Celeb Encounters: Nicole Kidman

Last night, I did something I don’t particularly enjoy: I went to Green Hills. For those of you who don’t live in Nashville, Green Hills is the part of Metro Nashville which most closely resembles an upper middle-class suburb. You know how they roll in the burbs: buildings are mandated to be made of brown brick and everything kind of looks the same. The Wal-Mart isn’t a giant blue building. Instead, it’s a brown building that looks just like all of the other brown buildings, with a little white “Wal-Mart” on the front.

Invariably, suburbs with building codes like this are also the places that are overrun with people. The result: nearly rear-ending someone while looking for a store, and a 30-minute turn-around process if you said pass store. To make the journey even more amusing, half of the people on the road are driving their BMWs as though only THEY have somewhere to be. I refer to these people as “rich white people with a huge sense of entitlement.” This whole suburban scenario is why I avoid Green Hills whenever possible. I pretty much only go there for the Film Festival and maybe to do Christmas shopping. The whole place just makes me militant.

I forgot this long enough to go to Whole Foods to meet Lesley and Emily (finally meeting Emily in real life) and, trust me, the hot and cold bars at whole foods are worth the trip. We’re talking about several different flavors of tofu, people. I will totally go to Green Hills if I get tofu. Everybody has a price. We were halfway through our food when some tall, skinny person passed us to go to the bathroom. Then, Emily slid this napkin across the table:

When said tall, skinny person came out…yep. Totally her. So I have a new “best celebrity sighting,” as Nicole Kidman TOTALLY beats Faith Hill and Tim McGraw.

Hottest Guitar Tech Ever: Adam Stockdale

**I’ve been sitting on this post for a while, just cause it’s stupid and fluffy and doesn’t have much redeeming “social commentary” value. Buuuut…I’m feeling very stupid and fluffy today. Bring it!

A while ago, I saw The Kooks play at 3rd & Lindsley. The place was packed, so by the time I got there, I had the choice of squeezing myself into the back behind a bunch of tall people, being in the walkway of the wait staff, or hiding in the little empty spot stage right. I chose the empty spot, and stood next to Security Guy.

“Is it cool if I stand here? I promise not to run on stage or anything.”

I don’t know why they feel like they have to put a security guy over there. Who the hell is gonna to rush the stage at 3rd and Lindsley? Would anyone really run up on stage to grab on some dude from The Kooks? Has anyone ever tried to stage dive? This strikes me as hideously uncool, but you know it’s happened at least once or they wouldn’t always station a big burly guy over there.

Anyway, standing next to security guy put me directly behind The Kooks’ guitar tech. As in, “I could reach out and touch your hair and not have to move my feet forward” behind. I enjoyed the show, but spent an embarrassing amount of time watching the guitar tech: curly white man fro, pixie nose, sideburns, British accent…if he’d have been shorter and had thicker wrists, I might have had to try to hit on him after the show. OK, probably not. We do not talk to boys. We do not talk to boys. We do not talk to boys.

Anyway, after some totally creepy googling to try to find a picture for you guys, I found VIDEO. Behold!

Badasses Abound (January 2009 Art Crawl)

For those of you who aren’t part of the Watkins Art Mafia, there’s an art crawl that takes place in the 200 block of 5th Ave N on the first weekend of every month. There’s a few galleries on 5th Ave and a few in the Arcade. I like to go from time to time for inspiration/motivation. As I so eloquently put it to Emily:

“You gotta go and see some cool shit so you can feel shitty enough about yourself to get off your ass and make your own cool shit.”

My English teachers would be so proud. Anyway, there was an abundance of awesomeness this time around, and I thought I’d share with you guys so you can sit around and with that you had $10,000 to spend on a heavily-varnished tasty.

Jordan Eagles uses blood, varnish, and sometimes copper to make multi-layered, glossy, graphic pieces. The pictures on his site don’t even begin to do the pieces justice. You really, really should drag your butts down to The Rymer Gallery to take a look at them. They. Are. Awesome.

Jeff Hand uses faux fur and heavy doses of whimsy to make fluffy anatomy drawings, portraits, and…throw pillows shaped like anti-depressant pills! I want the furry black heart, and a Valium pillow. (Also at The Rymer Gallery)

I want to be Steven Knudson‘s art groupie. His work is like a combination of Edward Gorey, Tim Burton, and those old covers from Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark. In other words, as I told Jeff’s friend Thomas “this is goth as fuck.” (Side bar: artist himself looks rather whimsical and I would like to date him so we can be pocket people together. Just sayin.)

