MEGA POST! Part 1: Crashing in Jersey

Party people in the house say yeahhhh!!!

(Yeahhhhhh!!!)

If you were wondering why the hell I

hadn't put up photos in so long, the answer

is because I lost the USB cable. But I bought a

new card reader today, so not only can I post

up all the exciting things that have gone on in the

past few weeks, but I can start bringing my

camera out even more for new ThursDaves!

Yay!

Here are a few photos from a couple weeks ago

when Russ and Spencer freeloaded on my couch

for what seemed like forever! Just kidding. They're

good house guests.

The night these next 3 were taken, Wyldlife had just

played a show at Lit Lounge, which was a boatload of

fun. For some reason, I was really really wired and

excited, and so the next thing we know, the band and

our friends were at St. Jerome's getting hammered

at a KISS themed party. What more do you need?

We were also treated to free pizza because our beautiful

friend, Chiara, spoke that divine language that is

Italian to the shop owner. Sam slept over at some dudes

house (no homo) while the three of us went back to

Jersey City. By the time we crawled out of the PATH,

it was 6:15 in the morning and the sun was fully up.

Everything was hilarious and I was certain the three

of us had become insane.

Observe the photos of us

just as we touched back into my apartment:

Spencer, looking like an escaped convict.

Russ, looking like a former asylum inmate.

Myself, looking like a struggling drug addict on my way

to the big house. HOORAY FOR SLEEP!

The dudes stayed over for a few days living off of ramen

noodles, Chef Boyardee, and water. We had lots of fun

scoping out some Jersey City night life. I will miss them

and they are both welcome back into my place anytime.

As a token of appreciation, Spencer drew me my very

own portrait from this watercolor like ink. I was so

pleased. If he were my court artist, I would never

behead him.

I will have this forever. If you like this art,

you should check out Spencil's first ever

exhibition at Balance Salon this Friday

night at 7pm! 18 Erie Street. I'll be there,

and not just because I'm working!

Last Laugh, Punk.

The following was written at 3:25 in the morning on Sunday, May 30th 2010. The "story," if you can even call it that, took place in 10 seconds. It felt good, which is why I'm sharing it with all of you.

As a journalism major, I assure you, everything is accurate to the best of my knowledge. Details, as far as I know, are not exaggerated. Enjoy.

Forward: I had just spent about 2 hours and 50 bucks on drinks at St. Jerome's in the lower east side, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite bars. I met up with Sam, Spencer, Manuel, Louise, Nick, and Nick's friend for many bottles of Budweiser (my wallet is now just starting to feel the massive weight loss). I worked a whole day at a shoot to promote, of all things, a Japanese coffee shop where, in true poser fashion, I had to stand around SoHo with my skateboard. Total herb status, but there's not much I wouldn't do for a hundred bucks. I felt like I deserved a $4.00 beer or ten.

Anyway, my best friends had to go back to their apartment in Harlem for the evening, leaving me to the rest of the wolves in the LES. Keep in mind, I'm nothing but a Jersey City bunny rabbit. Shortly thereafter, I received a text from a Turkish cutie with whom I tried to meet up saying she's tired from working all day and blah blah blah.

Woe. Is. Me. At least I got one free drink just for wearing a Slayer tee shirt my mommy got me when I was four. (Thanks mom!)

Downing my last beer I can consume without committing theft, I walked out into the balmy Spring night. By the time I got to Houston, all I wanted was to be in my shaky JC bed. I have the Exploding Hearts on my iPod as I cut west to the Port Authority Trans Hudson when a still-lit cigarette butt skids right towards my tattered, dirty, Sperry Top Siders. Like a baby bird following mama bird, another cigarette flies over my left shoulder landing just to the left of my leg.

I removed my headphones only to hear the cackling of a crowd in their late twenties. I swivel my neck and their are seven people wearing their bestest Hoboken/Financial district Saturday evening leisure wear (Four dudes and three chicks: Isn't it always the case that this group has a heftier dead weight tag-along?) Without batting an eye, I turn around as one gentlemen in a painted-on black tee shirt assures me, "I was just joking around, bro. It was just a joke."

To which I said, "Oh, you were just joking around?" And then I wound up...

And spit right in his face.

