When Vicodin Fails
Work today was a combination of absurdity (”Where are we going to promote the Justin Timberlake poll? Is that 2-way a Skytel?”) and, well, absurdity (”I think that Christina image needs to be sharpened a bit. Does that story have an artist ID?”). Tomorrow, a 14-hour Grammy day, then rest.
In the absence of “Midnight Express” and “Year of the Dragon” at Blockbuster (Oliver Stone screenplay’s both), I rented “Mummy Returns.” Don’t ask what I was thinking. It was comic book bad. But as I’ve run out of Vicodin, and my teeth are still killing me, I guess it did as well as anything to numb the pain.
What We Don’t Know
Watched “Salvador” tonight, Oliver Stone’s directorial take on the early-80s uprising (and U.S.-backed subversion) of “Communist” guerrilas there. Disturbing stuff. Makes me wonder what I don’t know, what we don’t know, that’s going on in the world. And as the Gulf War spawned “Three Kings,” I imagine Afghanistan too spawn films that tell the real story, or a more elaborate story, of the struggles there — the stories we aren’t told.
Otherwise, am resting up for MTV News’ big Grammy coverage Wednesday. A 12-hour day no doubt. I’ll spend the night emailing and two-way paging “talent” (Fred Durst, Bono, Nelly Furtado) on what they’re up to, then publishing it to the site. Not quite like being there, as I once aspired, but maybe a step closer.
We all know “Crash Site” is Grammy worthy anyway.
Blurry Blobs Of Color
The sun is falling on my brick walls. So beautiful. It’s been a gorgeous, but cold, Sunday in the city. I rode out over the GWB again, cold every mile, then came home and feasted on semi-solid foods.
I tried to write something to post for for you here, but nothing good came.
So I’m paiting now; working on a square of my tooth, the one with the roots. My thing seems to be very streaky, blurry blobs of color, which in red reminds me of clotted blood. Hence the tooth, and it’s slippage with my broken jaw and all that. So now I have songs and paintings to work out all the inner goings on and make them tangiable, visible, real.
Going to Ocean for oysters and beers later, then gearing up for the big Grammy week.
Eating Everything With Spoons
For those of you playing along at home, you’ll be pleased to learn that I finally made it to the the army/navy store on 42d street, and they were open. Got a pair of used German army pants. Also walked 5th Avenue with all the tourists, and picked up a few cheap things at H&M. Funny how, when left to my own divices, I end up wearing things my parents would have chosen for me when I was 10 (except the wool skull cap and Ray Ban aviators that make me look like The Edge). I’m still on Vicodin, still in pain, still eating everything with spoons — there’s not a clean bowl in the apartment.
Not A Total Loss
Sent a kit to the Bottom Line today. Used to cover lots of bands there back when I first moved to New York and was writing for The Saratogian and Rolling Stone. I saw Matthew Sweet there a few years ago. So I hope to play there soon. Called Iota in D.C. — No answer. Hope to play there in April. Emailed a guy about a Philly gig, hopefully in April. So, despite the fact that it was 60 degrees out and I scarcely saw the sun, and despite the scant 5 minutes I played guitar, and the 12-hours of pre-Grammy madness and the Vicodin haze I labored under, the day wasn’t a total loss.
Waiting For The Codeine To Kick In
Been home from Dr. Pack’s office (40th & Lex, if you were wondering) for about an hour. Am drinking Sunny Delight.
The top one came out easily (the intact one in the image), I could barely feel him tugging on it for a second then it just slipped out. But he had to really work the bottom one back and forth a while which really strained the muscles in the joints of my jaw. He finally just cut the tooth in half. Apparently teeth come out better in fragments. It all took less time than it took for two Pete Yorn songs to play in my headphones.
So I’m waiting on the codeine to kick in and the novocain to wear off. And I can report that indeed it smelled, tasted, and felt like the whole high school broken jaw experience. Not fun. I imagine the ache will be the same too.
Blender Ready Food
Highlight of the day thus far? Getting a new cordless phone at Staples? Thuggin’ out at Foot Locker? Nah, for all the excitement the 34th Street mall provided, the real excitement was in the kitchen: homemade chicken soup, fruit smoothies — all blender ready food ready for my two extractions (read: teeth pulled) tomorrow morning. Yeah!
As you might imagine, I’m pretty freaked about the whole tooth pulling thing. When I was 10 I had four pulled, went through years of orthadontia, and about two weeks after all that was done, I lost one more when my jaw was broken (and dislocated in two places). So it kind of dredges up all the “Bone” stuff. I won’t be going under (anesthesia is local), so I have a MiniDisc of (who else?) Pete Yorn ready to rock out. And and I have a fistful of Codeine waiting in the wings.
I’ll letcha’ know how it goes.
Outside It’s America
Excepting a long run along the river, and paging through the New York Times, this lazy Sunday was punctuated by Janet Jackson’s HBO performance. I’m not a fan, but friends had us over to watch, so we watched. What a spectacle. To her credit, she does actually sing a few numbers. But it’s just so funny to me what some people consider “a concert.” It was more circus or Broadway than concert, but I guess people want a big show for their big bucks.
I’m of course of the school that show is just a bunch of people on stage playing their instruments with, at best, some cool lights and maybe a few wacky images on a screen behind them. What do I know. But like I always say (quoting Bono), “Outside it’s America.” And America shops at Wal-mart, eats at McDonalds, and watches “Friends.”
So what do I know.
Far Enough Away
After assuring that all was well with the MTV News Weekend Edition, I seized the opportunity the good weather presented and rode my bike north along the river and out of the city.
It was cloudy and cool, but the sun soon broke through, and by the time I was to the George Washington Bridge, some 150 blocks north of my apartment, the Hudson was glistening. Riding across the bridge, I passed two patrolling National Guardsman, M16s strapped across their backs.
As I climbed away from the river towards Fort Tryon Park and the Cloisters, I thought to myself just how beautiful the area around New York City actually is.
You just need to get high enough above it, or far enough away from it, to appreciate it.
