Tao LIn Speaks

I strolled into the International Center to witness a librarian-like female host in a pants suit, stutter over Tao Lin’s bio. “Tao Lin is the author of, um, Eee-eee-eee-ee,” she said, confused by the words she was reading. “You can read his blog at www. heh-heh…heh-I, um, think there are thirteen hehs-dot blogspot dot com.”

Tao’s excerpt from his new book Stealing From American Apparel, was intensely amusing, but not very impressive. It read as unedited documentation of conversations between friends, who I assumed to be the group of plaid-clad 20-somethings surrounding me in the audience, since they were laughing especially hard at every quotation.

“’I’m glad fast food exists,’ Robert said. ‘Just the idea of it makes me happy.’”



Tao read in a repressed monotone—cutting off his own syllables—but there were moments that struck me as modern poetry: “As I basked in the blue glow of Internet Explorer”….”Mike sat on his mattress with his Macbook, staring at the ceiling.”

Ever since I discovered his poetry, Tao Lin has become the object of my fascination. This does not mean I think he’s a skilled writer. In fact, I would intentionally refrain from making such a statement, despite the fact I enjoy the idea of someone including Gmail chats, text messages, Wendy’s spicy chicken sandwiches and twitter updates in a novel.



His use of language is limited. He rarely uses any variation of the word “said.” Some sentences could use editorial guidance. His less than perfect writing speaks to reclusive post-college students in New York, and he self-promotes to the point of absurdity.

After the reading, librarian lady got back on stage. “Any questions?” she asked. The response was awkward silence, followed by awkward laughter from Tao’s friends, who comprised about a quarter of the 30 people in the audience.

Referring to a book Lin has advertised—but not yet written—librarian lady took it upon herself to pose a question. “Tao, your upcoming novel, why is it called Richard Yeats?” she asked. “It’s because I like Richard Yeats, only,” Tao said, “He’s not like a theme in the book or anything. And also, because it would be funny.”

That sentiment ended the Q&A and began the wine drinking. After a few glasses, I approached Tao to chat.

I told him that he was on my professor’s syllabus in a literature class. As a 20-something writer myself, I would be pretty enthused to hear this news.

Tao Lin stared blankly at me for a moment, then said "that's cool." He gave me a free book, and drew a cat holding another cat, or something, on the inside cover.



-Hannah Miet

Au Revoir SITE

5:30 p.m.- Lumenhouse

It was the concept that drew me to The Liar Show. Four writers and comedians tell hilarious narratives. Three are completely true. One is a straight-up lie. After the stories are heard, audience members interrogate the performers and the one to expose the fraud wins a prize.



At Lumenhouse on Sunday, the storytellers were Ophira Eisenberg, Jim O'Grady, Daisy Rosario, Carter Edwards, and Andy Christie. Each story was absorbing and absurd in its own way. I listened to descriptions of dinner conversations, awkward sexual encounters and drug experimentations. The interrogation process with the audience was equally amusing, but did little to illuminate who was telling the truth. These performers are skilled in the art of deception.

I wasn’t aware of The Liar Show before they came to SITE fest, but the performance moves around to many other New York venues, with a rotating cast. The next Liar show is March 18th at Comix (http://www.comixny.com/).


7 p.m.-ION Sound

I’m a sucker for many things--Alliterative song titles, chocolate truffles, most things (and people) that are French, and anything that reminds me of Back To The Future. The latter was the reason I got psyched to see Love Like Deloreans (http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=285688076) play at Blue Monday, even though I had yet to hear their music, and had no way of ensuring they were, in fact, referring to the film and not just the car.

The SITE map said they sounded like “a submarine ride on Europa and the best prom night ever.” It was right on point.



Some people can listen to electronic music all the time. I only enjoy it under certain substances. Somehow, I enjoyed the Deloreans set in a state of relative sobriety. I think this means they were pretty good. Not a band I would put on my Ipod but, “Electronic/Country/Club” music is not really my thing.

They should make soundtracks for video games.



My experience at SITE was very refreshing. ION Sound, in particular, confirmed that I am not entirely music-pretentious. I enjoyed almost all of the music I saw at Blue Monday, which is an awesome bar unto itself.



I’m going back on Saturday to relive my love for Ava Luna. It will also help me pretend that SITE fest isn’t over (I don’t want to say goodbye!).

-Hannah Miet

Desperately Seeking SITE

7 p.m. - CROWD Reading Series (http://www.crowdyourself.blogspot.com/)

On the walk over to Café Orwell (http://bushwickbk.com/2008/12/19/cafe-orwell-opens-in-morgantown/), I ran into a couple with SITE map in hand, looking for something to do. When I told them I was going to a poetry reading, they shook their heads firmly in unison.

