Nil by Mouth

In Praise of Paris

Last night i saw In Praise of Love which brought back many memories of my last year in Paris. If Woody Allen makes the city his star in Manhattan, Godard does similarly for Paris. I was surprised and grateful that he seemed to think of the city in the same two ways as me: beautifully lonely and damp. Especially damp. It is raining or has just rained in nearly every scene. For every sunny day, i can think of a week of damp. This pattern started in early November and ended in April sometime. After the first month of rain it was hard to tell if damp was a part of the city or a part of my mood. I went everywhere with my clear plastic umbrella in tow. I was attached to that umbrella unnaturally. It was the first time that i actually wore out an umbrella instead of leaving it somewhere. The rainy night it broke outside my apartment i was in disbelief. I took the thing upstairs and fiddled with the innumerable metal rods that hung from the plastic. One tiny fastener ring had broke and the entire construction had fallen apart. I never knew what a complicated and fragile thing an umbrella was. It took a few weeks of denial, of keeping the thing in a corner of my kitchen, of going back to it several times with determination, until i finally gave up. After, i was surprised that any of these contraptions last longer than a few weeks. As luck would have it, it died in April.

The film also captures a gritty and post-industrial Paris i never knew. There is a certain long scene on the Seine across from a burnt out Renault factory. I won’t comment on the maybe-too-obvious symbolism, but i racked my brain for where this could be. I could name almost every other area pictured. In my 10 months there, i took insanely long walks in what i thought was every neighborhood in the city, but i must have missed some places. When i was there i remember noticing actually the lack of post-industrial spaces which made New York and other cities in the Northeast US distinctive.

Along with the damp, the decrepit, and the lonely, there is a heavy (and boring) rant on the lack of American identity, mostly focused on Steven Spielberg. Yawn. If there is anything i could say i miss the least about being in France it’s the nationalism disguised as anti-Americanism. I tried to not pay attention during those parts. This was easy because, call me slow, but i couldn’t really follow any of the plot of this puppy anyway. It was actually ok because i could snuggle down in the almost empty theater and just enjoy the beauty of the cities on the screen, and make a game out of trying to remember my French. In Prase of Love is slightly more coherent than his King Lear which i saw in Paris last year. But the funny thing was, after the lights came up, there was the exact same exhausted chuckle that came from the handful in the audience in both movies in both cities. Vive la similarity.

• Sep 19
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Runny Nose

A rainstorm hit, 2 car alarms are going off, and i woke up with a cold. It has been ages since i had a cold. The last one i can remember was over two years ago. I guess i was asking for it. If i didn’t wake up with a cold, it would have been the third morning in a row of me having crashed into bed kind of drunk, clothes in a ball, not brushing my teeth, and then getting up and doing things all day. So i’m concluding it’s a cold of exhaustion. But fun’s been having had: In backwards order, it was a night chock full of self publishers at Dori’s birthday party. Had a really nice really new york city walk home with Jami and Swerdloff. And am particularly grateful to Jami who wanted to leave after only a few because it had the potential to be one of those nights where i spent way too much money and drank way too much. Realized that Juli lives 4 blocks away from me, and i’m hoping Jami moves into the neighborhood so she can crack me up much more regularly than she does now. Before then we wandered around in “for rest”, which was actually very very impressive (but very very hot). I particularly liked the paintings by Frankie B. Rice, none of which i can find online to link to. They were really nice oil paintings of rows of trees and plants. Just my favorite types of things, order among disorder, or vice versa, or whatever. They were good. It was a plant themed evening all around actually. I had on my Biosphere II t-shirt and gave Dori a few cuttings from the herb garden for her birthday, “To Eat or To Plant”. Unrelated to plants, i broke in my passed-down powder blue cowboy boots, which i may never take off again.

Tired and tired, yesterday Darleen and i saw The Silent Project in the city. It was pretty weird. There was a lineup of quality djs, and you went up to this counter to rent headsets to hear it. And then people just sort of shuffled around listening to music and exchanging really uncomfortable glances. I’d be curious to know if the curators thought it was successful. I danced a little bit just cause the beats were really good, but it was really stuffy and moreover weird to dance alone while 20 or 30 people stand around aimlessly and try not to stare. I knew that they were hearing the same music as me so there was this very small connection, but it was really pretty isolating to have headphones on in a room full of people with headphones. And then it’s weird to talk to people cause you don’t want to be yelling over the music that only you can hear, and you don’t know at what volumes everyone else is listening at either. My suggestion was that they might have planted 5 or 6 people to really dance and get people going. But maybe the whole point was just to realize that music is way cooler as a shared experience. That’s what i came away with anyway.

