I wasn’t born and raised in Brooklyn, but it’s my proud home. I have so much love for Brooklyn that I’ve stopped telling people to move here. Moving to New York? Great, you should check out Queens!

My block was a piece of garbage 5 years before I showed up, and now there’s many like me, boppin around the newly cleaned up part of town, jackin up the rent and drawing in Starbucks and organic food markets. Change is afoot and has been; I know I’m part of the change.

There are swanky restaurants and nicely restored Sesame Street browstones, but there’s still an underbelly that hangs on the edge, that goes beyond shady dollar stores and an occasional storefront church. The Gowanus Canal, Red Hook and beyond, there’s still some serious Brooklyn grit to be had. (more…)

Four crummy hours of sleep. Maybe. When you’re being woken up by the sounds of coughing and scratching every few minutes, it’s hard to properly calculate how much sleep you’re getting. It feels like you’ve never actually fallen asleep, but the numbers on the clock keep changing when you look, so there must have been some kind of unconcious passage of time. In between the coughing. The coughing that seems to bounce off every single surface in the bedroom, causing fever dreams of echo chambers. In between the coughing and the scratching, scratching that leads to ever so short and horrifying dreams of zombie fleas that are the size of dogs. And dogs the size of houses.

So glad we bought a dog. Less sleep means more time on the internet!

I do better when things are planned for me. Like if someone else plans to make me dinner, or lay out my outfit for the following day, or buys gifts for me to give to other people on important but forgettable dates. Lucky for me, my pal Jason rented an Impala and drove 5 hours from Boston directly to the Bowery Ballroom with 4 unclaimed tickets for the sold out El-P show. All I had to do was show up. Just the way I like it.

I have to admit, while El-P, and his former group Company Flow was emerging on and drastically changing the hip hop scene, I was pretty much oblivious. It kinda didn’t make sense to me. The beats were not the typical jazz and soul sample influenced recognizable beats of the day. They were more like beats made in a machine shop. A machine shop in the year 2050. Jason played it over and over and it eventually leaked its way onto my iPod and onto mixes and finally become part of my musical vocabulary. But I was seriously a late-comer. (more…)

I didn’t buy one thing when I was in Spain. Not one souvenir. I kinda wanted a crazy bull t-shirt, or some secret dope sneaks, but nothing quite fit my high souvenir standards.. until I found this…

There were a million of em, and plus, they’re never gonna find that dog. Right?

Last night I did the deed and got my taxes squared away. Slightly ahead of slacker schedule I sat down with my tax guy for 3 solid hours. He’s funny and seems to know what he’s doing; he found some law on the books left over from the 1800s which translated to 30 dollars for me. Bravo tax guy!

He helped me to “remember” all of the things I forgot to deduct. He’s smells a little, and maybe most disturbing, his pen smelled. I’m guessing that if I sat in front of a tax computer for 14 hours at a time I’d also smell and make my pens smell. But his heart and most importantly, his tax mind is in the right place. Thanks tax guy! I know have nearly 2 Gs that is already spoken for!

I don’t know Roger that well. We hang out in the same circles, have ourselves some laughs, both of us being funny people, but we’ve never hung out just the two of us. Which isn’t all that uncommon in my groups of friends, there are folks you are tight with, folks you like, folks you hate, circles of friends within circles of friends. I can’t tell you exactly what Roger does for a living, or what his aspirations are. He’s from the east coast, is good friends with the man putting on my photo show in may, and has got himself some Indian blood running through his veins.

Other than that, you’ll have to form your opinion of him solely from his sunglasses. Which I think will work out in his favor.

I don’t like it when people talk to me while I pee. It’s not distracting; it just feels awkward. Maybe it’s because I’m half naked. Maybe it’s because there’s liquid waste coming out of me. I don’t know, but it’s bothersome. Plus, I often can’t hear a word they’re saying since the sound of my pee hitting the water in the bowl is pretty loud. Though I’d rather just ignore the chatty Kathy until I’m done, it feels rude, so I’m forced to say “What?” over and over again, which is even more annoying than my discomfort.

