IT'S ALWAYS 3AM IN YOUR WORLD
First off, the oohlas are playing tuesday night in LA with the Revolution Smile at the Knitting Factory. If you're in the area, you should definitely go to this show.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming:
My mom asked me last night how the radio thing went on friday. I sat there blankly and said that it went really well despite the fact that i couldn't remember what I did friday on the radio. I didn't even remember that I went to KRock to hang out on Jake's show with Gideon. My mind erases after 24 hours... maybe even after 12. I sat there, thinking really hard about what she could've been talking about and suddenly I remembered. I told her "i think i fell asleep on air at one point." Prior to going to the studio I was at Greg K's house for the fourth installment of his birthday party. Leigh had decorated his apartment in pink streamers in the shape of Stars of David and Mike Goodstein plied everyone with yalmuke's since the theme was Greg K's Bat Mitzvah. It was cute seeing all my goyfriends sporting kippahs with their crosses hanging from their necks and tattoos of jesus on their arms. I had about two or three vodka/redbulls -- surely not enough to get me drunk (i dont mix myself strong drinks), but enough to subdue me at 1:45 am while I sat in KRock studios listening to Tool. Jake and Paul are great radio personalities and they seemed to be having a great time. I hope they get asked to continue their show.
Saturday, I was supposed to go taste some chaos in Asbury Park with My Chemical Romance. But with the drive being 1.5 hours long (each way) for a half hour set and the need to be back in the city early enough to attend GTBF/Jen Carlson/Jessica's birthday (which ended up being too crowded to even enter) AND some fashion photoshoot for Metropop that the Vicar and I were asked to participate in together, I didn't think that it was such a good idea to sample the chaos. Instead I spent the day brunching with Brian, shopping alone on St. Marks and with the Vicar at Century 21 (the man can smell a sale from miles away -- he's the son my mom should've had instead of me). For the photo shoot i dressed as a patriotic ballerina on crack. Vicar dressed as a sickly hipster with silver fronts. We posed as poseurs and danced to Geo's hip-hop heavy set that turned Misshapes into the party for the sexually repressed. I ended up in a Leigh/Sandra sandwich and remember hearing "no fair, i want to make out with ultragrrrl too." I think my friend Ron grew wood and promptly left.
When I got home at 5:30 am I finished watching Battle Royale (a must see!). The japanese horror flick was a lot less scary the second time viewing than it was a year or two ago when I saw it at Gideon's house, but still amazing. The basic premise is that the Japanese Government decided that the best way to beat overpopulation and an overrun of misfit children would be to choose a class by lottery to compete in the Battle Royale game. The kids are told that they're going on a class trip, are drugged, and brought to a deserted island where they need to fight each other to the death until one student is left alive (and the winner of the game). If there isn't a single winner by the end of the time limited game, all the kids will be killed automatically by the detonating necklace that is around their necks. The game is a total mind fuck where the kids realize that they can't trust anyone but themselves.
Last night Lindsay had some friends over to watch the Ocars when my mom came to pick me up for my cousin's engagement party bringing with her a pink Betsy Johnson lace tutu dress that she got me for my birthday (ever since hanging out with Ollie Oohlas, I've been sort of obsessed with finding my inner ballerina -- I think she's on to something... she's like my personal Karen O). Scott Stereogum got to meet her and told me that she's just like his mom, which is to say that most jewish moms are pretty much cut from the same mold. We (my mom, dad, and I) went to to Brooklyn for my cousin Victor's engagement party extravaganza. Victor's fiance is 17 (he's about 10 years old and she's not pregnant... they're Syrian Jews, and it's hard to explain this to people who don't know Syrians, but marrying young is totally normal and encouraged, which is a huge reason why my parents moved from the community), and so I dubbed the night "My Super Sweet Engagement Party." It was quite the affair with a shit ton of Egyptian/Syrian jewish parents and their offspring, more food than could ever be consumed by normal people, arabic music blasting in one part of the house for the old schoolers and Top 40 in the other side of the house for the high schoolers.
