friend!

I loved this shout-out, so I thought I'd share it with you all.

confessions of a closet nerd

Where I went to college (at Rice, yes, in Texas), it was said that every student was a closet nerd. I found, actually, the majority of the student body to be out and proud in that regard. It was always surprising, though, when us cool kids (hah) discovered each other's hidden level of total geek. That guy doing the keg stand at the Rugby party? Yeah, he'll be getting his doctorate at Harvard in the fall. You dig?

My dweeb quotient was always pretty transparent. I was that English major who always did all the reading, I spent many nights locked in the newspaper office (editing the Arts section), I graduated with a hella GPA. I even started wearing thick, black, square-framed glasses before the hipster masses.
Recently, though, I've become a total square in a way I never could have anticipated. Two words say it all. Battlestar Galactica. I was home over the long Memorial Day weekend and my savvy (and total brainiac) little brother introduced me to the Sci-Fi channel series that revisits and amps up the 1978 series (and camp spectacle) of the same name. I had heard good things about the show, so when he suggested watching the miniseries that preceded the show, I couldn't really argue. I was immediately hooked, and have been avidly consuming all things Galactica since.
I really shouldn't have been that surprised. I've never had anything against Sci-Fi. The Star Wars films were requisite viewing in my house growing up, the first two Alien films are bona fide classics that I adore, and I totally dig the whole cyberpunk movement (William Gibson's landmark Neuromancer and Ridley Scott's Blade Runner). But Battlestar has captivated me in an entirely new way. As it portrays human civilization in the days after a brutal android attack (much like Blade Runner this is a tale of technology getting the best of us), it mixes elements of social commentary, stellar action and thrills and gripping soap opera. So, it basically Days of Our Lives for the pocket protector set.

It's also fantastic to see Mary McDonnell, one of the lost relics of 90s indie cinema, as the newly minted President. She's had an odd career, I suspect in part because she imbues each character with an extraordinary intelligence, wit and confidence (just watch John Sayles' Passion Fish in which she plays a paralyzed soap opera actress who returns to her Southern home). Too few female characters, especially in film, get to be smart, funny and lacking neurosis. As the leader of ever-dwindling human civilization, though, McDonnell gets to play to her strengths, and rivets us in the process. One can only hope that the show will lead to a great late-career second act.

just when you thought it was safe ...

... another swarm of bees invades Manhattan. This is yet another reason never to live uptown.
I wrote about it just last week. The whole flies-and-stings-you crowd? Eeep.

diane keaton's shoes would kill us all...

... more to follow.

obvs

Where I go, MTV follows.

F train'd

One of the changes that comes with a move to the Slope is an increased commute. For me, it's still the F train, just a whole lot more of it.
The mornings, so far, have been uneventful and pleasant. I've gotten a great deal more reading done (I'm almost finished with Brooklyn writer Joshua Ferris' The We Came to the End). But yesterday evening, my subway dexterity was tested.
There was a stalled F train at the York station (the first stop in Brooklyn). So that spurned a multi-step process that involved walking down Spring St., catching an express, switching onto an unknown line, and stopping at an unknown stop.
Basically, I handled it like a pro (yes, I feel like I can toot the horn on this one).

movin' on up

I'm moving to Park Slope tomorrow. Hopefully the rain won't wash away me, my stuff, or my new townhouse. OK, it's not all mine, but the top two floors of a townhouse that I'll be sharing with two other people.

So, yeah, this time tomorrow I'll be so Brooklyn.

local hero

One of the best things about living in New York, I've found, is the local news. In a city this big, crazy things happen on a daily basis. The best source for local stuff, ranging from relevant to utterly bizarre, is Gothamist.
Today, for instance, they ran a story about a swarm of bees terrorizing the Upper East Side. This, of course, is one of my greatest fears in life. Things that fly and sting you. I'd rather face a king cobra, a machete-wielding gang, or Joan Crawford any day.

top (five)

In many respects, I'm a computer in need of constant re-booting. Or at least frequent software updates. I'm itching for new all the time, or at least old-as-new (you know what I mean, I hope). It's especially true with music. So for this week's Tuesday Top Five (which is really four, this week), I've listed the album's I've newly discovered, and which you, too, should check out.
- Beach House, Devotion (pictured above)
This is a dreamy album, low key yet haunting, and one that only gets better with time. The band has a light, gauzy sound, the aural equivalent of a soft-focused, sun-drenched photograph. The song "Holy Dances" resonates most with me, but there's not a bum track to be found.

- M83, Saturdays=Youth (pictured at right)
I've always been fond of French electronica band M83. There previous albums, Before the Dawn Heals Us and Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts, hit the right balance of techno beat, dreamscape and substance for my tastes, and helped turn me into a long distance runner in college.
This new album is a thrilling 80s pastiche that displays a broad swath of influences including Vangelis' iconic Blade Runner soundtrack and the opening title music from Twin Peaks. The band has managed this slight departure while still retaining their signature approach, which results in their most distinct, appealing effort yet. I've had the single-ready "Kim & Jessie" on a loop for weeks.

