the thrill is GONE

the red hook ballfields are back, as you may have read or seen. i knew b/c when i went yesterday there were as many camera crews there as there are paparozzi currently stationed on 64th and Central Park West outside of Madonna's apartment, waiting to catch a glimpse of A-Rod (believe me, i've seen them). unfortunately, friends, it just ain't the same. what used to be gigantic, beautiful chaos is now tightly regulated bullshit. bullshit in that, well in that i personally think it's bullshit to wait in a 75 person deep line for a lemonade. bullshit in that the 3 best vendors have taken up residence at the brooklyn flea on sundays, and apparently are sticking tight because they weren't at the soccer fields this weekend. and, finally, bullshit because the cause of the red hook food vendors has become a bit of a brooklyn cause celebre, in that the ejection of the food vendors was met with such universal disapproval and outrage (color me guilty as well. i started one of the oodles of "save red hook" myspace pages as a properly lazy act of civic responsibility), that the return of the vendors in this opening weekend was met with such a massive turnout that anyone who really loves the food and the red hook ballfields was positively turned away from the long lines for, basically, nothing. i love that all of the vendors were getting the spillover business from the outrageously over-taxed huarache stand, and even the lady selling $10 containers of ceviche and "tuna soup." but truthfully, there's a reason why those stands weren't ever really busy in the first place (i once overheard a teenage soccer player crack wise to his homies with the snap-tastic "she puts TUNA in the ceviche," which elicited massive snickering and snorting. i like to think of this joke as the ceviche version of steve martin's plumbing joke).

why so bitter, right? well those lines were really just excessively ridiculous, but i understand that i'm crabby and old. i understand that the new blood at the ballfields will thin, as it always does, and the lines will become manageable. in my impatience, i also was introduced to a vendor i've never visited before, the colombian booth, at which i had a delicious plate of beans and rice that kept me full and semi-coherent throught the entire day, which is no small feat on a saturday, especially one like yesterday in which the day was long and the cervezas were aplenty. i guess this tiny rage stems from the incompetence of the city, which happily enables any and all roasted corn & watermelon slice vendors, as well as the ubiquitous cheese steak carts, at every street fair in the city that bounces from street to street throughout the summer in new york city. the sheer size, or lack of, is undoubtably crippling for the vendors, and has permanently altered the feel of "soccer tacos" and has made it more of a nyc street fair and less of a red hook secret. i used those vendors as a surrogate for a mere 2 years, sating my constant need for mexican/latin food, which has represented 90% of my subsistence for these past 33 years, and even more than that the past 9 that i've been a vegetarian. sandwiches get old, but nachos never do, and a quality meal that even a pauper could afford was something that i grew to not only appreciate but need in the worst/best possible way. those days are now gone, and if i really want the "red hook" experience, i now have to make it a once a week occasion, and have to go to fort greene to get it, and to wade through comically overpriced antiques, neckerchiefs and knick-knacks to do so. but my loyalties lie not just with the meal but with the person who prepares it, and the best of those vendors, the hernandez huarche stand and the good el salvadoran pupusa people, they've moved on and defied the city's financial demands and continued doing things the way they've done them for 20 years. i also just really like the guy who just prepares the meat shanks at the pupusa stand, he's my favorite of them all. i'm also bitter because today i accidentally ate the second bit of meat i've had in 9 years, and the first was an honest mistake of an egg roll at a chinese buffet in oklahoma. lord, that shit was nasty. last time i go to that pupusa stand, even if they have the pupusas with the mysterious loroco flower. thank goodness there's a plan B, even if i have to ride the train to get there.

p.s., for anyone who ever walks down 9th street between smith & court street. my over/under for the stoner MORON who keeps his bong collection in the window, for all to see, on going to jail is 2 years. any takers? he/she has had it up there for at least 1 year already. how the NYPD hasn't noticed this, with the requisite black light/red light bulb back lighting, well it's beyond me. they must have bigger fish to fry.

dispatch from the jordan brand classic

so, these 2 kids in the middle of this picture, the twin brothers, are trouble. they're headed to the University of Kansas, and they're not like the collins brothers or those 2 twins who were on that one Valpo team that made it to the sweet sixteen. these kids can seriously play, and for my money were the stars of the whopping 7 solid hours of basketball that i sat through on saturday at the jordan brand classic. 15 bucks buys you a pretty solid day of entertainment, and i was totally disappointed for about 4 minutes that they were not serving beer at the garden. in reality, i figured, a day of drinking super expensive game day beer at Madison Square Garden really leaves a lot to be desired, and i'd get bored with the games and become more interested in drinking more beer, and i'd just leave without watching the game, and what's the point in that? i got my drinkin' done later, anyway, cheaply and efficiently at the Holland Bar, in a scene that resembled the middle section of LL Cool J's "Mama Said Knock You Out." It went a little something like this..."DAMAGE" huh "DAMAGE" Huh "DAMAGE" HUH! HUH! HUH!, and then i'm stumbling towards the train a mere 1 hour later. Okay, points of interest from the JBC (you want the recap, check here.)

