Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
7388
A long time ago, in a land far, far away, the inhabitants of Apartment 7388
recorded the events that engulfed each one in a journey too weird to truly define.
7 people, 2 cats, 2 ferrets and 1 dog. Two bedrooms, one and a half bath.
3 months. Anything can happen at any moment, and everything is taken to the extreme.
No privacy.
No rules.
Chaos Personified.
Tune in Next Sunday at 11PM for the latest adventure in Apartment 7738! It's definitely worth it.
recorded the events that engulfed each one in a journey too weird to truly define.
7 people, 2 cats, 2 ferrets and 1 dog. Two bedrooms, one and a half bath.
3 months. Anything can happen at any moment, and everything is taken to the extreme.
No privacy.
No rules.
Chaos Personified.
Tune in Next Sunday at 11PM for the latest adventure in Apartment 7738! It's definitely worth it.
Andrew WK and the Caulder Quartet (late but not underappreciated)
Andrew WK performs with the Calder Quartet at the Largo at the Coronet in West Hollywood.
Andrew WK = Energy. Plain and simple. That mother fucker inherently plays a riotous show. So what happens when you put a bunch of WK fans inside a tiny theater amongst a classical (albeit avante garde) audience? - the answer is pure joy. Each movement of music was exuberant and beautiful. Following WK's release of 55 Cadillac - his first instrumental, solo album - Andrew embarked on a short-lived, high energy tour with the Calder Quartet - a truly graceful string quartet - exposing his raw-power fan base to a new version of WK's greatest hits. (I GET WET, PARTY HARD, I LOVE NEW YORK CITY, and DANCE PARTY) In addition to this were beauitful, synchronized performances of Christine Southworth's 'Honey Flyers' and Philip Glass's 'Company'. Andrew WK also did some charming solo improvizations that embodied his sound and spirit wrapped up in this weird, weird medium.
One question that I've been asking myself (and that Chris Brake has been asking me): Why the fuck doesn't WK play anything from his later releases?? 5 albums have been released since 2001's 'I Get Wet', but none of the later material was showcased in this incredible forumn. I want to know WHY!?!? What contract has been breached that prevents WK from playing ANYTHING from his library? Come on WK stalkers - I know you're out there - who wants to weigh in?
I've heard a lot about conspiracies surrounding WK - most of which I'm sure are pure gossip - but, one has to wonder - as I sat in that theater and watched him do what he does - who is Andrew WK? And where will he take us next?
In short, the performance was one of the highlights of my year. Raw, uninhibitioned FUN!
Welcome to my Playhouse.
I have been consumed by a tiny apartment in California. I eat, drink and sleep here. I need a chronicle. If I don't start one now, there will never be anything to see or touch - nothing tangible. My time will continue to slip and slide and - good god - it will be a year - ten years - later. Asking: HOW THE FUCK DID I GET HERE!? Time and space move forward and backwards and sideways. Each single individual is an axis point. We are all doomed to be trapped in this cycle: eat, drink, sleep, repeat.
And how do you break out of THAT? I sit in a cubicle 40 hours a week, starring at green and blue translucent walls. Data entry, data entry, data entry. How is that spreadsheet different from this discovery here?
How can that be just as therapeutic as this sentence right NOW?
No answers. Only questions. On and on and on.
The ocean is two blocks away, inching ever closer to washing us all away. Will California break from the continent? Will I see it happen from my patio? Watch the waves engulf everything I've come to know? And then SPLIT. BREAK. CHANGE.
Big, unsettling words for a Sunday in October. Where are the maple and oak trees? Why can I only find palms??
Where did the Midwest go!?
HOW DID I GET HERE?
And, if I'm constantly asking myself how I've reached this point, can I ever move forward from it?
Can we?
Shaky hands throwing rocks at brick walls. Crusted hands, caked in dirt, semen, blood and sweat. Constant migration. Where will we spend fall, winter, spring, summer? How do these seasons - or lack thereof - affect me - affect them? How am I so different from the beggar at the beach corner? Where does materialism stop and humanism begin? Why do I want THINGS?
See what I mean, constant badgering questions running around my brain. Clawing at the walls. GET ON OUT HERE MAN!
Come seek your answers. Escape is imminent. And, everything could come crashing down all at once.
On a more realistic note, living in Los Angeles proper could either result in my execution or complete self-realization. Here's your ticket, enjoy the ride.
And how do you break out of THAT? I sit in a cubicle 40 hours a week, starring at green and blue translucent walls. Data entry, data entry, data entry. How is that spreadsheet different from this discovery here?
How can that be just as therapeutic as this sentence right NOW?
No answers. Only questions. On and on and on.
The ocean is two blocks away, inching ever closer to washing us all away. Will California break from the continent? Will I see it happen from my patio? Watch the waves engulf everything I've come to know? And then SPLIT. BREAK. CHANGE.
Big, unsettling words for a Sunday in October. Where are the maple and oak trees? Why can I only find palms??
Where did the Midwest go!?
HOW DID I GET HERE?
And, if I'm constantly asking myself how I've reached this point, can I ever move forward from it?
Can we?
Shaky hands throwing rocks at brick walls. Crusted hands, caked in dirt, semen, blood and sweat. Constant migration. Where will we spend fall, winter, spring, summer? How do these seasons - or lack thereof - affect me - affect them? How am I so different from the beggar at the beach corner? Where does materialism stop and humanism begin? Why do I want THINGS?
See what I mean, constant badgering questions running around my brain. Clawing at the walls. GET ON OUT HERE MAN!
Come seek your answers. Escape is imminent. And, everything could come crashing down all at once.
On a more realistic note, living in Los Angeles proper could either result in my execution or complete self-realization. Here's your ticket, enjoy the ride.
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