If the stiletto fits...

There is no one who loves Halloween more than yours truly, Miss Deroextoradinaire. I am the kind of girl who begins to contemplate costume possibilities in August and meticulously assembles the entire ensemble by October 1st. I’m the kind of girl who scours the Internet for tutus and swan stuffed animals to piece them together in a detailed and surprisingly recognizable reproduction of Bjork's swan dress. The kind of girl who seriously frets over the way her jet-black eyebrows interfere with the boldness of her red Peggy Bundy bouffant.

With Halloween falling on a Monday this year, there’s no telling when the most sensational celebrations will hit the streets of Manhattan. As far as I’m concerned we’re on the brink of a three-day holiday weekend. This city-snob has even agreed to spend the better part of her Saturday night across the B-Burg bridge (which goes against her party instincts), so it must be Halloween. The Dero has already been shed in favor of a campier, trashier persona. See you when the incessant libido dies and the birth control runs out.

Oh AL!!!!

Dream a Little Dream

Tara McPherson documents heartache in a color we can all understand.

Behind the Scenes: The Colbert Report

Who knew my little Dazrazzle wielded so much power in New York broadcast ticketing offices? After securing us seats at a taping of the historic but increasingly uninspiring Saturday Night Live (not even guest host Napoleon Dynamite could save this puppy), my favorite social circuit board squeezed one of her juiciest contacts for four tickets to newly sprouted satirical news show, The Colbert Report. Colbert is truly a rare talent with the comic fluency and monster cajones to successfully helm his own brand of caustic current events commentary, but although the series shows much promise, it was the taping experience itself that provided last night’s oh-so-priceless moments.

Five highlights:

1. Standing on line to get into the studio in front of the guy that invented the "jump to conclusions mat" in the movie “Office Space.” It took our collective pride as privacy-respecting, non-celebrity-worshipping New Yorkers (lie to yourself Dero, its okay) not to turn to him and say “Jump to Conclusions Man, that movie epitomizes the lives we’re currently living.”
2. Lisa Loeb's bladderific declaration. As the bespectacled folkie emerged from a black sedan in front of the studio building, (effectively ruining the “big surprise” that she would sing five bars - of hmmm, I wonder what song - to complement one of Colbert's jokes) she declared quite loudly in the face of Daz’s younger brother, Francis Xavier XXIII, “I have to pee so badly I can’t hold it anymore!” See America, C-Level, one-hit-wonder-penning celebrities are just like us!
3. Stephen Colbert’s entrance. We got our first taste of the manic anchor as he bolted into the studio, halted center stage facing the audience, and pushed off to complete seven perfect turns in succession, spotting like a prima ballerina. When asked to recall what song was playing during this Fame-worthy entrance, my girl J-Faust replied, “Sorry man. I really don’t remember. I was busy being dazzled by his turning.” To which Daz added, “Totally dazzled. I imagined it was Waltz of the Sugar Plum Fairy.” Note to Colbert’s mother: Those years of tap dance training you put little Stephen through really paid off. Note to Stephen: The middle-school beatings were worth it. Every pre-teen girl’s juices flowed for that lone male in dance class.
4. The pre-show audience question-and-answer segment. Before entering the studio the audience was advised to formulate “funny and creative” questions to ask Stephen before the taping. The best question, and the one I wish I’d asked (later to be used as a response by Colbert to the unbearably lame inquiry, “What’s the funniest question you’ve ever been asked?” ) went something like this: “One time on the Daily Show you made a comment about how you like to sexually harass your interns. I have my resume here with me now and I was wondering if you would hire me.”
5. The way Colbert refused to pronounce the hard “T” at the end of word "Report." The postulated commentary from Bill O’ Reilly (or “Papa Bear” as Colbert has him lovingly nicknamed) on this technicality: “The Colbert RAPPORT? Fucking French bastard.”

Learning with Asterik's Music Monsters

Asterik Studio's family of musical ogres, creatures and freaks, imagined for a recent Bumbershoot Festival print series, immediately conjured memories of my very favorite childhood learning devices, The Letter People. Used to impart the basics of sound and syllable to five and six year olds, the monogram-sporting Letter People and their goofy, inflatable effigies were each assigned a letter-oriented trait and related song to help kids learn the alphabet. By the end of my first year at Chestnut Hill Elementary it was clear that Miss A said “A’choo” and Mr. T had Tall Teeth.

I can’t help but wonder what would have happened had my pleasantly plump Kindergarten teacher used Asterik’s Music Monsters to lay a musical foundation as well:

MR. WRIGHT: “Alright class, repeat after me. Mr. Iggy Pop Pioneered Punk Rock.”

CLASS: “Mr. Iggy Pop Pioneered Punk Rock.”

MR. WRIGHT: “Does anyone know what Mr. Pop is famous for?”

JOHNNY: “His punk and hard rock innovation and crazy stage antics?”

