I witnessed a gloriously awkward chance encounter two weeks ago before the Spoon show at Webster Hall. And despite my tardiness in reporting it to others, it's definitely worth a mention on this here rag.
Donnie Fiedler, [Name Withheld] and I stood outside my apartment just after 8 pm doing the cool kid thing: smoking cigarettes in a small circle before seeing a rock concert. (Man, we're awesome, but that's a whole separate and incredible riveting story for another time.) On this night, the three of us huddled together, taking in both the nicotine and the unseasonably warm December weather as one, enjoying our last night of triumvirate happenings in 2006.
Like many evenings outside my door, a disheveled man began to approach our group, and as someone who's been hounded for change or smokes quite often, I recognized his game before he made it there. So Donnie and I continued discussing the nonsensical minutiae that envelops most of our time together, and the seemingly homeless man reached the third member of our party.
He came over and saw [NW]'s face, and before he asked for anything his face lit up: "Oh hey, what are you doing around here? I was just gonna come over here and ask for a cigarette, and hey, it's you!"
I heard that line uttered, but instead of breaking up whatever was about to go down, I continued my chat with Donnie and kept one ear on this now-interesting side conversation. [NW] exchanged pleasantries with the man briefly, and one of us gave him a cigarette before he waved politely and walked back down the way he came.
I should say here, there are three homeless people around Manhattan that know me by face and/or name (one believes the world will END in 2017, no joke). So I thought this was strictly a case of our friend knowing this man on account of being friendly to panhandlers. Either that or we had just caught him in an incredibly embarrassing "Handjobs for Cash" scheme.
Our curiosity and interest piqued, Don and I inquired immediately: "How the fuck
do you possible know that guy?"
"Oh, um, he's in my Stop Smoking class," [NW] said with a smile.
Doesn't seem so awkward yet, until you realize that [NW] doesn't take a Stop Smoking class with this man -- he teaches
the class. Yes, my hypocrite but wicked smaht friend is now less than a year away from attaining his PhD in psychology, and every week he stands before a group of war veterans and preaches the joy of the non-smoking life, trying his best to help these cats off the sticks as best he can.
And on this particular night, a regular attendee of our friend's class marched up to a random twentysomething on a random street looking to bum a smoke, and he was greeted by the guy trying so hard to help him quit...with a cigarette in his mouth and a smile on his face.
He's yet to come back to class. I guess "Do as I say, not as I do" only goes so far with war veterans. God, I just fucking love shit like that.Slack Link of the Day
: I'm one of those guys that thinks New York
Magazine is the greatest publication in the land, local or national. I've got a cushy job, but if they offered me something, I'd take it in a heartbeat, because they're super. Everyone there writes how I write, or maybe I write the way everyone there writes. No matter how stupid, always insert yourself into the story, because the story's always about you in some way. That introductory graf aside, check out this article from the current issue, Chasing Dash Snow
. Cool shit.Slack Video of the Day
: From the world of Deadspin
, check out this awesome clip of a Wichita sportscaster dropping a serious F-Bomb
on a man named Buzz (I think little home-alone Kevin McAllister wishes he thought of this one). And on the similar-but-not-really front, here's a better one of a street reporter getting harrassed
at a concert on Randall's Island. Classic.Slack Robot Video of the Day
: Robot dude gets pwned
by steps.Slack Song of the Day
: Since I posted the Umphrey's McGee New Year's show yesterday, it's only fair I put up the Tea Leaf Green NYE concert
from Philly today. Regular readers know how much I fellate these bastards in my online reviews, but my enthusiasm for them shouldn't be off-putting to youse, and I implore you to give 'em a listen. They're not a Phishy third-tier jamband that wastes your time, they're a tight song-based unit that blends several genres to create a folk-infused, raw rock-heavy sound. It's quite something.
Let's all check out these beauties together: Hot Dog
, Can You Guess It?
> Death Cake
, Garden III
and Georgie P