The last thing I saw before I turned around and proceeded to my train was something like a 12 year old victim on Slime Time Live or Super Sloppy Family Double Dare. Eyes closed and brows raised, miserable, but knowing that an audience of many had just witnessed his defeat. Worst still, the audience was a group of his friends saying, in unison, "Ohhhhhhhh..."

Knowing he wouldn't and couldn't do anything, I walked back to my train listening to one of my favorite records, Shattered.

My legs moved sans pause on that train, and all I wished was that my local dive's last call was at 4 and not 3.

100 Things That Are Ugly/Things That I Don't Like

I wrote this because I feel like there's something therapeutic about telling people a bunch of crap that I hate. Maybe I can better myself eventually and learn to let it go. Don't worry, I wrote the opposite list as well. I'll put it up later this week. Until then, here's this:

1. My brother's car. It's a great car, but it's ugly. Least it's black.

2. The phlegm I hack up every morning.

3. Lady Gaga.

4. My feet.

5. The taste of drugs.

6. Baruch College's Vertical Campus.

7. The bugs that live in mom's shower.

8. Christian Rock.

9. While we're at it, organized religion.

10. Self-inflicted cigarette burns.

11. The foam at the bottom of my bottle.

12. My crooked right wrist.

13. The Osiris D3.

14. My dad's bald spot and what it's going to mean for me.

15. The bar downstairs from me that vibrates my bed with its house music.

16. My mishapen, discolored left big toe.

17. Moms who think they're cool.

18. My bleeding gums.

19. Vicious dogs.

20. Back-stabbers.

21. Cops.

22. Sunburns, which I always get.

23. Safety equipment.

24. Sunday morning anxiety.

25. Eye boogers.

26. The cracking noise my ankles make with every step.

27. Swelbows.

28. The time I got chlamydia was pretty ugly.

29. UFO pants.

30. Every girl I ever loved one year later.

31. Decaf coffee. What gives?

32. My English professor.

33. The sandpaper texture on my thumbs.

34. Cockroaches.

35. 80 cent margarine purchased at...

36. ...C-Town grocery stores.

37. When tattoos fade from black to green.

38. Scars on my legs.

39. The bus I wrote this list in.

40. Times when I lack a spine.

41. Losing scratch off tickets collecting on my sidewalk.

42. Young cynicism (mine).

43. Rejection.

44. Crack addicts' teeth.

45. Port Authority Trans Hudson: everything about it.

46. Hard-boiled eggs.

47. My best friend's Leukemia.

48. Mel Gibson's bigotry.

49. High Fives don't look cool.

50. My 360 flips.

51. The Dept. of Motor Vehicles.

52. Green, NYC cocktail puddles.

53. Muscle magazines.

54. When Ambien doesn't work.

55. Ronson Lambert's style.

56. The fact that I genuinely care about this.

57. Caldors department stores. Glad they're dead.

58. Pushing mongo, which I used to do for the first 2-3 years of skating.

59. The time Mike dropped a telephone on my eye and it swelled up black.

60. My complete indifference to the homeless.

61. The way some men treat their women.

62. The way some women treat their men.

63. Having a continent of separation between you and the ones that matter.

64. Pot-induced anxiety attacks.

65. Post-ecstasy fevers.

66. John Rocker. Remember that dude?

67. The day when Christmas and birthdays become just another day on the calender.

68. Nazis.

69. Zombies.

70. Politics.

71. The mole on my neck.

72. My obvious vanity.

73. My starvation for affection.

74. Wet socks/wet shoes.

75. Hands free cell phone conversations.

76. The smell of uncooked bacon at Paradise Deli. Fuck those guys.

77. Knowing that the people making my sandwich in Subway are making fun of my in Indian and not being able to do anything about it.

78. People who don't tip the shampoo boy.

79. MTVs Teen Mom.

80. Pornography models from 1990-the present.

81. Blood stains in my bed sheets.

82. The scum-stache I have at this time of writing.

83. The shoes my mom bought me and insists that I should love.

84. Kanye West sunglasses.

85. My yellow teeth and bright white legs.

86. The arrogant prick in my Black Studies class.

87. Summer roadkill.

88. Waking up alone. Fearing I'll die alone.

89. Wine hangovers.

90. The penis that some kid at Culture Shock drew on my leather jacket.

91. The Dave Matthews Band and the Counting Crows. Burn in hell.

92. Hot Topic and mall skate shops.

93. White people with dreadlocks.

94. Black people with blonde hair (except Rodman).

95. Women in baseball caps.

96. My old neighbor, Mrs. Biederman, who threatened to call the cops at every band practice. Her entire family is a joke.