MR. WRIGHT: “That’s right Johnny! But class remember, just like with matches…”

JOHNNY: “Don’t cut yourself with broken bottles in the name of rock n’ roll without parental supervision?”

MR. WRIGHT: “You’ve got it! Alright Michael, play that vinyl…”

PLAYS “SEARCH AND DESTROY”

MR. WRIGHT: “ Now repeat, Ms. Mavis Staples is a Singing Soul Sister.”

CLASS: “Ms. Mavis Staples is a Singing Soul Sister.”

MR. WRIGHT: “Now who is Mavis Staples? Jenny?”

JENNY: “Mavis Staples is a soul and gospel legend, once a member of pop group The Staples Sisters.

MR. WRIGHT: “And can you name one of The Staples Sisters’ number one hits for me?

JENNY: “I’ll Take You There!”

MR. WRIGHT: “You got it Jenny! Hit it Mike!”

Office Obscenities

This afternoon on my way back to work from the bank I ducked into a deli for a healthy snack and was assaulted by the largest banana I had ever laid eyes on. My coworker (shoot-the-duck) Vannessa has often bragged about a banana she purchased in the pre-Dominique days that was “so large it was obscene.” Certain this banana would trump any former obnoxiously phallic fruit brought back to the cubicle, I humbly doled out two quarters to bring my find back to the girls.

Obscene really was the perfect word for this freakishly engorged gorilla favorite. Measuring almost eleven inches in length and about three inches in “girth” at its widest, the yellow shaft promised to be a full mouthful for even the most accommodating lady. I chose to cut it into small pieces for consumption to discourage gawking stares. Forget eating the thing, even holding it while standing at my desk was embarrassing, prompting flushed emails to my sympathetic female coworkers reading, “I love that Mike walked by while I was showing Michelle my large banana.”

Or maybe it was the fact that I was taking camera phone pictures of the thing side-by-side with Sally the office Barbie doll that triggered my embarrassment. I was just trying to give my lovely blog-reading audience a proper sense of scale.

How to nearly kill yourself in eleven days.

Part I:
Party yourself sick with Miss Overindulgence.

9/14 – Rollerskating at the Roxy. Fuel up on margaritas and Mexican food. Lace up skates, skitter onto the rink and aim to take an innocent skater down with you on first fall. Feed the tank with two more Coronas while watching perfect coworker “shoot the duck.” Find inspiration in an Alicia Keys song and allow ballad-stimulated stylistic overconfidence to take you on a scathing ride on the wooden slip-n-slide. Medicate any injuries with Corona, without regard to the inevitable morning hangover.

9/15 – Kick off CMJ w/ The Billy Nayer Show @ the Knitting Factory. Meet up with German festival companion and metal connoisseur extraordinaire. Get balls (literal or figurative, whatever’s available) blown off by The Billy Nayer Show’s freakish rock fables and Dr. Seussian proclamations of love. Wish for dad who either plays the Autoharp or is willing to grow out a six inch long black beard. After drinking a few pints, allow embarrassing lack of stamina, still in the growth stage, to force exit before headliners Of Montreal take the stage.

9/16 – CMJ: Coco Rosie, Supersystem and !!! @ S.O.B’s. Confront early feelings of exhaustion and illness with The German. Opt not to drink any beer. Decide to establish a Franco-hip-hop cult in Coco Rosie’s honor. Vow to figure out what exactly this means the next time there’s liquor in the system. Graciously award extra rock-cred points to all those who make it to the close of !!!’s super-late, super-sweaty set. Follow greasy set with greasy food, no matter the time.

9/17 – CMJ: Rock n' roll poster show. Cream pants while approaching Jermaine Rogers, Justin Hampton and EMEK at their exhibition in the CBGB’s gallery. Chat with Hampton about New York pizza and Jermaine about the “awesome” interview on his website. Resist temptation to smuggle EMEK's Distillers poster , Jermaine's Morrissey and Hampton's QOTSA from a wall covered in a dizzying array of kick-ass prints. Miraculously escape the gallery purchaseless. Reward willpower with Hold Steady show at CBGB’s main stage. Glimpse glowing beacon of Hampton CMJ poster(just like the one he’s selling next door for $30) stapled to the club’s overpapered walls. Revel in good fortune and poster-collecting sentimentality while pulling an authentic Hampton screenprint off the walls of the most famous punk rock club in the city. Drink about six beers waiting for the Hold Steady to bore your tired ass to death. Drunkenly leave prized poster on floor of the club and curse the Yuengling gods.

9/18 – Mets vs. Braves at Shea. Secure third free bobblehead of the season (Willie Randolph, SCORE!), but still don’t get to see Pedro pitch. Watch the Mets run over the Braves in just over two hours, but forget to put life on the line with jumbo stadium hot dog. Tempt fate with raw bar and three-course seafood dinner at pop’s expense instead.