Dressed in my pink tutu, white mesh gloves, and an over abundance of pearls, I sort of stuck out in comparison to the the more classy gowns my extended (and future extended) family opted for. I clashed as a material girl reject, and kind of loved every minute of it. The high school girls stared at me with "who the fuck are you" venom in their eyes only to look with shock and horror when a family member would cross their line of sight screaming at the top of their lungs "Oh my gosh! Sarah! I see you on TV every day!!! Put ME ON TV TOO!" As if to say "how the fuck did that weirdo end up on tv?"
Lawrence and Rina, who had arrived to the party on NPT (Normal People Time), texted me to find out where the fuck I was. Me, being on SST (Syrian Standard Time) arrived about 2 hours late. Rina was given her first taste of our family overload -- which she thought she was prepared for by having not one, but THREE dinners at my house.
My cousin's husband and I were in the corner chatting /making fun of my intentionally retarded outfit and the lack of 17 year old boys there for me to claim as my next boyfriend when he asked me how old i was. "I'm 25 and not married yet, can you believe it? Everyone here must think i'm a Lesbian." With excitement in his eyes he asked "Are you?" "No." "Are you bi?!" "No." "Not even a little?" "No." I guess if he saw me on saturday night he would probably call me out. But i'm mostly straight. Relax Brother Lawrence.
After a couple of hours of nervousness that caused my little cousins and aunts to wonder if i was drunk (i wasn't), and lovely encounters with friends of my brother who are maybe the only cool syrian girls living in brooklyn -- hey girls! -- I ventured downstairs in my painful (but cute) shoes to get my coat and passed by a closet filled with records. I decided to be nosey and check it out and was FLOORED. The collection was only about 100-200 records big, but the best 100-200 records i'd ever seen. The Smitsh, Joy Division, New Order, Madonna, Depeche Mode, Stone Roses, Sonic Youth... each record was better than the next and I squealed in delight. When Lawrence and Rina walked downstairs I begged them to look. Lawrence said that the record collection must've belonged to the bride-to-be's father and he rushed off to go get him so I could meet him and gush about how amazing his collection was. Coincidentally, at that moment, the father came down and Lawrence introduced us. I guess that since his daughter is so young, he's about 45, which would've made him my age when most of those records came out. He asked me if i was having fun and I told him i was enjoying his record collection more than anything else and offered to DJ the wedding telling him that I'd play his collection. He said that he'd love that, but the music was up to his daughter and my cousin... So it looks like I'll just be a guest. I continued gushing to the father about his record collection and he was so nonchalant about it. Like it was no big deal that he had those records and offhandedly said that he was a fan of new music as well. "Oh yeah?" i said, not sure what to expect him to say, but assuming it'd be something along the lines of Green Day or something. "Oh, you know," he said with a casual coolness I've never encountered, "The Killers and the Futureheads."
Rina and I turned to each other with our eyes dripping out of their sockets. Did he just say the Killers and the Futureheads? Now, i'm not a huge Futureheads fan (unlike some people whose names begin with "Ka" and end with "ren"), but I can surely appreciate them and surely appreciate someone's father who could name check them in an instant while rushing around for his daughter's engagement party. He started mentioning shows he'd seen at Webster Hall (when it was called the Ritz), and Lawrence interrupted him by saying "My sister works in the music industry! She can send you CDs of new bands, right Sarah?!" (If you could've seen how excited the three of us were, you probably would've laughed) "Yeah!!! Any show you want to go to. Anything. Tell me and I'll get you tickets. No problem!" (an offer i rarely extend, cause it's not really true unless I try really really really hard and call in about 39 favors). He thanked me and jetted off to join the rest of the party. Rina and I gazed on with hearts in our eyes.
On a totally different note: I've been having dreams about Maxine, my dog, almost everynight. One was that she was dead but brought back to life some how... and only able to exist in a sort of faux-life state. She was breathing but didnt need to eat or drink or pee. She just existed and gave us the love we needed from her. Another dream was that my cousin gave me her son to hold and burp, and suddenly her son turned into a vomiting Maxine that I had to worry about all over again. Was she sick? Did she need to go to the hospital? Fears returning until I realized in my dream that she was dead. I'm starting to really miss her again. My mom and dad get really sad whenever I mention her and I got to hold and kiss her box of ashes a week ago. It's obviously not the same.