97. Turtleneck sweaters.

98. Turkeys.

99. Watching all my friends leave school weeks before I even have finals.

100. Walking outside the subway station with 200 sleepy zombies every morning.

The Future Man I Wish Not To Be

"The Future Man I Wish Not to Be"

The future man I wish not to be

Has carved real estate in my present sanity

He has long retired his jackets of denim and leather

And wears low thread count suits (regardless of weather).

Charisma gone to nought he lives uninspired

With a stuffed wallet of fast food coupons long gone expired

Gone are the days when he commanded the stages

And the various affairs with women of varying ages.

And the lines 'round his brow jest as if to say:

Mom said to quit smoking, you should have obeyed.

But he bows to his coffee and the breath of nicotine

Another swirl in a screw

In a cog

In a rod

Of a spoke

In a wheel

In a chamber of wheels

In a chamber

Of chambers...

But he enters the workplace, lowers his head with a nod

Collects his directions, his first words: Yes, boss.

And when the data's collected and the numbers are crunched

He sits down in the cafe for his tuna fish lunch

Observing the girls kiss cheeks, lower their coffees and say "Ciao!"

He thinks, "She looked like her, too. Wonder where she is now."

Then it's back up the stairs to finish his work

Boss says: Tomorrow, bright and early.

His second words: Yes, sir.

And he lurches to get to his cluttered studio

Five floors up and seven more to go

And looking out the dusty and caged hall window

Thinks how inviting the pavement looks down below.

He unlocks the door, the magazines litter the floor

With the torn lottery tickets he bought at the store

Next to the refrigerator, his tiny mattress stretches for miles

And he lays down at six thirty and closes his eyes.

But now me in my present, I shake off the thought

And rehearse my lyrics on the train that I've caught

Because I've a show downtown and I'll see you in the crowd

And when done, rush to you like the smog to the clouds.

And we'll hug and we'll kiss and try to hold on to the night

And I'll whisper,

"Thanks for coming, darling. Now please pass me a light."

Rough Sex

She made me like it.

My Other Family

We went to Little Stevie's recording studio in Union,

New Jersey for a live recording session with our new

best friend, Rich Russo from 101.9 RXP. Wyldlife is

becoming the reason for my existence, and I wouldn't

have it any other way.

"Switchblade" Sam on the thing that goes "Weeeeoooww

Weeoooww widdly-widdly weeeooooowww!"

Ray Gunz on the thing that goes "Buh-Buh buh buh buh

buddly buh buh!"

Last but certainly not least, Rabid Russ on the thing that

goes "Crash! Boom! Boo cao! ssshhhhHHHSHHHH

BANG!"

Myself with the future roadie of the Wyldlife Foundation,

Kenny AKA the coolest motherfucker alive.

Dude, You're Blowing It

Sup guys? Sorry I haven't posted in so long. Things have been getting kinda crazy at school, and a lot of my blogging activity has been taken up by this journalism project I've been working on. It's going to be sick once it's all complete, and is focused around the skateboarding scene in Jersey City. Good shit to come.

Let's see. Since the last time I posted, I have been playing numerous shows with Wyldlife including once sold out show at Webster Hall. That got us a spot on Rich Russo's Anything Anything show, which is the best radio program on the East Coast. We're also doing a taping for this music website and it is somehow related to Steve Van Zandt. All this juggled with some shows scattered around NYC and a forthcoming Wyldlife EP.

It's finally warm out (perhaps it's already too warm out) and so I'm skating a lot and sweating even more. That comes with the territory I suppose. Hoping to get the homies together to skate more again, if only this goddamn school would end. I've also gotten Wanda the Honda out of storage so I've been riding that beast around town a bit.

Good things are coming, it's just a lot of juggling between different projects. Please excuse my lack of posting. Until the next time, pump up some Nick Cave.

-Dave.