1. never in a million years, and i've been to MSG a few times now, but never in a million years would i have guessed that among the retired numbers of Messier & Reed & Frazier, hang the retired/celebratory numbers of Billy Joel and Elton John. thanks, international all star game! your combination of balanced scoring and sound fundamental basketball led my eyes to wander, and a productive wandering at that. i spotted the sweet lower level seat that i occupied for the rest of the 5 hours i was there during that game.

2. the morris twins can roll, dude. they're gonna be like snakes in the grass for big XII foes for the next 2-4 years. my initial reason for attending the JBC was to see willie warren play, hoping he'll be the next savior of oklahoma basketball. now, i'm hoping he's also our own little riki tiki tavi.

3. willie warren was wholly underwhelming. sad to say it, and those all star games are all about dunks & 3's, but he mostly just turned the ball over & threw up ugly shots. he wasn't really the star of the show, though, that kid was Brandon Jennings. Bill Simmons has a typically brilliant idea called the "All-Shootaround Team." we all know this kid/guy, NBA he's huge and athletic & canning 3's all over the floor. college kid is tiny and white and hitting NBA 3s with his eyes closed, like 20 in a row. well, for my money, Brandon Jennings is a scrub for the All-Shootaround team. Every single time in shootaround, he goes up for a spectacular between the legs 180 dunk...and every time blows it. Never actually successfully dunks the ball. For my money, his game is all sizzle, no steak, but he can really toss up an alley oop. big deal.

4. in shootaround, while checking B. Jennings, i was drawn to his haircut, which was more bell biv devoe than i've seen in years. and, in an incredible moment of synchronicity, who comes out to sing the national anthem, but Boys II Men.

5. pre-game, the crowd becomes astir. someone real famous is here, i can tell, much more famous than ron harper, who has been roaming the sidelines chatting. no, the buzz is "it's jordan! it's jordan!" sure enough, it was michael jordan. he was only maybe 7 rows down from me, and about 3 sections, so i had a pretty clear view. everyone was kind of electrified by his presence, and i found myself staring at the back of what might be the most famous bald head in the history of bald heads (who else? buddha? atlas? Mr. Monopoly? Mr. Clean?). i always hated jordan when he played, and rooted for whoever was playing against the bulls in the finals, including a few pride swallowing years rooting for the lakers and the Utah Jazz. however, i kind of wanted to thank him. it has been a long time since there was any sort of real, exciting basketball in a building that jordan himself calls the Mecca of basketball. it was nice of him to bring it back, even if just for a night.

Ideologies from the Jersey shore

This weekend I went out to spend the weekend at the Jersey shore. Nice weekend, relaxing and a fun new travel destination. While waiting for the train to take us back to NY, we stopped into a small coffee shop and I spotted a copy of the newest issue of The Rag, a local arts publication for artists & music types, you might already know which issue i mean. The one with local tattoo artists from A New Empyre on the cover. Inside, I found a treatise on the state of artistic expression in the Bradley Beach/Asbury Park/Neptune City/Belmar area that is simply impossible to ignore. Delivered by by local singer/songwriter Scott Thomas Webster, I felt implored to share his message with any and all willing to listen. So, this column is reprinted without permission, but you can see a copy of the actual article at his myspace page.


Rebelling Against Tyranny Is Obedience To The Soul by Scott Thomas Webster

Hello everybody, I'm Scott Thomas Webster and I'm here this time to create an uproar. That's right - I'm throwing off the gloves and getting controversial. I'm an unconventional singer/songwriter that has a lot of passion and it burns like gasoline. I'm tired of feeling silenced and possibly not taken serious because I'm the "young guy." So I'm calling you out!

Haven't you musicians realized the DJ's are cunningly taking away the artistic soul and art of creation? Trust me. Businesses and DJ's are getting away with MURDER on this! Honestly, from a business point of view, if I ran a club or restaurant, I would hire a DJ as well. Let's see...it's cheaper to hire some monkey behind a spin board than pay an entire live act. The monkey would end up playing all those songs that are already hits, which in turn would make all the customers happy so they'll keep buying drinks. There would be lack of complaints because the monkey can spin any disc in order to reach all different kinds of people. MURDER! It's very clever, though. I tall you what...it's a little secret...I'm not a businessman in some cheapass suit. I'm an artist.

