a spectacle. Fleets of indie rockers from all the flourishing artist communities of Brooklyn and downtown Manhattan converging by the time that F train has snaked its way underground to Windsor Terrace and Kensington..... I'm hell-bent on staying in the last car of the F train if at all possible, I'm curious to see which stop the train is pulling out of when the end car reaches capacity, because it is always, it seems, the most desireable.
I've noticed a curious phenomenon on Manhattan-bound F trains Saturday nights, when there is an overabundance of hipsters on the subways. They are always condensed in the last car -- the whole lot of them, from every stop, like they consciously elect to pile into the last car of the train until all the seats are occupied, whereupon any additional passengers who pile on regardless must simply be content to stand. Elsewhere on the train, people are sparsely and evenly distributed, with no noticeable irregularities in either the first or second-to-last cars, or in any in between, should you walk the length of the train and examine the dispersal patterns of the passengers. Eventually the evaporating standing room will reduce itself to a couple of gaps here and there, and yet still, droves of hipsters collect on the ends of platforms and persist to choose that last car over any of the more comfortable and less densely populated ones which offer accomodations like.... available seats. Ample breathing room. Personal space. For some reason I cannot possibly fathom, they insist on lodging themselves in that tail car of the F train amidst the gaggle of beings of similar mindsets to their own, that assembled there before them...... Unbelievable! Such odd behavior, even considering the peculiar ways of the subculture group in question. After some speculation, I concluded that they may have been making a collective effort to arrange a situation simulating the feel of being on a brooklyn-bound L train during PM rush hour.

And that's only Saturday night into Manhattan.
This mass migration's going to be fucking insane. Two-hundred CLers crammed into one subway car -- ohhh, I can just smell the missed connections.
"You were the girl with the short black layered hair and asymmetrical bangs... and disproportionately large sunglasses, and vintage polkadot dress, and pointy flats.

Aw crap, this is futile!"


Potentially popular migratory routes of the NYC indie rocker on July 16
the general route
the N brooklyn route
the JMZ brooklyn route
the general manhattan route
the NYU student route

congested stations (this is a prediction):
Q/L - Union Sq.
F - 2nd. ave (LES/alphabet city)
F/M - Delancey (LES)
G - Metropolitan (Williamsburg)
G/F - Bergen, Carroll, Smith (South Brooklyn)
M/R - Union St. (Park Slope)
F - 7th ave. (Park Slope)
Q - 7th ave. (Park Slope)
I've taken it upon myself to highlight on a subway map all the stations where, logically, traffic should be heaviest. It takes into account two factors: which subway stations are ordinarily areas of high hipster concentration, and which will serve as crossroads for one train line to unload its Siren-designated commuters for redirection to another train line. (Transfer hotspots)
Anyway, this is just a theory. Whether or not it pans out remains to be seen. July 16, everyone... Save the date.
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At this point, the siren '05 site is still looking pretty bare. But get a load of that FAQ, huh? It's a riot.

I feel like I should assume the responsibility of clarifying something, off the bat -- so that when you're 1hour+ late, you won't be wondering why the village voice lied to you, in addition to griping about being forsaken with the forbidden-bike rule... Their 45 minutes claim is terribly misleading. The duration of "an average subway ride" from Manhattan to Coney Island is closer to a good two hours than 45 minutes. Fuck, it takes 45 minutes by F to get from Park Slope to Coney Island alone. Your best bet is probably the Q (take advantage if you have access to it), but even traveling from Union Sq. to Coney Island by Q is likely to consume about an hour and change. So don't count on that 45 minutes promise. Spare yourself the agony.
Really. It will reduce the general irritability quotient and in effect, lessen the possibility for friction and likelihood of conflict among a demographic of people so notoriously prone to assholery. Because bear in mind, this is by a wide margin the biggest annual congregation of bohemian assholes in all of New York, taking place in the dead of the sweltering summer. (oooohhh. harmonious!)
Well, god bless the good people over at the village voice for conceiving this idea. (who's the bitterest hipster-in-denial in the blogosphere?)

Also, see:
3. What should I bring with me?
Sunscreen, water, hat, cell phones to meet up with your friends, umbrellas (if necessary), and your positive attitude!

Positive attitudes. Because hipsters are known for their.... positive attitudes? Particularly when they're bikeless, sunburned, dissatisfied with the deplorable G and F train service, and fuming about the truancy of bike racks? Well, go figure!
Hell, I'd be plenty belligerent and irate just from having ridden the G train down to the last stop for the F all the way down to Coney Island. Of course. We all know how friendly and benign disgruntled assholes are reputed to be. How could we ever accuse them of being anything but the notoriously positive, life-affirming beings we know them to be? With their pleasant demeanors, regard for others, policies of compliance, their unparalleled altruism? Sure they'll bring their positive attitudes!

How precociously optimistic of you, Siren Festival FAQ.
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You didn't hear it from me, but.... Ambulance Ltd. is tentatively scheduled to perform at Siren this year. Oh wait, they've posted it on their website.. eh, nevermind then. The Siren folks haven't announced (let alone confirmed) it yet, but they will in due time (Ok, I'm going to call it now. I say they'll post the final line-up two days before it takes place. I'll put money on it.... You?). They sure are lagging behind this year, though, with the updates and press releases, aren't they? Hey, Siren staff -- stop being so damn negligent. Yet even in all their inactivity, haste, and disorganization they managed to recruit Spoon. Gotta give 'em credit for that.

