Spleen Removed by Wolves: GSA Edition

(Revised 28 July 05.)

AWK and I hit the streets shortly after noon. First stop, Sam Ash. An odd calm within. Clerks gave us our purchase; we paused at the door. A woebegone flyer for some club's "Saturday Night Dead" residency (with appropriated '76 John Rotten mug), foul muso tabloids with Shins cover stories... Very disconcerting. Off again to Comp USA; more hard drives, a Mac keypad. (We'd spilled something on the other one during Monday's session.) Complete mayhem at checkout, but in retrospect, probably normal for the joint.

Strolled over to Steinway and Sons, walked their justifiably famous hall. Karl Lagerfeld's 150th anniversary edition piano gave me a premonition of Alessandra Mussolini's naked thighs...

A few minutes later we were squeezing into the doorway of an impressively narrow Fifth Avenue deli. AWK ordered turkey on rye, while I stuck with Vitamin Water. We sat on the ledge in front of the Girl Scouts of America headquarters, flipping ideas back and forth, enjoying the respite. An insanely attractive woman entered our field of view. We held our breath as she walked near, paused, then crossed the street away from us. I felt as though I was nine... Fantastic!

Still talking about girls at Bed Bath & Beyond; still talking about girls outside Julliard.

I slept through AWK's piano lesson; his instructor studied under an instructor who studied under Bartók. Dutifully impressed. The delivery crew arrived from BB&B; one man's voice sounded as though it belonged in an immense body. Andrew later confirmed my suspicion.

Dinner at Zen Palate with Andrew's friend Cherie, then a walk through Union Square. White Belgian for her, 65% dark for me. Andrew sampled from both...

No fucking luck at Virgin! (We've been looking for the expanded edition of The Associates' extraordinary 1981 Fourth Drawer Down compilation. Struck out at Tower Broadway, Other Music, Mondo Kim's... It's so weird to not be able to find something in NYC.)

Andrew worked on the album all night, and I stayed out of his way.

Best,

Tom

PS: I'll clue you in to the surprise later. (Much later, most likely...)

Comments

ommyth said…
Hello Reg,

Re "secret": it's really no big deal, just tour stuff. (Now we know which corner of the world we'll be traveling to, when, etc.) I was sleepy when I wrote it, fulfilling personal obligations. I'll properly spill later.

Scanned the Dusted piece; for a pan, Sam certainly gave it a lot of thought! Fourteen paragraphs? As to resemblences, I haven't a clue. I would never download (much less purchase) anything by a group called "The Hold Steady."

I always hated the Replacements (extremely fucking dull), always hated Husker Du (even more so), always loved Prince (until 1991 or so).

Best,

TS
ommyth said…
Roe, doll, thanks for the Wendy's tip. You must remember, however, that before I devolved into this shameful veganistic state, I'd already chewed my way through the flanks of several thousand cows, chickens, ducks, boars, sloths, tapirs, voles, spitting cobras, etc. Thus, I must respectfully decline consideration of your suggestion. I'm only being generous - more flesh for you, more tofu for me. Besides, Wendy's french fries always sucked. Right? Go to http://www.happycow.com and find a vegan-friendly joint in your area. Either firebomb the place, or take yourself to dinner. Do it every day for a week. (Do not listen to the music of Moby, whatever you do!) Your life will change, regardless. (Oh fuck, I'm proselytizing!) Okay, eat raw reindeer. Drink from the blood and bile of slain postal workers. Eat all of England's remaining hedgehogs. It's all cool by me...

Got a lot of work done on TLASILA's alb and demos for AWK's alb last night... Both shaping up nicely...

TS
ommyth said…
Roe equals fish eggs ("esp. when still enclosed in the ovarian membrane," sez Merriam-Webster), so I can never devour you. But I can recall you, wistfully, from afar. Desire to chomp flesh all gone; I clocked into that factory already. (And as you know, we here at TLASILA HQ prefer snuffing routine to buffing it to high sheen.) Now, I marvel at mangoes, snow peas, gnarled ginger roots... Acquired my one remaining food vice in Russia: I'm addicted to pistachio nuts. Most people there eat them obsessively; I too was bitten by the fystashki bug. I crack 'em open, scarf their fruit, and litter the shells over the Oval Office carpeting, atop the coffins of dead reservists in cargo jet holds, under Nicole Richie's skirts, within charred remnants and keepsake cinders, inside preemie incubators.

Yours Vegetatively,

Tom

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