So what can we do? What I have been noticing is that people, even our middle age generation, are tired of hearing the same crap. Hell, how much of the Hawk can we listen to? I'm tired of the same old song and dance. Aren't you? HA! Anyway, Donnie G (publisher of this magazine) offers plenty of venues in this newspaper that support the arts and creativity of uprising musician s such as myself - take a look. Like I said, I'm just stirring it up right now. My first punch goes to you DJ's!

Here comes a left hook. Ever since that soap bopper, reality TV series, sludge factory American Idol started; karaoke is now taking the spotlight. From a business point of view, that's not a bad idea. Hmmm, like I said before...it's cheaper to hire a karaoke crew than to pay live acts. The best part of this is the customers can participate, which is a beautiful thing at times because there are some fabulous singers that want to get their chance and can't make it to those corporate whores of American Idol. I do support karaoke to an extent. I can't help but to get discouraged at moments, because some drunken buffoon that can't sing thinks he/she could be the next Taylor Hicks. That's when I sit down and think...my hats off to you, because I see more of that than the real deal singers. On a serious note, I wish the best for all of you singers putting yourself out there and shooting for your dream. Write some poetry and get a band. Take charge if you have the talent. YOU DESERVE TO GET PAID! Not some karaoke junkie. WHAAMMM! I hope that didn't "hurt" too much!

Now, I'm a rebellious fighter and us musicians want success in what we strive for, correct? Good, glad we're on the same page. So this is what we do. LET'S THINK POSITIVE! We need to start a fire before we can keep warm. So get all your material together and try to keep it within 3 minutes. The average person's attention span is probably around 30 seconds. People easily get sidetracked when they are presented with something they have never heard before or simply isn't catchy. I am guilty of this. Next, MySpace offers free unlimited access to whatever we want! Create a music page - I can't stress that enough! That guy Tom is presenting us with a gift. Let's run with it! In today's world, it's death to the record. Technology is surpassing the music business. Don't sign a contract right now; you'll get chewed up and spit out faster than a stale piece of gum. You want to make it big? Build a fanbase and don't be biased to other artists. You must create a crowd that won't be silenced. Be prepared to feel delusional before professional. This doesn't happen overnight, and I'm still learning as well. I'm the "young guy..." What do I know? I've taken many punches, but I'm still going, even when I starved and slept in piss. I hope you're feeling fancy!

I have so much more to say so if you have comments, suggestions, or want to throw a punch at me...reach me at www.myspace.com/ScottTwebster or at ScottTwebster@yahoo.com.

a career, reimagined

tonight, listening to the latest record by a band i really care for quite a bit, the Fruit Bats, and when i say newest i mean their record that came out 2 years ago, i had a bit of an epiphany. this record, Spelled In Bones, was their least publicized, least respected, and most quickly forgotten of their scarce 3 albums. it's filled, absolutely filled, with beautiful melody, pop chord progressions, eric johnson's gigantic voice and a consistent, super-duper strong set of 10 songs that always pick you up and never let you down. awesomely ignored, and here i sit, a fan of a record no one's ever heard. and i thought to myself, what if? ever had that one, the what if? well i did, & here's how mine went. what if the 3 Fruit Bats records were released out of sequence, in a different order...what would their career be like now? what would folks think of if you dropped their name in a music convo now? i think, at least critically, it might go a little something like this...

Debut album: Fruit Bats. Spelled In Bones

EW Review: I believe that one song title spells it out..."born in the 70's." not sounds like the 70's, but firmly entrenched in the 70's, with no eagles or BTO aftertaste. the vocals are huge AND understated, the mood is mellow AND not stoned, and the best song doesn't hit until 9 songs in, the driving and insistently hummable "The Wind that drew my Heart Away." Bet the house on the future of the Fruit Bats.

PitchforkMedia review, cut to mid 7th paragraph: ...and while very subtly referencing it's obvious forebearers, Spelled in Bones both embraces and shuns them, much as I did my last girlfriend. I think of this record in the same sphere, embrace and disdain it like that. fuck you for being perfect, i don't want perfect. i want flaws, i want kinks and juts and weak moments. fuck you for not having that.