Mother Father and Entertainment Rock My Lame Ass

I am of the belief that flyers Louisville Goth functions should include the following disclaimer:

“We have many hot deathrock boys, but they’re all gay. Don’t bother coming, unless you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the fat guy who dresses like a pirate.”

You see, there are several very scrany, very hot, and (naturally) very well-coiffed deathrock boys from Louisville. However, if you go to one of their functions with some weird intent to meet and take home one of the aforementioned hot deathrock boys, you should save yourself the gas money. The straight dudes of Louisville Goth are, sadly, much like the straight goth dudes everywhere else: dressed like pirates, wearing kilts, or under the impression that it’s OK to wear a poet shirt in public. They all need stylists. That said, let’s talk about music.

Mother Father’s opener, Entertainment, was OK. It must be very hard to bring something new to a goth genre that’s about 30 years old, and Entertainment are only halfway there. To keep my attention as a deathrock band, it’s not good enough to be OK. You have to do something to make yourself special, and Entertainment didn’t quite reach the (admittedly high) standards. Were they a decent way to spend 45 minutes? Yes. Do I feel the need to buy the CD? Not so much.

Mother Father, however, make an impression. They start that first song and, if it were a handshake, you’d say that your hand stayed shook (if I may reference Hank Hill). The drummer who seemed to be a tad random (“who let Zack Morris in the band?”) makes the reason for his presence clear. It’s hard to find a drummer, harder to hold ONTO a drummer, and triple hard to find a GOOD drummer. Thus, we can overlook a little thing like resembling Zack Morris. True, after 6 or 7 seven songs, my mind started to wander, but the fact that I stayed in a hot bar, sweating balls, to listen to the whole set when I was tired should say something. It was totally worth the five bucks.

And did I mention the deathrock eye candy?
I’m a pig.

Weekend Wrap-Up: CoolWhip, Yellow, Djbouti.

Hung out with Mark and his new woman for Strawberry Banana French Toast at IHOP and So You Think You Can Dance back at Mark’s. While the strawberry banana french toast had MUCH whipped cream (they have switched from Redi-Whip to spray Cool Whip and, yes, I know the difference), the bananas were of a frozen, nonfresh variety. I gives it a B. The “Sparkling Cherry Lemonade” beverage gets an A+, though. It’s some kind of insanely sweet unholy alliance of what tastes like sparkling Minute Maid Lemonade and Cherry syrup. Not grenadine. SYRUP. Delicious, but perhaps “a bit much” when chased with strawberry french toast. On a related note, I finally broke down and purchased Raspberry/Blueberry Faygo, which was not exactly worth the 360 calories it cost me.

Went to see Tiffany glass and “color field” at the Frist, during which I explained to Nathan (while looking at a 10-foot, giant yellow painting) about how yellow is the anti-goth color.

“What else? I would think it would have been baby blue.”
“No…baby blue makes me think of cloudy days and Edward Scissorhands. It looks cold.”
“Really? But it’s the color of the sky!”
“Yeah, but the sky can be good and bad. It can be a sunny day or that which brings a hurricane.”

And so, Nathan’s frightening window into the goth mind was complete, and I continued to taunt him for his love for “rainbows and puppies.” Frist didn’t take very long, so we hit Christopher Pizza Kitchen (on Demonbreun) afterward. We had a hot, tattooed waiter and my Herbivore pizza was delish. Itraded a slive for Nathan’s Fancy Pants pizza, which was even better, and don’t even get me started on the Sugar Rush. It appears to be a Three Musketeers wrapped in pizza dough and baked, served with ice cream. Yeah, I know, but Nathan apparently can’t go to a restaurant without ordering dessert, and I figured that I’d be burning it off later. Scrubbing the house. Minds out of the gutter.

After foodz, I hit Panera to work on the project I’m doing for the VFW, and then went over to start the “renovation funk removal” on the new house. After 3 hours of scrubbing away errant paint streaks, manufacturers’ labels, and cob webs…I’m about half way done. I’m going to have to mop the floors two or 3 more times to get all of the renovation dust up, but I’ll settle for once more before the move. No point in doing the hard-core Cinderella Clean (on hands & knees with a scrub brush and sponge) until AFTER moving men have tromped through the house. Sadly, my arms weren’t sore the next day…I was so hoping that would have been more of a workout…

Got up and went to Panera for 4 more hours, isolating various coutries on a world map as part of the VFW project. Some were easy…others, like, Koh Tang island? Not so much. See, once upon a time, we were helping evacuate people or something from Cambodia (Khmer Rouge, blah blah), and we left a boat there. Eventually, we went back (to Koh Tang Island) to get said boat. Thus…the thing has to be part of what I’m doing. Long story.

