Pomp Obsessions - we're back!

All this latent cold weather makes me want to fly away somewhere... except for a few blissful moments playing in untouched snow and then cozying up in front of a space heater afterwards, the cold is a good-for-nothing beast which sinks teeth into the marrow of my bones and I want it out.
But other than hating on the cold, and blaming it on the rain (...nice) I've been busy getting obsessed with new things.
1) Friends as bloggers - never realized that one of your besties was a secret wordsmith until you found their blog by accident one night? Yeah... it happens. Some people are born to blog about things and have a naturally funny, endearing and adventurous voice. Then all of a sudden 20 entries in, you realize you know them, and that they've been hiding their brilliance from you all this time and you're a little bit hurt and a little hot and bothered and a lot of excited ... it's the voyeur in you.
2) Service Bell - try as I might, I can't get the Grizzly Bear featuring Feist version of this song out of my head. I love songs that paint word pictures, and this one paints me a Russian countryside filled with circus animals and trapeze artists swinging from branches while a mysterious person watches from far away, bell in hand.



3) Pink Dolphins - I know a narwhal video was featured not too long ago, but pink dolphins will give them a run for the gay-friendly-sea-creature title of the century.
4) Snuggie Pub Crawl - Pretty self-explanatory... I just heard about this, I want in!
5) Obamiconme.com - Paste magazine Editor-in-Chief, Josh Jackson, and some web developers just hatched this idea up one day and out comes - instant Facebook classic.



What are you obsessing over?

-Kastoory

It's all in the timing

I suck. A couple of weeks ago, Royal forwarded me an invite from L Magazine to go to some bar in the LES to cover the launch party for NYC comedian Demetri Martin's new Comedy Central show, Important Things with Demetri Martin. I thought it was a week later than it was, so I missed the damn thing.

I considered saying I went, and that the free beer flowed freely for a few hours, that OMG Demetri was totally there and gaw he's so frickin' cute couldn't you just die. And how I mustered up the courage to talk to him and I was terribly witty and charming and he laughed at all my jokes.

"Do you wanna get outta here? Somewhere more quiet where we can talk?" he asks, and I say sure. We go to the backroom at 'Inoteca and share a bottle of Pinot and then we fumble all over each other up against a dumpster somewhere on Ludlow and part ways, promising to find one another on Facebook or something equally tragic. Yeah. None of that happened.


But I did watch the premiere of his show Wednesday, and aptly enough, the theme of the show was "timing." Like Martin's live comedy show, the New Yorker incorporates his simple drawings, songs, and dry jokes in between sketches.

Many many Mondays ago, Martin ran a sort-of focus group at Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre. He spent a good four hours testing jokes and airing sketches from his upcoming show. Martin was looking for feedback, but most of us were too polite, or sincerely enjoyed what we saw. The only person who looked like he wasn't having a good time was the guy who played Stanford on Sex and the City. He sat up front, all arms folded and sour-pussed. What the fuck was his deal? Am I right, ladies? A few eager geeks did opine some of the sketches dragged on a bit, but for the most part they worked. Perhaps I'm biased 'cause I totally wanna bone him. What can I say; I'm a sucker for a big nose.


Anyway, Martin definitely took the criticism to heart, and tightened up his little sketches. One of my favorites of last night's premiere was the "guy too early for a rave." Martin's in bike shorts, and his long hair that usually hangs in his eyes in just the most darling way was up in pigtails. He was dancing around in broad daylight among people going to work and doing day time stuff. It was a simple idea, as most of Martin's premises are, but the visual was hilarious.

At that UCB show, Martin was asked who influenced him. Not surprisingly, he counted Steven Wright as one of his top inspirations. Like Wright, Martin deadpans intelligent commentary on life observations as humor without copping to raunch. And like Wright, I would totally do him, in case I haven't made that crystal clear.

Make a friend with cable and check out Important Things with Demetri Martin, Wednesdays at 10:30 on Comedy Central.

-Megan Metzger

I Know What Worried Me Last Summer: AC Newman

I was worried about AC Newman last summer, when the ginger-headed New Pornographer updated his Facebook status with heartfelt commentary on VH1 realitard show, I Love Money on the daily.

The show mashes up the day-drunk dollies from Rock of Love with Bret Fucking Michaels, Flavor of Love and I Love New York to compete for a million dollars (and the opportunity to eke out a couple more pop culture radar blips so they can still get those lucrative hosting gigs at dance clubs in Clearwater, FL).

I admit I caught an episode or seven of I <3 $$$. J’adore Rock of Love. Fucking sue me. I knew shit was dumb, but I couldn’t sense even a hiccup of irony in Newman’s devotion to Hoopz.

Watching I Love Money is an exercise in brain cell depletion, and it concerned me greatly one of my fave pop songwriters was so taken with it. Would his work suffer too, resulting in some sort of sad Flowers for Algernon kinda thing? Instead of "Sing Me Spanish Techno" would the New Pornographers rollick through songs called "Titties and Cash"?

I had to find out. Newman was at the Bell House Saturday night to debut his forthcoming solo record, Get Guilty (Matador). Tucked away in industrial Gowanus, Brooklyn, the Bell House is what Twin Peaks’ Great Northern hotel ballroom might have looked like if Ben Horne had been an indie rocker: red velvet curtains, latticed oak, high ceilings, giant brass chandeliers.



After escaping the rain I waited in line directly behind Eugene Mirman (always just one degree away from Jermain Clement, sigh). I caught the tail-end of openers the Birds of Youth and sipped a vodka soda. After a lull with sounds of the ’70s playing over the house (Fleetwood Mac, Heart) the Oranges Band played. I saw the Baltimore band years ago in Lawrence, KS, and their music recalls a time when indie rock was just some unassuming, hirsute dudes playing scraggly guitar rock for gas money. Sometimes the bro-show jamming was a little boring. Wholly delightful was the appearance by Oranges’ frontman Roman Kuebler’s dad, who is also their merch guy. Pops called them a “seminal Maryland band,” and urged the enchanted crowd to buy some gear.

Newman went solo for the first time in 2004, releasing Slow Wonder, whose track On the Table ended up on The OC Mix 4. For a guy gone solo, he sure brings a lot of folks with him. Utility players alternated between accordion, horn and keyboard while Newman shared vocals with two adorable girls playing typical cute instrument: tambourines, violins and recorders. I hadn’t seen a recorder since 3rd grade music class with Sr. Sheila.



Like New Porno songs, Newman’s were spun sugar pop stompers, drizzled with boy-girl call-and-response vocals and sprinkled with yeah-yeahs and la-las. Newman repeatedly prefaced songs with, “this is probably inspired from some French film,” but I know homeboy gets all his rhymes from VH1 programming.

While Neko Case has her country twang, and the lupine Dan Bejar is off in Destroyer and all his other solo projects, Newman sticks to what he knows. I’m totally fine with that.

-Megan Metzger