The night before then i saw an old friend, and it was revealed to me that i was a “Spirit Guide” to a friend of a friend at burning man 3 years ago. The story was actually really sweet, and made me feel pretty nice. you know one doesn’t get told that they acted right too often, only when you mess up usually. Oh, and being a Spirit Guide entitles you to drinks. Thus the tired hangover yesterday. We went to some old haunts in the burg, and i swear the new new shit economy has hit. On both Friday and Saturday night, along with a Saturday brunch i shouldn’t have been spending money at, half the booths and tables were empty. It was kind of nice actually.

Before then, i finally got to hit some tennis balls and pick up my awesome looking business cards that John kindly designed. They look so great that they might engender a redesign of neille.com. Now i just need to hobnob with the types of people who might want to pay me to do things.

• Sep 15
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Plants, The New Dogs

I no longer have a pet, no where near having a child, mostly single, and only very marginally employed. So what have i done with my lurking need to care for and/or about something you ask? Plants. And lots of ‘em. I want to introduce a few of them to you my loving readers, and my loving bots.

This is Gordon T. Basil II. Gordon T the First lived fast and died young when he was trapped in an unfortunate wind tunnel at the 110 St – Cathedral Parkway 1/9 train station in 1996. He was only able to produce one pesto, but it was a fabulous pesto. Gordon T. II, however is a real trooper. Every time i turn around there’s a new stalk, and the smell… ummmm that smell. He’s so perfect i’ve had to add basil to things i’d never dreamed of before. Basil catfish anyone?

His cousin once removed is Willie. Willie’s a sweetheart. Really, he’s a sweet basil. He has the same robust growing nature as Gordon T II (must run in the family), but his taste is a bit more subtle. He’s great with chicken and currently sharing an overcrowded New York City space with some parsley which i haven’t named yet.

And finally there are the Johnnies, the three tomato plants. Technically there are 11, but there are 3 pots so i go with the easier number. I grew all these lovelies from seeds, and i’m particularly proud of the tomatoes which i’ve replanted 3 times because i was convinced they’d never survive and kept scrimping on the pots. Now, i’m not sure if it was my constant love and attention or the unending weeks of sweltering heat and humidity this summer, but they’ve done marvelously. I can’t remember if i planted late or the summer started late, but if we have a couple more weeks of hot weather there’ll be be a plate of Tomato, Basil, and Mozzarella worthy of gods. If it gets cold soon, i’ll be taking this Fried Green Tomatoes thing seriously. It really doesn’t sound like it should be taken seriously tho. Really doesn’t.

I’ve got lots more, but i don’t want to seem like a crazy plant lady or anything so i’m holding back. There was one casualty of the summer, a row of cilantro which was doing fine and then all of ‘em just up and died one morning, out of nowhere. It was sad. And particularly weird since someone told me cilantro is a weed and should grow with practically no care. Maybe i cared too much? Death is always a risk in the game of loving plants. But i’ll still take my chances.

• Sep 13
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Yesterday

Grrr. If you watched any television yesterday you were probably forced to cry at least a little. It was like sweeps week, except instead of being after ratings those urchins were after tears. Am i being impossibly cynical? I don’t know. It was all moving because the stories are moving, but i don’t trust any of the well-coifed news anchors to care about the actual well-being of people past the moments when their eyeballs are stuck to the TV.