Anyway, that took up pretty much the whole day (I refuse to set an alarm on a Sunday), so then it was time to get ready for goth night. Ordinarily, at a busy “I have a freelance project due AND I’m moving” time, I’d have skipped goth night, but it was 80s night. When the DJs throw you a Combichrist-free night, you had better show up for it. Much fun was had, and now I get to pack stuff tonight on 5 hours’ sleep. Today’s note card is already full (I keep a note card on my desk and, as I think of things I need to get done,  write them on said note card), so tonight shall be a busy night on the ladder. I need to take down the full-room curtains in the bedroom and get them washed before I move to a place which does not yet have a washer/dryer. Yeah…I guess I should add “order washer/dryer” to the note card too.

Weekend: Box, Box, Booze.

Did the usual thang with Mark and we tried a new Chinese place. After many years of being loyal patrons of China Bell, we finally admitted to ourselves that The Bell had gone south and my tasty vegetable dish was basically just grease-flavored. So, we gave Hunan Express a try. It’s a bizarre little place next to Sam Ash in Rivergate and, like every carry out Chinese restaurant on Earth, looks like you should expect food poisoning after you eat there. Why do Chinese carry-out places always have to be so sketchy-looking? It’s unsettling. Anyway, Hunan Express is owned by this dude and his wife (or some woman that I assume is his wife) and he talks into a little microphone to give her the orders, even though she’s only 7 feet away. “What’s in the Vegetarian Delight?” “NO MEAT!” Yeah. It was good, though. The only thing I would have changed was that there was a little too much whatever sauce poured over my rice.

Got up and did all of the dishes that had been languishing all over my kitchen, then went in to work to make a whole lotta text boxes for Giant Digital Magazine, which is just about finished. After that, I met Nat, Pearl, Lisa, and Shannon at Battered & Fried for an EIGHT-dollar sushi roll. It was good, but damn. I’m only going back there if someone else is paying…and I’m willing to repay the meal with sexual favors.

After Battered & Fried, Nat, Pearl and I went over to Red Door Midtown to meet kick-ass pilot gal Erin. The place was overrun with Vandy types who had apparently been drinking all day at steeplechase (steeplechase? hi, could you be little whiter?) so I was out of there by 10:30. I did, however, manage to finally consume an entire alcoholic beverage (amaretto sour) in a bar before closing on my house. OK, so it took me until age 30. Don’t judge.

Oh! I almost forgot: I finally got the dead microwave out of my kitchen. It had been sitting on the floor for two years (don’t judge me) because I recall only being able to lift it long enough to et it from the counter to the floor when I replaced it. When my well-meaning parents bought it for me, they got the most powerful (read: big) microwave they could find. You know, in case I felt like cooking a turkey or something. Over the years, I just stopped seeing it there… Anyway, my weight regime must be working because I carried that bitch out to the car without having to stop and rest or anything. My plan was to just drive around with it in my car until I had a boy with me who would help me throw it into a dumpster somewhere, but the lady at U-Haul (I was buying some super-large boxes) was like “I’ll put that in our trash if you want.” Sweet! Thanks, lady!

Got up and ran out to the car to get the extra-large boxes which, in Sunday’s strong winds, acted as a sort of kite that damn near lifted me off the ground. I packed all 4 of them, packing up almost everything in the kitchen and work room, except for some pots that I forgot about and some books of sheet music. I try to distribute the books over several boxes so I’m not totally screwed when I have to move those things around the house, and sheet music books are huge. This thought process did not, however, stop me from packing a 2-inch stack of black display boards into one box…I’m gonna have to tip the movers extra for that shit.

Since goth night was at Decades again this week, Jen and I decided to just hang out at Red Door East instead. I sprung for a Blue Valium…and then Jen surprised me with a second one. This, readers, is easily the most booze I’ve ever had in one sitting, as Red Door follows the rum/curacao/tequila/vodka recipe, as opposed to the blue mix/lemonade/vodka one. “Dude, he filled that thing up to HERE with liquor!” (Jen points about 1.5 inches below the rim of the glass.) “Yeah, but that’s mostly ice.”

At best, I was mildly tipsy, but I was really just so drowsy that my head felt like it was full of water. “That’s cause you didn’t drink them fast enough,” says Jen. A couple hours and a half Vivarin later, I was all good, except that my right contact had fallen out, making for an interesting drive home. “No, officer! I’m sober! I’m just blind in one eye!”