Discolletive.com review: N/A

2nd Album: Echolocation

EW Review: Fruit Bats step back into their Americana roots, and Fruit Bats leader Eric Johnson steps back into his musical roots and embraces his main instrument, the banjo. While not banjo or dobro or country heavy, much of this record feels like a psychedelic hoe-down. I shouldn't forget to mention, they also include what will invariably be their signature song as a throwaway to close the album, "Dragon Ships." An awesome avoidance of the sophomore slump for the Fruit Bats, and yeah dude, the "city's got me feelin like a m***er f***er" too.

PitchforkMedia review: She left me. Let's let the facts be the facts, ok? She left ME. And what, really, was I asking for? Attention? Love? An impossible knowledge of obscure and absolutely current musical knowledge, both impressive in it's breadth and depth, that i could ridicule? sure, obviously, but what about the reality, about the serious shit....so, yeah, the new fruit bats record. it's retro futuristic country, and the best song of the year also happens to be on this album, and best lyric. top "i wish i were a viking in 1103, i'd fuck up shit on the high cold sea." i dare you. especially you, you damn leavin me ass bitch. i love you baby. i miss you too.

Discollective.com review: N/A

3rd album: Mouthfulls

Pitchfork Media review: While lingering in somewhat indie obscurity (though not so obscure, holding court with critical darlings Iron and Wine and The Shins on Seattle's Sub Pop label, also former home to Nirvana), Fruit Bats bound out with Mouthfuls. While not their most accessible effort, nor their most obscure, they reach a happy medium that satisfies both the hipster & huckster, & even my bitch ex-girlfriend...

Time Magazine review: A sound that appeals to the hipster and the aging ex-hippie, and everyone in between. Not the most important new record to have in your collection now, but the most important new record to have in your collection for the next 20 years. File in between Wilco and Neil Young, but you'll pull Mouthfuls off the shelf more often than anything, so maybe don't file it at all.

Discollective.com review: N/A

so, what have we learned from this revisionist musical history? numero uno, save your best for first. check Wilco, Arcade Fire, Spoon, etc. for evidence. the weirder, and somewhat crappier, you get in your "career," well the more respect and notoriety you get for being an artist. and numero dos, Discollective.com reviewers, get fucking reviewing! come on, kids!

how to neglect a blog

one might ask himself, why would you neglect your own blog? especially one, much like this one, that is really only meant for one person (that person being me) and one that, thanks to blogspot, is so criminally easy to maintain. well, that's a pretty hard question. lots of excuses come to mind. too much reading (i've been reading a lot of books)...too much movie-going (ditto on that one. i've seen everything AND highly recommend Once)...too much going out/staying in and drinking (which, shamefully & regrettably, goes without saying). yeah, lots of excuses. so, sorry, me. i'll try to be better. which leads me to:

boy, won't it be a real shame if & when the red hook ballfields (or, as i overheard a girl charmingly call it/them when i was leaving the pool on saturday, "soccer tacos") close forever? i just don't know how to process that. the vendors seem to have more business than ever. on saturday, i walked right up & got a pupusa. 15 minutes later, there were 45 minute long lines for every vendor, including the confusing Guatemala booth. Sunday, the lines were like that all day. the quality of the food is top notch, and most of the vendors have suddenly provided helpful signs as to how to structure a line and what they sell. it seems like the whole thing is really coming together, becoming not so much a service for displaced & hungry latinos & soccer fans, but for anyone who has an appetite & appreciates quality food for an affordable price (or a refreshing fruit beverage after a hot day by the pool. recently, i've discovered this service that "soccer tacos" has been providing for me. how have i been so blind?).

it seems like in a city that throws so many fastballs & nasty, barry zito-esque curveballs at it citizens on a minute by minute basis, don't folks in brooklyn & the surrounding boroughs deserve just a couple of pitches thrown by the batting practice pitcher guy? or better yet, just laid there on the tee, just waiting to be clobbered? i really think so. ok, blog updated, albeit boringly & not especially verbosely, but updated all the same. stay tuned, though, for the benefits of the Zombie Hut & Why i am an inadequate blogger when compared to Tyson Meade.