“I have nothing against poetry, per say,” said the woman. “It’s just that bad poetry is the worst art form imaginable.”
I can’t help but share this sentiment. A bad painting, you can look away from. A bad film, you can laugh at. But the inescapable horror of having to sit through a bad poem will stick in your system.

This is what I discussed with Daniel while we waited for CROWD to begin. “Poetry and music,” he said “are the two art forms where the bad significantly outweighs the good.”

Lucky for us, Bill Rasmovicz read that night, a poet who happens to fit the slim categories of unpretentious and “good.” There was also a lot of free wine, which facilitated our enjoyment of his words.



“I swallowed the black pill of childhood” (http://billrasmovicz.blogspot.com/2007/06/newish-poem.html) was my favorite. His book, The World In Place of Itself (Alice James Books, 2007) has several other poems with equally awesome titles, like “RULES FOR A SEMI-AUSPICIOUS LIFE” and “PORTRAIT OF THE MAN TRYING TO SHED ENOUGH MASS TO FLY.”

10:30 p.m.-The Brooklyn What (http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=98392540) took their shirts off on stage, as they played their first song “I don’t Want to go to Williamsburg.”




I can’t really think of a better introduction to IOSOUND, the music component of SITE, held at Goodbye Blue Monday (www.goodbye-blue-monday.com/).

I will let this video speak for itself :



12 a.m. -The Rhodes (http://www.myspace.com/therhodesmusic) appeared to be your run-of-the-mill band still wearing ties and riding The Strokes’ wave. But appearances can be deceiving.



Their punchy songs like “Call me” and “Shakedown” had a ‘50s spin that wasn’t trying too hard, and convinced me they could actually play their instruments pretty damn well. However, it was their cover of Amy Winehouse’s “You Know I’m No Good” that truly won me over.

12:30 a.m.-Ava Luna (http://www.myspace.com/avalunaband) are my new obsession.



Frontman Carlos Hernandez’s lyrics are backed up by three females with gospel-like voices: Felicia Douglass, Mira Leytes, and the truly soulful Siheun Song. Add Alex Smith on drums and Nathan Thompkins on synthesizer, and you get one of the most unique cross-genre bands I have seen in a long time.

Ava Luna are back at Blue Monday on Saturday the 14th, at 9 p.m., so you should check them out (i.e. fall in love with them).



Bushwick is an obvious location for an art festival. It is the home of factories remodeled into artists lofts, innovative street art, hipster house parties, and arguably the most plentiful number of three piece bands to come out of a single neighborhood (other than Williamsburg). And, oh yeah, there’s also those people that originally lived there.

I approached SITE fest void of expectation, so as not to be disappointed by stodgy sonnets or bands that have mastery over two power chords (and not much else). But from what I saw on Saturday, the festival, unlike music and poetry as a whole, has a favorable good-to-bad ratio.

Bushwick, I’m impressed.

-Hannah Miet

Fake News - Inside the Limo

Britney Spears is back in the limelight and doesn't seem to be cringing as much. Has the latent teen queen finally found a worthy therapist or is the truth much more gruesome and sinister? We at Pomp hear that her publicist just wasn't ready to lose her meal ticket and took some desperate measures to get her pubis back into the good graces of the American public. Rumor has it, that Spears is hiding in the hills somewhere getting lobotomized after certain "Face/Off" inspired plastic surgery with her publicist. Could it be? Is the Spears who sings about Womanizers and smiles readily at the cameras really a Spears’ publicist with a new face on? Say it ain't so!!!



Leading up to Lance Black’s self-congratulatory Oscar speech and the melee over Prop 8 in Hollywood’s hallowed halls, Rihanna revealed to long time BJ buddy Chris Brown that she is a man, prompting her vicious beating. After successfully hiding her true sex behind a square jaw, she was driven by dope and booze in a glamorous pre Grammy’s party to open up to her beau. Brown’s own sexuality was not only called into question, but he was enraged he could no longer accurately call her “his bitch.” In the ensuing media frenzy and secretly supported by down low doormat Kanye West, Rihanna and Chris have reunited. She still has the pecker, but apparently not the balls to leave this slimy singer.



Quick fix: Aaron Spelling's spawn Tori will be doing a reading this Wednesday from her "book" at 7 on 82nd and Broadway Barnes & Noble.

XOXO
Gossip Churl

Scandal Sheet: Whine Me A River

Rivers Cuomo still sings about not fitting in. I learned this after listening to the radio recently.

There are many levels as to just how annoying this is.

