Monday, June 12, 2006

Bulletproof...I Wish I Was

Last weekend, it was me and the boys. Hansa was in town on Friday night and we have a steadfast agreement for his visits: we spend half the night at fag bars, the other half at straight bars. We began at Mr. Black on Bleeker St., where some DJ from Fischerspooner was spinning, or something, and I was one of three girls in the entire club. This is fine by me, only because gay boys make much better dancing partners than straight boys. When it was time to clear my end of the pact, we headed alllll the way over to Clinton Hill, where, again, I was one of only three girls at the entire party. Much different scenery, as the DJs, friends of mine, were a monkey gang of bros slobbering all over a microphone in a drunken attempt to rap in couplets. Things turned a bit awry around 4 AM, when I tried my hand at the DJ stand, and we split.

Saturday, Al Gore’s little power point presentation made me wonder why they bothered remaking The Omen (especially with that pancake-faced Julia Stiles), which was already kind of perfect to begin with, because An Inconvenient Truth is the scariest movie I’ve seen all year. Watch it.

Then it was time for the long awaited Dungen show, at Irving Plaza, where I fell in love with that band once more. They were just as charming as the last time I’d seen them, a couple of months ago at the Bowery, and, again, the audience was mostly made up of dudes. Except with the venue change, it was more of the NYU frat boy assortment, than the music junkies who can fully appreciate the beauty of an obscure Swedish band that employs a flute, effects pedals, and gibberish lyrics.

Sunday was Puerto Rican Pride Day and I felt it, I swear. No, not really. Instead I met up with a friend, who I haven't seen in over two years, at the land marked courtyard of the Apthorp Apartments (chandeliers in the elevators!), and ate another goddamned vegan meal. Only in town for the weekend, my little philosophy buddy was escaping from the cloistered world of academia, and we ended up conversing in that beguiling way that only philosophers do: talking in circles, around and around.


Blogger adamghory said...

I disagree, dude, Dungen is not singing gibberish, we are just not sexy enough to understand swedish.
Holy shit! I want to find an english translation of their lyrics...

4:08 PM  

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