9/19-9/21 – Work crappy job. Try to speed-read book for book club. Do laundry, scrub the tub, gym obsessively and watch a lot of Iron Chef. Attempt to take a quick breather before…

9/22 – Dinner at Blue Smoke. Begin drinking at 6:30 and continue drinking upscale BBQ joint’s fine house ale until the close of the meal at around 10:00. Sample 60 percent of the appetizers on the menu and 40 percent of the entrees. Calculate later that you have consumed almost an entire pig in one sitting. Follow said gorge with requisite brownie sundae. Roll home to retire with intense pain from block of meat in stomach. Contact the rabbi and consecrate yourself a newly Kosher Jew.

9/23 – Kick off New Yorker Fest w/ readings by Stephen King and Michael Chabon. Note correct pronunciation of Michael’s last name for uninhibited use in future conversation (shay-bawn). Wonder how King’s mousy voice is so effective at churning your guts in terror and suspense. Simultaneously gag and beam at the King/Chabon mutual love fest, prompted by inevitable “influences” question from the audience.

9/24 – Orgasmic Insanity: The Pinnacle Day.
Start with the New Yorker discussion forum on “Anarchy in Animation.” Instantly fall in love with the voice of Aqua Teen Hunger Force’s Meatwad. Watch a ten-year-old-boy flabbergast the panel with the most intelligent question of the afternoon. Silently take back criticism of parents who allowed ten-year-old son to attend a forum featuring the dirty mouths of Trey Parker and Matt Stone. Vow to never again miss a new episode of Southpark and to watch The Iron Giant along with anything above ten-year-old might suggest.

Join line of indie nerds in Times Square for “Stage to Studio” discussion mediated by the New Yorker’s pop encyclopedia Sasha Frere-Jones. Hide head in hands every time the nebbish journalist flashes Wu-Tang sign at the RZA (3-4 x’s). Nearly piss yourself as the RZA nearly pisses himself over Steve Albini’s producer-as-gynecologist metaphor. Ignore Ani Di Franco. Go home. Order the Wu Tang Manual on Amazon. Move Ghost Dog to number one on your Nextflix list. Buy the new RZA/MF Doom single on iTunes. Try to find a pair of the RZA’s boxers on eBay so you can fall asleep at night with even the ass-sweat of the genius Wu Master under your pillow.

Wave goodbye to opening act Brendan Benson and the Shins as you struggle to pull together last minute crew for overpriced White Stripes concert. Use lollipop sticks to hold up your eyelids on the train out to Coney Island. Smoke for the first time in two months while running on fumes. Trip out Woodstock-stylee. Climb inside your skull and reevaluate your entire life against the soundtrack of raw blues riffs and considerably improved drumming. Snap out of coma to acknowledge Meg’s ever-adorable, if atonal solos. Try to avoid pushy, explosive drunks fist-pumping to “Seven Nation Army.” Curse the day the White Stripes became a full-fledged stadium act. Click heels together and repeat, “There’s no crowd like an indie rock crowd.”

Ride train directly to Blue and Gold and take advantage of the sales like mama taught you (pitcher=cheaper than pint). Drink until Jack White appears to you in fringe and fedora, telling you to “run along home little doggie.”

9/25 – Beginning of the end. Welcome yourself to at least a week of recovery. Miss Overindulgence: “Has your liver ever tried to eject itself through your esophagus? It isn’t pretty.”

Part II:
Casualties of War: When overplanning kills your plans.

Wallace and Gromit (9/25): Curse of the Were Rabbit Premiere: Fell to the illness/Red Sox. Detox was crucial at this stage in the game and baseball on (the Sox were on ESPN?). W&G joins Corpse Bride, The Beat My Heart Skipped and Broken Flowers on the “if it will eventually go to DVD, its sadly not a priority” list.

Deerhoof at Northsix (9/28): Fell to the illness. Best way to beat the chills isn’t in a crowd full o’ hipsters.

Katherine’s Birthday Bash (9/30): Fell to the Red Sox. The Red Sox, a medium-rare blue cheese burger, and many, many pints of Sierra Nevada. Sometimes these things are beyond human control.

Across the Narrows (10/1): Fell to the illness/Red Sox. Resisted Brooklyn-fest because of lingering sickness. Exploited the liver for Varitek at neighborhood frat-fest instead. Should have been sitting on the Green Monster for the ridiculous price of the Coney Island ticket, or at least somewhere where the view of both TVs wasn’t blocked by un-tucked button down shirts and Yankee caps.

The College Man: Dealing with Real Life Issues

Adam calls up my parents yesterday:

Adam: “Dad, my watch is broken.”

Dad: “So you’ll get it fixed when you’re home over Thanksgiving, what’s the big deal?”

Adam: “Well it’s not a big deal, it’s been broken for a while – it’s basically just jewelry. But my phone just died too and now I can’t tell the time.”