I have probably watched the least amount of television coverage of anyone, having been abroad with no TV set for 8 of the last 12 months, but i’m still at the i-can’t-take-anymore stage. I only saw the video footage that everyone here knows by heart last May. I watched the actual event in a tiny window on a french webcast at work in paris. Then i nervously chain-smoked cigarettes with the other American outside the office. I was sitting on the hood of a little car and it was a crisp fall day. In later months i would feel horribly disconnected from everything New York and everything Paris. I wished i could either be back in New York, or wipe the place out of my mind, but i didn’t do either. Mostly i just smoked.

~~~

I saw Woody Allen’s Manhattan yesterday at free show at BAM. Manhattan has never looked more beautiful, she is the real star. As a love story though, the film is pretty depressing since everyone in it is kind of a jerk (and i find myself relating to all of them). And the couple in front of me was being so cuddly i kept imagining how easy it would be to step on their heads, repeatedly. But like Mr Allen, i also fall in love with Diane Keaton whenever she’s in one of his movies. That hussy!

Before it started, like a scene out of a Woody Allen movie the slightly dorky guy sitting next to me started talking to me about obscure French directors who’s names he couldn’t remember. I wasn’t biting. I’m only impressed these days by guys with absolutely nothing to prove. Guys who are basically indifferent to me. And even then i’m skeptical. I need a date desperately but i don’t trust anyone in pants. It’s a quandary. And it’s interesting that no one i encountered yesterday said a word about the anniversary, yet it was the only thing on the lips of our media. Was it simple over-saturation, or was not talking about it for just one day the best way? I don’t know. Nobody knows, least of all Fox News Team coverage.

• Sep 12
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donut crust

Yowsies a pie with donut crust? I might want like a custard inside instead of redi-whip, but donut crust… brilliant!

• Sep 7
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Root It Down

Holy Shit. Last night i went to the best club, with the best djs, and the best crowd in more time than i can remember. And the craziest part is… it’s in LA. Do things get any weirder? It was here, the Root Down, corner of Melrose and Normandie. It started out odd cause we’re in the middle of Koreatown, which isn’t known for its hopping nightlife. On the upside, the street parking is a cinch (two and a half weeks and i’m acting like a native again). We got there at 10 to take advantage of the half price cover until 10:30. Some people close the club, others open it. We all have our place. No one was there, but the 15 year olds milling around the entrance had us slightly concerned. Things got more worrisome as i ordered my Gin & Tonic and the bartender asked me for six dollars. Six Dollars!?! Motioning to the door, “Isn’t this the corner of Melrose and Normandie?” i quipped in my best Clueless voice. It’s possible i’ve missed some serious neighborhood facelifts, but it was kind of like a six dollar G&T in Sunset Park. Ok ok, i’ve never had a G&T in Sunset Park either. I just have my ideas about these things.

But the djs started and things started looking up really fast. The first dj was the dude i saw spinning at burning man. To be honest i was a little nervous. I had thought he was cookin really really hot out in the desert. Enough that i was inspired to dance up to the dj booth and yell at the top of my lungs, “Dude! You are Rockin’!” But i had a substance or two in my body, and i admit that i may have had an exaggerated idea of how hot this cookin of his really was. And i had talked him up majorly to the ladies, so like, my reputation as a spotter of cool was on the line.

After drinks the three of us tentatively made our way on to the empty dancefloor. The music was good, but everyone seemed to be hanging on the walls. Slowly, i barely even noticed how, the dance floor packed em in. And it was packed with really really good dancers, with moves i’d never seen before. The music switched from hip hop to dancehall to salsa to combinations of everything in between. Mostly it was beats i had never heard, and did i say yet, it was really hot. And everyone was dancing. And no one had any attitude. And the crowd was totally mixed (and all really good looking). And none of the guys were being sleazy. It totally changes the vibe if all the guys are dancing just to dance, or are more interested in picking up girls. And they all seem way more attractive doing the former.

Eventually i went up to the dj and told him i heard him spin at burning man which totally floored him, and made me feel kind of like a leacherous dj groupie. But we did have this special connection. Swear. Anyway, i kept asking Liza and Amy (all 2 of my friends in LA) if all clubs were this cool out here. If so, i would have to start reconsidering my life plan. Neither of them gave me a straight answer, and i suspect not because they were as surprised as i was at how fun everything was. Point is, if you find yourself in LA on a thursday night you’d be crazy nuts not to get yourself to the Root Down.