And since I don’t like people talking to me while I pee, I don’t like it when people who are peeing talk to me. What’s worse, is sometimes when I’m at my parent’s house and the circumstances are such that I’m having a conversation with my mother on her way to the bathroom, she’ll leave the door open! What the hell? Protect yourself woman! The conversation can wait! (more…)

Mr. John Edwards will not receive the BAT endorsement as candidate for our next president. He hasn’t officially announced but don’t matta, he ain’t gettin’ it anyway. We need a STRONG leader, not some whispy, friendly, down-home type who was the number two man to our failure the last time around. We need someone willing to scrub the crime off our streets, someone to take up weapons in defence of transfats, loitering and legalized gambling! We want Cuban cigars and powerful radar detectors Someone who will take a STAND on our behalf!

That missing boyscout was found alive and in pretty good shape today, which shouldn’t come as a huge surprise. Dude was 12 and a BOYSCOUT. Being a Boyscout, with the exception of the pine wood derby thing, is all about what to do when you get lost in the woods; stay calm, smash a squirrel for dinner and find a good place to take a wiz. No.Big.Deal. Apparently though, they helped track him by the potato chip wrapper and other garbage he left in the forest. I don’t know about you but when I was 12 he was what you call a LITTERBUG. I sure hope once they get him all up to speed they rip off his Green patch for good environmental camping. Sorry buster. Also, he was a mile away from his campground. He should be reprimanded for not getting more lost.

Sometimes I have to do a lot of work to get a shot right, move around, give direction, gesticulate intricate poses and expressions. Sometimes I have to wait for my subject to fall into a pose that I like, or I have to wait for them to become uncomfortable enough to drop the standard Photo mask they usually put on when faced with a camera. Sometimes it requires both patience and perseverance to get a shot right.

Then there are times when Kimmy and Stepho get together, and all I have to do is hit the button. And try not to drool.

I’ve never heard RjD2 before. No idea who the guy is. All I knew is that he has a new album out, and everyone who’s reviewed it has been disappointed.

Of course, I didn’t read those reviews until I’d already downloaded the album, so I figure, might as well give it a listen.

Apparently, this album is a departure from his earlier, more hip-hop oriented work. He doesn’t usually sing on his albums, or craft whimsical pop tunes.

But, I haven’t heard any of that other stuff, so what do I care that his voice isn’t as good as some of the other folks he’s had on previous albums? His voice ain’t bad, and the songs ain’t, neither.

This is a pop album, a soft cross between the later Ween albums and Unkle. And there’s nothing wrong with that. None of it rocks that hard, none of it is gonna make Top of the Pops, but it’s all rather pleasant and enjoyable. I’ve found myself singing along several times to the tracks, and once noticing I was singing along, didn’t feel at all ashamed.

I would rather not talk about that time with me singing along to Toxic in the car, in full view of everyone else on the road.

This is a good album. Which is a shame, because if it was a bad album, then I wouldn’t feel so bad about all the static it’s getting from the online reviewers. If it sucked, then they’d be right to compare it to the previous albums, but it’s decent. Which means that the reviewers are basically comparing great hip-hop albums to a good pop album, which insists of a cry of Shenanigans.

I’m now suffering from that odd, exotic and fancy illness some can be so lucky to have. Jetlag. I was in Spain for a wedding, also exotic, fancy and pretty fucking awesome. (The last trip I took was to New Hampshire so don’t go thinking I’m famous or rich or something.) My head feels screwed on backwards; it’s very very late in my head. And I’m tired. Did I mention it’s late…in my head? I was served two lunches today, one had liverwerst on cole slaw.

