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brianenigma and sakkaranoush were visiting, and are gone tomorrow, so there was a SOIRÉE. 
The rest of the shots are in this Flickr set, mostly of drunk men and incredulous women.
Dec. 31st, 2005
brianenigma and sakkaranoush were visiting, and are gone tomorrow, so there was a SOIRÉE. The rest of the shots are in this Flickr set, mostly of drunk men and incredulous women.
The Year in Review: Lists
Dec. 31st, 2005 03:58 pmDear The Bloggers:
I understand the desire to emulate print media. It can be fun to write in the style of a columnist, assume the authority of an Op-Ed writer, and issue judgments about taste or politics in the voice of a successful journalist.
I also understand that you see journalistic types producing year-end lists, and that seems worthy of emulation too. Your model music reviewer or humor columnist or political analyst cranks out a Top 10 or 100 for the year, or the Cheers 'n' Jeers of the Yeer, or something like that. You want to be part of it, and as a self-identified journalist you feel it's an obligation to carry through what you'd call a "meme".
Don't.
There is a reason for the "End of year list" phenomenon in journalism. The ink-stained wretches who are living out your dream want to spend a week with their families around now, and all but a skeleton crew of hard core news types do. The feature writers and columnists and reviewers all turn in their stupid lists around Dec. 20 and go off to open presents, drink, and reconsider their career choices. The lists suck, and they know it. It's the lowest form of journalism. The only reason they exist is to give these poor bastards a breather for one week a year. Then it's back to turning in the column and banging out the news for another 51 weeks.
So this year, feel lucky that you're unpaid, and stop aping the survival behavior of exhausted journos. Your lists aren't any better, and you have far less reason to dump them on us.
I understand the desire to emulate print media. It can be fun to write in the style of a columnist, assume the authority of an Op-Ed writer, and issue judgments about taste or politics in the voice of a successful journalist.
I also understand that you see journalistic types producing year-end lists, and that seems worthy of emulation too. Your model music reviewer or humor columnist or political analyst cranks out a Top 10 or 100 for the year, or the Cheers 'n' Jeers of the Yeer, or something like that. You want to be part of it, and as a self-identified journalist you feel it's an obligation to carry through what you'd call a "meme".
Don't.
There is a reason for the "End of year list" phenomenon in journalism. The ink-stained wretches who are living out your dream want to spend a week with their families around now, and all but a skeleton crew of hard core news types do. The feature writers and columnists and reviewers all turn in their stupid lists around Dec. 20 and go off to open presents, drink, and reconsider their career choices. The lists suck, and they know it. It's the lowest form of journalism. The only reason they exist is to give these poor bastards a breather for one week a year. Then it's back to turning in the column and banging out the news for another 51 weeks.
So this year, feel lucky that you're unpaid, and stop aping the survival behavior of exhausted journos. Your lists aren't any better, and you have far less reason to dump them on us.
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New Year's Song
Dec. 31st, 2005 06:55 pmThis song was written by my best L.A. friend, Greg Franco. It's about a New Year's Eve party I attended, which was I think 1992-3. It was one of Greg's "radio show" parties where we had a DJ setup and people did shifts as the DJ while backannouncing songs radio style.
Like most of the gathering then it was an emotional evening. We all had too much to drink and most of us were unhappy about the poverty, stupidity, and anomie of our lives as 20-something failures in the big city. We listened to underground music and old soul and Tim Buckley and hugged each other and guzzled cheap beer and bourbon. Most of us stayed up all night.
I have a very clear memory of dawn in that apartment in the Valley. Everything was grey, from the sky to the carpet, and it was cold. I had a mild alcohol headache and the cramps you get from sleeping on a too-small sofa. Someone was still spinning records quietly and I could hear Nick Drake's "Time Has Told Me" from the next room. Dawn lasted for about three days. It's one of those frozen moments I can look at any time.
Greg's song captures that night and morning perfectly, I think.
Ferdinand - 31 (.mp3)
Like most of the gathering then it was an emotional evening. We all had too much to drink and most of us were unhappy about the poverty, stupidity, and anomie of our lives as 20-something failures in the big city. We listened to underground music and old soul and Tim Buckley and hugged each other and guzzled cheap beer and bourbon. Most of us stayed up all night.
I have a very clear memory of dawn in that apartment in the Valley. Everything was grey, from the sky to the carpet, and it was cold. I had a mild alcohol headache and the cramps you get from sleeping on a too-small sofa. Someone was still spinning records quietly and I could hear Nick Drake's "Time Has Told Me" from the next room. Dawn lasted for about three days. It's one of those frozen moments I can look at any time.
Greg's song captures that night and morning perfectly, I think.
Ferdinand - 31 (.mp3)