In the meantime, it’s once again fabulous weather out here by the beach, and i have a shopping date with mom. I may buy these second hand red snakeskin cowboy boots that i saw in a window the other day, but i really shouldn’t cause i have no room in my suitcase and no paying projects in my future.

PS – I have this hairbrained idea that i want to be bicoastal, so if anyone out in LA wants to hire me for anything, i’m game. (Umm.. actually that goes for New York too).

• Sep 7
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broom

Amazon.com: buying info: Harry Potter Nimbus 2000 Broom Scroll down and read the reviews – fabulous! Where was this when i was a young’un?

• Sep 4
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Burned It

So i made it. There and back, though none of it was easy. First of all the ride share was slightly sketch. The dude, who was nice enough overall, was a Scientologist and a slow driver. After he picked me up at 9am, all i could think was “Fuck” as the needle on the speedometer hovered at 15 mph for our entire drive from Venice to Culver City and i was given an introduction to the spiritual guidance of L Ron Hubbard. A drive that should have taken 5 minutes took 20 and felt like 45. Luckily there was another rider along and she and i could commiserate. The radiator died halfway between Bishop and Mammoth and we ended up getting towed back to Bishop where the four of us (3 roadtrippers plus 1 tow truck driver) were squished in the cab. I was in the most interesting position, having the gear shift in between my legs. Luckily the driver was above board. He did comment that he’d enjoy having someone grab at his crotch for 45 minutes. We had to camp in Bishop that night since the radiator shop was closed, subtracting a day from our burn right there. The dude was quite impressive however as he changed the radiator in the truck all by himself. (I tightened some screws.) Eight hours and a smattering more of Scientology later, we arrived at Black Rock City. Of course it was awesome, the lights, the dust, the nonstop trance (kidding on the trance). And i managed to freak out all the kiddies there who had no idea i was coming. Lots of “Oh Shit!” and that sort of thing.

As always there are stories, but only a quick recap here. I got a middle of the night ride along the perimeter on a art-Vespa, my first time on any motorized bike. The next day i got a tour of nearly the whole center of the playa on a full-fledged motorcycle, which was the coolest thing ever. Damn i want one. I got perfect opportunities to yell out “Rock ‘n Roll!” at least 20 times in 3 days. When you are on a big dusty bike behind a large leather clad biker with a teddy bear helmet on, you have to yell “Rock ‘n Roll! Woooooo!” pretty much every few minutes. The nights were tons of good dancing, where at one place i met a cool guy who’s directed me to what he swears is the best hip hop in LA on Thursday night. I’ll definitely check it out as i have no clue what to do here. There was more, but there’s always too much. And i always bring my camera and i never take any pictures. This year was bottom as i took a total of 0 pictures. Usually it’s one or two.

In all though, i think this was it for me at burning man. I just wasn’t as psyched about it all as i should’ve been. The first two years opened my eyes to whole new way of interacting with people. The whole idea of participatory culture was completely new so i was enthralled with everything. But now i’m on board, and all the extra stuff like the naked people, the drugs, the costumes are just not as exciting anymore. I mean, i’m glad people that are so inclined have a place to express it, but i feel like i can do and wear and do whatever drugs i want anywhere at this point. This year i appreciated the awesome landscape and the people the most. I hung out with the least cool folks, like leather clad pot bellied bikers in stuffed bear helmets. And a dude who rigs things in his spare time. Meaning he makes a lot of knots and stuff. And that pimply 15 year old wearing a huge chain link and a master lock around his neck. The last night i was dancing with Mo from brooklyn, and i looked down at myself in my tattered old navy jeans, black hoodie, and knit hat and was like “I’m dressed the same as if i was going to a house party in brooklyn.” And Mo, in her sparkly little silver dress, arm band do-dads and silvery makeup was like, “Me too.” And i laughed. She was. I guess that was the point. I just don’t need to go out to the desert to be myself these days. But 3 years ago i totally did.

Nevertheless, i’m glad i went. The desert was amazing, and there were more stars than dirty hippies. And it’s likely that i’ll change my mind completely and go again next year. In the meantime, i’m back in LA for another week and half before i face the music in new york. And right now a coffee drink is calling to me.

• Sep 3
