(To our Tumblr followers: we read you on the feed side b/c Cindy really loathes using the Tumblr interface for reading posts.)
“I don’t really know what made the difference! But I think the type of songs you recorded mattered most. You’d pick out the songs you liked and hoped other people would like them too. I know that I was looking for a good melody and good words. A good country song usually kind of tells a story about something that’s happened — so that’s what we’d go out looking for.” — Kitty Wells
(via The Queen of Country Music Holds Court - WSJ.com)
Lewitinn usually has about 50 CDs on hand with a mix of songs, from George Michael’s “Freedom” to Bon Jovi’s “Living On a Prayer,” when she does parties, tending to play more popular Top 40 songs in clubs while saving the cutting-edge stuff for smaller venues. Unlike many other D.J.’s, she eschews the popular computer program Serato Scratch Live to manage her playlists and instead uses CD players connected to a mixer because of the greater discipline it forces upon her.
Disc Jockey Ultragrrrl - Job of the Week - Portfolio.com
Haha. No, really, Serato is such a pain in the ass … but come on! CDs force discipline? Um, schlepping 50 pounds of vinyl on the subway enforces discipline! Rewiring mixing boards on the fly to bypass Serato and accommodate a venue’s dusty turntables enforces discipline. Edit from Pinkie: Having your own headshells and the ability to yell at a sound guy to go get another turntable while you’re using the other one enforces discipline.
I don’t mean to sound crabby (or to kick the perennial lamebody Lewitinn) but sheesh.
The tricky part of whole-animal cooking, he pointed out, is finding an outlet for every part.
Chefs Are Taking On the Whole Cow - NYTimes.com
Cindy is reading The Ominivore’s Dilemma right now. (And obviously, I’m reading the paper at work.) Amid household angst over the global economy, there’s been a lot of talk about how the grocery bill is going to dovetail with that…especially as I get more and more interested in slow food and local produce (without being a real foodie) and Cindy gets more and more intersted in hacking apart a whole animal carcass. The real news is that the Diner crew have leased a space to open Marlow & Daughters, which will be a full-service butcher shop.
It seems there is no artifact connected to the British post-punk band Joy Division too ghoulish for public consumption: the notes and diary entries of the band’s manager, Rob Gretton, are to be published this month, The Guardian reported.
Arts, Briefly - Green Light for Diaries of Joy Division Manager - Brief - NYTimes.com
Oh jeez. The true cringeworthy hilarity is that Gretton’s widow plans to title the book 1 Top Class Manager. This makes sense within context (because that’s how he billed himself), but I doubt she’s spent quite as much time as I have in the trenches with bad self-published or vanity-press business titles.
via meghanagain: Anna Deavere Smith and John Cameron Mitchell (via 40th Anniversary - A Portfolio of New York’s Finest Actors - New York Magazine) I mean there’s nothing more zzzzz than a slideshow of actors parting their lips and having their eyes real wide and their hair like you’ve! never! seen! which is why this photo stands out …
Agreed! I found this slideshow kinda snoozy, too — except for this photo; great composition, great pairing. (Also, I would wear Anna Devere Smith’s top with JCM’s gorgeous jacket.)
I don’t want to be played by the girl-strings anymore. Shaking our heads and wringing our hands in sympathy with Sarah Palin is a disservice to every woman who has ever been unfairly dismissed based on her gender, because this is an utterly fair dismissal, based on an utter lack of ability and readiness. It’s a disservice to minority populations of every stripe whose place in the political spectrum has been unfairly spotlighted as mere tokenism; it is a disservice to women throughout this country who have gone from watching a woman who — love her or hate her — was able to show us what female leadership could look like to squirming in front of their televisions as they watch the woman sent to replace her struggle to string a complete sentence together.
The Sarah Palin pity party | Salon Life
I’m from Texas. I’m from old money Texas. This means that I do not talk politics — with anyone. Politics, much like membership to the Masonic Lodge or what goes on at an Order of the Eastern Star meeting, are private. That being said, this rant really hits the nail on the head.
I’ll be showing The Hustler during my bartending shift to help diffuse my grief over the death of the fucking hottest humanitarian who has existed. His love for motorcycle riding and cigarettes stole a 5-year-old Aubrey’s heart many years ago. Come drink a Budweiser for Paul at the Tip Top. 432 Franklin Ave, between Putnam and Madison. C to Franklin; G to Bedford-Nostrand. We’ll be starting the film on the back patio at 9 pm. Join us.
(via MySpace bulletin land)
And now for a note on tomorrow night since you all need something to do on Tuesdays now that the party is over at Nurse Bettie. Come out to Crooklyn and see Miss Aubrey at the Tip Top on Franklin. It’s near the (sadly defaced) ODB mural. All the beer, soul, and Paul Newman you can handle. We’ll be there.
But in Brooklyn, the visitor, whether native son or total stranger, can experience a very special sense of beauty. Much of it derives from a simple fact: Manhattan is a vertical city, and Brooklyn is horizontal.
40th Anniversary - Pete Hamill Revisits His Native Brooklyn — New York Magazine
Yesterday, as I stood outside Maggie Brown with Cindy and our friend Aubrey, waiting for a table for brunch, I turned to Aubrey and said something like “Why the hell would anyone want to live in Manhattan?” and meant every syllable. This was after a 20-or-so minute stroll (in the rain) through the heart of Bed-Stuy, from casa Rich Girls in Stuy Heights, over to Aubrey’s in Bed-Stuy proper, and into Ft. Greene near Pratt via Franklin, de Kalb, and Myrtle. Though I know the East Village and LES like the back of my own hand, I love my neighborhood more than I ever loved any dream of living in Alphabet City or on Bowery. When you realize you deserve a home, rather than a place to keep your stuff and occasionally sleep, your priorities start to change. And I’m more than a little tired of the intimation that I’m settling simply because I have a 30 minute commute to my office in Chelsea. (This came up again during lunch today when I was asked if I’d ever be moving closer to Manhattan.) I think Aubrey summed up everything quite neatly when she said that at the end of the day, getting to go home to a house means everything.