I liked Weezer a lot in high school. I have always been way hot for nerds and he was only third to Milo Aukerman in my young girl masturbatory fantasies, with Michael Nesmith being number one of course. I’ve never been able to properly explain what attracts me to a particular man, but there was something about that mutton-chopped Monkee that made my little fingers head south. Maybe it was his “gee, shucks” accent. Or the fact his mom invented Liquid Paper. Or that he invented MTV kinda. I really can’t say.

Anyway, Weezer. Pinkerton, the band’s second and best record, was one of my high school favorites. Its themes of longing, unrequited love, alienation and intellectual superiority towards one’s peers totally spoke to me, which was comforting ‘cause pretty much no one else did. Or so I think. I’m starting to get the feeling I’m filling my head with these romantic false memories about high school just like Liz Lemon did. All I know is I graduated a reluctant virgin, so something wasn’t kosher.

Regardless of how popular I was or wasn’t, I’m not concerned with these sorts of things 10 years post-high school, so I don’t know why Mr. Cuomo would be 20 years since he’s graduated. I don’t write songs about how I pined over that fucking hippie [name redacted], and how he was only really nice to me because I’d give him rides home after school. So why does Rivers revisit his proverbial high school parking lot over and over again, evoking the same bitter sentiments?

Listen, mister. You’ve reaped critical and commercial success, graduated Harvard, traveled the world as a celebrated rock star, and gotten all the young Asian poon you could stomach. Yet still, you are haunted by never being accepted by peers who you probably didn’t even like anyway. Evolve, dude. Or don’t and hang it up. While some subject matter like drugs and fucking are totally timeless and can be sung by anyone regardless of age, sex or creed, lamenting over being bullied in high school and never being asked to the WPA dance has an expiration date.

-Megan Metzger

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

This One's On Us

New York was unaffordable long before disaster hit Wall Street. Before real estate moguls bought out blocks of the ghetto, charged thrice the rent and called it “East Williamsburg,” us trust fund-less folk were struggling.

The expense of almost everything in New York impinges on how much there is to do. I often get the absurd feeling I’m missing out when I go to bed before 3 a.m. on a Tuesday night. I’m usually right.

Here are some ways you can spend your weekend out and about, without breaking bank.

Friday
5:00 p.m. Free Fridays at MoMA

Entrance to the ever-so-classy MoMA is always free with a college ID. The museum also waives admission for all pseudo-intellectuals every Friday from 4-8 p.m. Although I am somewhat befuddled by modern art, I seem to “get it” a bit more when it’s free.



6:30 p.m. Modern Art makes me crave free beer

After my high culture MoMA experience, I downgraded to frat boy territory: Free Beer Fridays at Town Tavern on W. 3rd. The rowdy college crowd was in sync with the lame music (Creed, followed by Christina Aguilera, anyone?), but I can’t complain about the draft beer, which flows freely from 6-8 p.m. every Friday.



Saturday
12 a.m. PBR and Elvis Presley

The Hot Rocks party at The Delancey was an unexpectedly amazing free experience. I entered the upstairs bar unaware of where the soiree was, greeted with the usual snootiness The Delancey is known for. But once I found the basement, I entered a whole new world.




Michael, the bartender wore an X-Men T-shirt and cheerful smile. He was also super liberal with the PBR. I ordered two at a time and he didn’t scoff once.




The crowd was euphorically dancing to Buddy Holly and The Beatles while downing brew like there was no tomorrow. I did the twist with several strangers before meeting up with Suhatcha, and rocking out to “Maybelline.”

2 a.m. Moving through the Centuries

I didn’t know so many people shared my love for ‘50s music. New friendships led to an awesome car ride over to Galapagos (I still refuse to call Public Assembly.



As you can tell from the above photo, my camera for the night was awesomely ghetto. For this reason, the smashing gentleman below, Sidney Oolongo, gets all Galapagos photo credit. And also hat credit.



There was free admission with two awesome floors. The only free-dom Galapagos lacked was an open bar, but with our PBR buzz still in full force, we didn’t really care.

Sunday
10 p.m. What open bar?

After watching The Lodger, quite possibly the worst movie of all time, Daniel and I headed to Bowery Electric for the weekly Art Fag party.



Supposedly hosted by Ryan McGinley, the party bore no resemblance to one or to anything photography related. The staff also had no idea about an open bar, when we first showed up.

Around 10:45, they started serving free well vodka and Budweiser. Vodka-cran was a nice departure from all the beer I’d been drinking.

I just wish that the bartender didn’t hate on us without provocation. Free liquor is far from a bartender’s wet dream, and that is understandable, but it is no excuse to be mean (especially when you’re getting tipped anyway).

All in all, a weekend well spent. Especially since I didn’t spend a dime.

-Hannah Miet