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LA Calling

Ok – it’s official. I’m going to burning man. Lately i’ve been “leaving things up to fate”. And fate kind of worked it out. I got an unexpected freelance gig that earned me exactly the money for a ticket and gas money. I found a ride, a sleeping bag, and more importantly i found a little project, which will eventually end up on this website. I can’t talk too much about it because i’m superstitious about these things and don’t wanna jinx it, but you’ll see. I think it’s gonna be good.

In other news LA is LA and if you treat it as such, things can be pretty fun. The weather is beautiful, and the parking plentiful. I’ve had to scrape around to get rides here and there; it feels a lot like freshman year of high school. Also been doing a lot of walking.

Meanwhile, another installment of Signs Telling You You’re in Los Angeles:

In the coveted first spot in your wallet, you’ve replaced the MTA metro card with a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf coffee drink punch card. Twelve drinks and the thirteenth is free.

At the coffee shop in the morning, a guy drives right up to the door, gets out of the car holding a skateboard, gets his coffee, and gets back into the car cup in one hand, skateboard in the other, and drives away.

Guy at the coffee shop compliments you on your dog’s aura. (You politely inform him that the dog knows there are biscuits inside and is on his best behavior)

You overhear a guy saying he’s “doing a coast card gig on General Hospital” when his friend asks him what he’s up to.

On the way back from coffee you walk by two separate houses from which the sound of chanting wafts out.

When someone you don’t know waves at you and you say “Sorry, do i know you?”. He says “Weren’t you at Ira’s retreat? Hatha Yoga?” Umm. No.

Your dad can’t stop bragging about his secret parking spot for the busy restaurant where he’s a regular. Said restaurant is 6 blocks from the house.

• Aug 24
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Rib tip?

Ack – I don’t have to tell anyone anywhere near new york how nasty nasty nasty hot it is. All i can think about is getting the hell out of here. I’m leaving for the west coast on wednesday, so i’m already postponing plans with friends “until the fall’. Those words sound so sweet. Right now i’m in the process of not going to either of my two soiree options for the semi-lame reason that i can not possibly wait in any sticky stifling train stations tonight. My apartment is bad enough thank you. If my local bars weren’t such pick-up joints i’d probably duck into one. But i’m in no mood to be prowled.

Last night Stephen, Darleen, and i saw some sound art at the Whitney. After several “Whitney Spritzers” (Vodka, Green Apple Schnapps, and some other alcohol) our evening quickly deteriorated. Firstly i haven’t been drinking nearly enough in the last few months and my tolerance is dangerously low. Two thirds of the way into my first whitney spritzer i promptly started embarrassing the two of them. It’s one thing to be sloppy late into the evening at a dark and smokey bar, it’s quite another thing when it’s still light out at a museum during a sound art show. Thing about sound art is that people are generally being quiet so they can, you know, hear it. At one point well into spritzer #2 i got up to go to bathroom and got tangled in some speaker wires causing a “distraction”.

“What’s she doing?” whispers Darleen.

“Trying to walk” Stephen replies.

Naturally i start laughing. Loudly. Yes, i was the obnoxious girl. The one everyone sighs heavily and rolls their eyes at. Actually I really did like the performance. I’ve been entranced with sound art lately. The Bill Fontana piece at Creative Time is especially good. In Paris i met an Italian sound artist who was kind of inspiring. She was inspiring because her stuff didn’t sound good at all and she had like 5 government grants. I respect that.

After the museum we found ourselves in the Upper East Side. I’m going to skip all the details about us being totally out our element and get to the point. After several hours of sweaty wandering and an apple martini here and there, we ended up at “The View”. No, not the morning talk show, but “New York City’s only revolving rooftop restaurant and lounge at the Marriott Marquis Times Square”. What started as a joke turned into all you can eat rib tips, frothy virgin ice cream drinks with vodka, and several spins on the horribly horribly horribly dj-ed dance floor. The rib tips were yummy. “Campbell’s Mushroom” Stephen declared after the first bite. I just love stuff made with Campbell’s mushroom. The ice cream drinks were gross. Ice cream and vodka is bad. I don’t care how good it sounds. The View was, as you can imagine, ridiculously fun. It’s rare that one gets to see women wearing fake eyelashes in earnest. If it wasn’t also ridiculously expensive i might think about going back. Oh i’m also not going back because of my urge to fast and maybe have an enema to repent for the all-you-can-eat rib tips thing.

• Aug 17
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