my lucky huarache

this morning, crack of 1, i rolled out of bed eager to reignite what was/is to be the summer of the huarache. there've been silent vows to not cop out on the long line & frequent miscommunications at the front of the line at the huarache stand, and head over to the pupusa booth. there does exist a wide degree of interest in fully exploring the salsa buffet line, all of which is too hot for me to eat but i'm giving it a go, and giving each salsa it's own huarache to accentuate/incinerate for me. so, i headed over to the ballfields. the initial interest of the brooklynites seems to have weaned dramatically in the food vendors, as there were really no lines today and not a lot of people out there, despite the unseasonably mild weather & sunny saturday atmosphere. i got to move to the front of the line, and to see the nopales close up & personal, as today they were not diced but cut into long delectable strips. i buy the huarache, try new salsa #2, which i think could best be desribed as a lightly pureed pico de gallo, still a little pulpy but tasty & warm but not uncomfortable. i head over to my bench & get into my first bite and...problem. i think i just lost a tooth, as i just crunched into something rock hard. i assumed it was one of my teeth, & the inevitable dental anxiety sinks in. i reach into my mouth to examine the loose tooth, & it's not a tooth at all, but a shiny new dime. somehow in the exchange, a dime had been dropped into my huarache. i wiped it off & put it in my pocket, i'm hoping it'll be a lucky charm.

i just returned from a trip home to oklahoma, and added a bag to my luggage on the flight home. my grandfather died on new year's eve of last year, and when my sister and i were cleaning out his room & deciding what to do with all of his possessions, i came upon his collection of suits. though i have no idea why, this collection of vintage suits from the 60's & 70's seemed to me to be the last thing that i could willfully surrender to the goodwill. in the inside jacket pockets of every one of these suits were a collection of the pamphlets given out at funerals. my grandfather, thomas vaughn (TV), was a very genial and social man, but he had a very genial and social fascination with death. he bought plots in the cemetery where the rest of his family was buried for himself and all of his children many years ago, and would often cart his lawn mower into the back of his pickup and take it down to the paoli cemetary, and mow the whole fucking graveyard. for fun. he outlived one of his children, his wife & most of his brothers & sisters, and saved the memorials in the jacket pockets of his suits. i couldn't surrender them. so, i've been slowly moving them back to my apt., as many as my luggage can support with each successive trip back to oklahoma. i'm going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant with a friend this evening, and i decided to wear a pair of the suit pants from one of my grandfather's suits. inside the pants pocket, i found a little segment of a tan shoelace (the suit is white, brown, & tan). i'd like to think that he carried this around as a lucky string, though i know being the forgetful and thrifty man that he was, the shoelace probably broke, he picked it up to save it & possibly repair it, and forgot about it. but now, it's my lucky shoelace. i'm pairing it with my lucky dime, and hoping for gobs of the luckiest days in my direct future.

NOPALES!!!

so, let's, and when i say let's, i mean myself, be honest with ourselves here: i'm a lazy vegetarian. years ago when i stopped eating meat, my friend eric was talking about how good the salads are at the service station in norman, OK, and i thought to myself, "i may be a vegetarian, but i ain't crazy. i'm not just ordering a freaking salad!" i never said that to him though, but i thought it. cut to years later, the fascination with frozen amy's organic meals far in the past, and the boredom with every combination of veggie burger and potato long since set in, i've become an adventurous cook...but still a skeptic at the restaurant. when i was in mexico, everyone ordered the nopales (cactus) at least once at the amazing taco stand that we went to at least 7 times, everyone except me. drunk one night in a crappy mexican restaurant in my old neighborhood (and for some reason not at one of the two AMAZING mexican places in Ditmas Park, El Alamo or Cinco De Mayo), i decided to give the nopales a try, and my verdict was "wow...tastes like a bell pepper." maybe there was a sarcastic clap afterwards, like i said, i was downing negra modelos and trying to solve the mystery of Victoria beer (a tale for another day), my memory of the dinner is foggy and the only lasting sensation of that dinner is one of being underwhelmed.

so today, in my very minimal red hook ballfields weekend (one visit), i accidentally got nopales. also, btw, anyone caring to go to the ballfields and not wait in line at all for any vendor, go around 11 or 11:30. i walked right up to the huarache stand and ordered my veg. huarache con queso, and in the assemblage process, the senora making my huarache asked me repeatedly if i wanted something on my huarache, the word describing whatever that little something was being a: in espanol and b: out of my diminutive spanish lexicon. so, i replied "si," she handed me the huarache & it was loaded with sliced, grilled nopales. sweet and tart, soft but not soggy grilled nopales. it was a revalation, a welcome addition to the palate. highly recommended. also, the ballfields was turning up the volume today, and i don't mean in food quality or service quality, though both were far above par today. as i walked up to the soccer field, i could hear a loudspeaker from blocks away, and when i got there, an assemblage of teams, i assume all of the teams playing there today, were in a giant circle on the field, and the MC was holding court. i think there was a national anthem playing, my unfamiliarity with other nation's national anthem is, frankly, embarrassing.