The Dears... Brendan Benson... Spoon.. notice a pattern? Yes, it should be a brit-pop dominated Siren this year. I'm sure there is much rejoicing within circles of anglophiles all over new york city.

oy. paying direly tonight.

Today I endured my punishment for a liberty I took, two weeks past, against the will of some superiors I'm expected to answer to. Oh well. My punishment was well worth my crime.

I took it with a grumble and a sigh. I failed to fulfill some obligations, and well, being the responsible person I am, I fell back in line and dutifully performed all tasks necessary to redeem myself. Administered by life and the authority figures in my life, my consequence was a bothersome requirement to attend an event consuming much of my night. It's not in my nature to bother, under ordinary circumstances (for it is, to the converse, in my nature to object), but this was a much anticipated, fussed-over event I missed. And it caught up with me. Regardless.. I don't care. Anything to be, for a night, the fan Addison overindulged. (Well, to be Addison's only fan, and in effect, to be adored by default.) This was strangely reminiscent of the night succeeding the one that got me here; I sat through a Jazz band's interminable performance in the very back, surveying the performers critically and exuding an air of overall unpleasantness and negativity.

At the particular moment, I sit in the back of an auditorium sweating like a frozen water bottle and suffocating. The air in here seriously needs to circulate. It is unclear what state of consciousness I'm in, but I think, I think that I'm dangerously close to passing out. Hard to say, though. I'm far too irritated to be half-asleep. I'm far too ill-at-ease to fall back into any level of calm permitting drowsiness. It is far too uncomfortable and unbearably hot to care. I'm scribbling dilligently on a piece of paper on my lap -- to the delight and approval of my vigilant superior, I'm sure. (This message is being transmitted to blogspot via telepathy. In case you were wondering.) That's right... if the act of being present and simply sitting here being held captive against my will for two hours here in this oxygen-deficient zone wasn't punishment enough, I was given a dirty burdensome assignment.... OH, to be a subordinate!
I'm missing Finian McKean and Kevin Devine for this. So you see what I'm sacrificing. But Finian McKean intimidates me and Kevin Devine seems shallow. I'll take Addison over both of them any day. Besides, I had some sort of idea of what lay ahead of me while I was scheming in preparation for the 25th. My reality was clear -- in freeing up 5/25, I'd have to give up 6/8. And I'm pleased to say I'm pleased with my decision.

I didn't ever make it clear what I did, did I? Well if it would put your mind at peace to know, it involved letter forgery and one clever elaborate lie made possible by circumstances working in my favor and things falling into place in such a way that was ideal for me and my particular predicament, by some unlikely coincidence. I mean it, this was an incredible set-up of, like, supernatural stars-aligning proportions. (Thank you circumstances, thank you!) Because surely, they would not have accepted my real excuse -- "sorry, I can't be present, I have to see a band tonight.." So, I wriggled out of this obligation I had by means of a convincing lie and a forged note backing it. (Letter forgery -- fuck yeah, I got it down!)
Well, to be fair, since the suckers accepted my elaborate lie and accompanying fake note (they didn't know that though of course), this doesn't necessarily qualify as "punishment" in its concept and principle, but as some generous second chance, or opportunity for redemption. Nevertheless, this whole experience is punishment to me.

Anticipation had me suspended in a giddy sort of mood all week. "I get to go to Maxwell's to see Surefire! SQUEEE!"

I hadn't seen them in well over three months and when they took the stage, I noticed some immediate differences. For one thing, they had somehow managed to lug a HAMMOND ORGAN on stage. It required, I was to find out later on, three people to get it off the stage.
Also, Jacob's hair was shorter.... and -- oh gee, Justin sure did look different. I... couldn't quite place it.. was his hair darker? straighter? ah yes, he seemed a bit taller. I realize it's been a while since I'd last seen them, but damn, how long could I have been gone?! In any case, he sure did look different! Sort of like.... someone who wasn't Justin. hmmmmm.
So yeah, Justin was totally MIA last night, but the drummer who filled in was a spectacle to see. Surefire had barely gotten through a fourth of their set when my attention was diverted away from the guitarists in front and directed toward the drummer behind them, who'd been twirling his drumsticks like nobody's fuckin' business, and whom I was focused on the entire time. His mastery of the drumstick spinning thing (as well as the throwing-in-the-air thing) was uncanny. He's TOTALLY got it down. So for the remainder of the band's set, I had my eyes fixated on him, entranced, watching him twirl his drumsticks and throw them in the air at every available opportunity. Never been the sort to pay much attention to drummers, but I was enamored with him, his style was just too dynamic not to notice. (Aw helllll yeah, throw those drumsticks in the air!) INTENSE.
I don't believe I've ever concentrated so much of my attention on the rhythm section of a band. DAMN, that guy can play the drums.
Sidenote - I suspect, also, that I recognized him as an audience member at the benefit show at NYU back in February where ten bands played 30 minute sets each. Hasn't been confirmed though.

You should've seen the band haul Nick's organ off the stage and drag it to the back. Three people, it took THREE people, with difficulty. I stared at them and snickered privately. I just sort of watched, and turned away, and laughed at them. I hadn't realized Surefire had acquired a cargo truck since the last time I'd seen them, but they must have, because surely no smaller or less powerful vehicle could possibly accomodate such an instrument that thing.

Quite a bit of a departure from Nick's usual keyboard.
Well, one thing's for sure, that ain't no keyboard.