Amid the confusion that is my very long day, I still have visions of staying in a 17th century mansion in a rural town in the middle of Spain where I partied my ass off with some of my best friends. I danced to Chakka Kaun and ate lots of varieties of ham. I had deep late night talks with pals in a secret lounge with an antique billiards table. It only had 3 balls and no pockets, but what the shit did I care, this was already a parallel universe of foreign awesomeness. Little neighborhood Spanish kids busted into the wedding dance party and rocked with us. They told us they had to go home (it was 11pm)…for dinner. They returned with an ice cream cone gift for the bride two hours later and danced some more. This was some weird postcard fantasy I was living. Then as a joke my friend punched me in the nuts.

As I rode carsick in a banged up cabby through my neighborhood I’m not entirely sure it happened at all. Except that my nuts still kinda hurt. There were no quaint well-mannered kids handing out gifts here. There were the neighborhood thugs, the neighborhood hipsters, garbage. I took off my dusty sneaks, fired up the DVR and immediately ordered some manicotti. Ahh…good to be back.

At first, a bit excited. Seeing a family friend’s photo show, wearing my new adidas, maybe talk a little shop, mention that i, too, am a fan of the photographic arts, and maybe he’ll become my mentor, shephard me into stardom. New jacket, too, it’s just so damned comfy. Camera slung around my neck. Even find a parking space.

But then, can’t find the place, the address, despite Google Map’s assurances, does not exist. There’s the pizza place, the chinese food place, and two shuttered storefronts in between, where the gallery should be, but isn’t. Why? I call, no answer, leave a message that i know won’t be returned. I drive down the street, maybe it was South instead of North. Nope. I try the back, try the alley, walk around, nada. Now I hope nobody shows up, stupid invitiation, obviously giving me the wrong info. I hope everyone’s having the same problem. All the way across town I’ve come, and for what, aggravation and burning up precious, increasingly expensive gas? I am no chump!!!

So I go home, check the invitation, and proceed to bash my head against the wall.

Because the art show is NEXT friday. The shuttered storefront will be unshuttered NEXT friday.

I read an average of two books a week, yet i can’t seem to read a date right. Which do I need, glasses, or a brain scan?

I’m a CCD school dropout. In fact, I don’t even know what the hell CCD stands for. Catholic Compulsory Divination? In any case, when it comes to religion, what does Tuffie do? She becomes a member of her own brand of faith. Borrowing heavily from the idea of karma, it goes a little something like this: be a good person, do decent things (they don’t even have to be outstanding), and you’ll be alright. Oh, and don’t kill anyone.

That said, I am highly fascinated by Jewish people. Living in West Hollywood, I get to see a lot of Orthodox Russian Jews with the gravity-defying massive-fur monuments atop their curly heads. I want to befriend them. I want to ask them 20 questions and more. For starters, what’s up with these hats? Secondly, do you really eat that gefilte fish scary looking thing a jar? If so, what does it taste like and how did that food item come into existence? (more…)

So somebody thinks he’s found Jesus’ tomb, complete with bones. I know you’re sayin, Dan, cut the crap, JC rolled away the stone and flew up into the heavenly kingdom on a golden aerobed! I hear ya brother, we’re obviously concerned about this here at The Tabernacle. We’ll get to that, but the long of the short is that one man claims to have found the entire “Jesus Family Tomb.” And, it’s underneath an apartment complex. Yeah that’s what I said, apartment complex.

The filmaker is not an archeologist. He’s not a religious scholar. He is not a deacon at the ‘Nacle. As a result, his claim looks shakey at best, compelling, but shakey. Needless to say, he’s caused multiple fuss bombs to go off in various academic, journalistic, and nerd circles.

I’m no biblical scholar either. Nor am I particularly religious. I did youth group in Jr. High and did a guided mediation once where I walked in a wheat field with Jesus. It was pretty cool. Lacking expert knowlege on the subject and anything other than a glass of whiskey, I watched the documentary and immediately had my mind blown. It’s pretty fuckin’ nuts.

Can we start with the whole Jesus tomb under apartment building thing please? Thank you. It reminded me of my childhood friend Josh Legere who told me there was an ancient burial cave underneith his 70s ranch house. I’ll be honest with ya, I think he was full of shit. Good guy though. (more…)