- Cat Power, Jukebox (pictured below)
I've had a thing for Chan Marshall (Cat Power) for quite a while. Her last album before this collection of covers, The Greatest, drifted a tad too far into bluegrass and folk for me, and upon first listen this album left me lukewarm.

I rediscovered it in Paris, and have found myself totally captivated. Don't let the odd, poorly selected opener, a distant, echoing rendition of "New York, New York" throw you. Yes, it's the music equivalent of a miscast starlet, but the rest are gems. She does her best covering herself, with "Naked, If I Wanted To" carrying the bonus disc.
On a side note, I'm all for the cleaned-up Chan (she used to be a notorious, show-ruining boozer). On the plane ride back I caught Wong Kar-Wai's helplessly mediocre My Blueberry Nights, his first English-language feature. It stars songbird Norah Jones (talk about a miscast starlet) as a lovelorn waitress who falls for a cafe owner (Jude Law, showing his age and late nights) over blueberry pie. She then sets out on a cross-country road trip (why, I'm not entirely sure) and meets a cast of misbegotten, craven characters (the most intriguing being Rachel Weisz' reckless, hard-living Sheriff's wife). Chan's songs from The Greatest fill the soundtrack, and she appears in an all-too-brief cameo as Law's ex-girlfriend. It's a film filled with odd casting choices (Natalie Portman as a peroxide-blond card shark? Please.), but this is the one that works.

- Emily Haines & The Soft Skeleton, Knives Don't Have Your Back (pictured at right)
If you're not familiar with Haines, you totally should be. She's part of my favorite band, the sprawling Canadian indie rock collective Broken Social Scene, providing lead vocals on a number of dreamy tracks, including the much-loved "Anthems for a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl". She was there when I saw the band live promoting Kevin Drew's album Spirit If ... (another one you should check out). A radiant wisp of a girl, with crimson hair and a come hither smirk, I was totally taken.
She also heads the totally fun band Metric, which was memorably featured in the opening scenes of Oliver Assayas' underrated rock drama Clean (with Maggie Cheung as a Courtney Love-esque rock widow).
Haines' smooth, fragile voice carries this solo effort, which consciously sheds both Broken Social Scene and Metric's frenetic, most often upbeat sound. These are luxuriant, ruminative ballads that drift, float and linger. It takes a little bit more time to jump into than the other recommendations, but is just as rewarding.

getting back

There's nothing like getting back. Paris was wonderful, but as much as I enjoyed the city, I couldn't help but be thankful that New York is home.

This is the spot for me right now. And the impending Park Slope move can only make it better.

And why Park Slope? There are reasons all around. I've been sure of it for a while, but tonight can only confirm it. Tonight was an evening of storied, typical East Village spots. That means lost eye contact, required over-consumption, the loss of friends to the crowd, and the nagging desire to just go home and either listen to music or watch great 80s movies alone. 

I ended up cutting out earlier than everyone I went out with, using jet lag as a convenient excuse. Jet lag is officially the best excuse for everything, if only it would work for all circumstances, all the time.

air france

I'm finally home, after a mind-numbing line at customs and a much-delayed, over-crowded train from Newark. 

Again, musings and pictures from the trip to come all week. Right now, I'm off to happy hour (it's still vacation, I think, officially).

For now, my five reasons why we should all fly Air France as much as possible:

1. Sweet old French women at the window seat next to you who make sure the stewardess brings your red wine and baguette.

2. Free booze. And they don't judge when you ask for another round.

3. Movie choices that include past Cannes Film Festival favorites (meaning today I got to watch My Blueberry Nights, which is in theaters now, and The Piano, an all-time fave).

4. A camera on the nose of the plane that shows you take-off and landing from a cockpit POV. More of a gimmick, really, and actually pretty scary when facing the runway. OK. Maybe this isn't such a good reason. Next!

5. They let you board when you want. None of this "rows 34 and above" nonsense. You get on when you want to get on. How civilized.

charles de gaulle

It's a transit day and I'm sitting in Charles De Gaulle, waiting for my flight back to New York. I'm listening to Thurston Moore, and just bought an English-language paperback of Joshua Ferris' And Then We Came to the End, which a friend had lent to me, but, alas, I left it at home. With any luck I'll blow through it, as I did with Jonathan Lethem's You Don't Love Me Yet on the way over. It's a breezy look at hipster band members in LA's Echo Park. It's sweet, inviting and has killer dialogue, so highly recommended.

It was a great trip, and in the days to come I'll surely post a number of pictures. Let's just say I've had my annual quota of duck, nuttela, wine, brie, baguettes and Ann's creme and chive mushroom dip. I haven't eaten today, but I'm full ... you must know how that feels at the end of a trip.