this post might change your life

Oh boy. I’m about halfway through my time in New York. There’s much to report and zero time to blog, but I have a very important public service announcement that can’t possibly wait another second: I have found the most rocking jam EVER FUCKING EVER.

The path to the most rocking jam, which was pretty rocking in itself, began when S and D offered to drive my sister back to Princeton following her visit here last weekend. The car’s stereo was broken, which was a bummer for everyone, but an especial bummer for S, who is a totally rocking attorney/drummer that works for a fancy law firm by day and opens for whippersnappers like Titus Andronicus by night. So I suggested the obvious: why not buy a boombox for the backseat?

At first we thought that the Hoboken Target didn’t sell boomboxes---actually, we wondered if boomboxes even existed anymore---but eventually we found one for around $22. More importantly, we found two amazing CD compilations: 80s metal hits and 80s metal ballads. The former included the most rocking jam ever, which is, without further ado:

In the final analysis, I believe the theme of this video is “apocalyptic masturbation.”

“Cum On Feel the Noize” as performed by Quiet Riot.

As you might imagine, New Jersey is the perfect place to listen to metal compilations on your backseat boombox. And when we stopped at Trader Joe’s, it only seemed natural to put the boombox (which is, just to set the scene, about the size of an alarm clock) on the roof of the car and, you know, rock out, which we did before we went in the store and also while we loaded the trunk.

I guess the best part was when a child started dancing to the music and his mother dragged him away while shooting us, the riffraff, a mean look, closely followed by the soundtrack to the Ore-Ida commercial I saw last night, which is...yeah.

Next step: boombox on the subway.

you're welcome

Like me, my sister H is a connoisseur of really bad television. She's not quite as adventurous as, say, my mom, who watches The Bachelor and Dancing With the Stars, which I'm pretty sure are irredeemable, but she has a particularly keen eye for shows about stupid people being unintentionally hilarious, à la Celebrity Apprentice. She has turned me onto many delightful programs over the years.

But when she told me she has been watching MTV's The Duel 2, which is one of those Real World vs. Road Rules train wrecks, I thought that she had gone too far. Even her hilarious description of last night's program, wherein there was a spelling competition with the word "cucumber," could not convince me otherwise.

Then she told me to watch the opening credits.

At first, I refused, but she wouldn't get off the phone until I looked for the clip. When I googled it and the first hit was a post on one of my favorite websites, Videogum, I started to realize how foolish I'd been. I can't remember the last time I laughed this hard.



So, like, at first this clip seems like a standard, if weirdly somber, introduction to a reality show as we cycle through shots of each d-bag cast member looking like they're thinking too hard. But then, about halfway through, it erupts into pure wizard magic, as the Chief D-bag launches into an impressively offensive/TOTALLY AMAZING string of "tribal" gibberish--think Sigur Rós, if Sigur Rós were retarded racists.

After watching it a dozen or so times, I have decided that my favorite is the fat guy at the end. Dance, Eric, dance!

sweet fancy moses

How did I not know until now that Stephin Merritt was working on an adaptation of Coraline? And how is it possible that I have the good fortune to be in New York during its run?

Now playing at the Lucille Lortel Theatre

This might be even more exciting than when Shockheaded Peter came across the pond. Apparently, in addition to the super-creepy strains of the toy piano, Mr. Merritt has used a prepared piano outfitted with regular household items like playing cards and, you know, gold-plated dildos.

Like me, Stephin Merritt likes children's literature more than, you know, actual children.

Fucking A.