not make a fucking cold, Vun: Perugina's kisses
Connie gave me the pass for the gym more pussy in the city, the Equinox, miles of treadmills, swimming pool, sauna, shampoo mint . The only problem is that every week I have to change slightly my name, because it is not apparent from the archives that I have already used the pass and is now paying, what the fuck. I've also tried, but the tools are used to strengthen the muscles and not to create them from scratch. To which I threw in the pool, hoping to find Vecchiazzano obese intent to see if it is true that the pee is green, but I found only Olympic champions in freestyle grappling with the world record. After a swim or two issues, with fear of a clash against the Dolphins, and after simulation of elbow injury, I fled. Definitely.
This is happened on Tuesday, the day of Valentine's Day more than ever felt here, the kind that people exchange gifts in bursts, even among friends, father and daughter, neighbor and neighbor across the homosexual. Come back from the gym, totally destroyed despite physical activity close to zero, I performed a scientific experiment: listening to the playlist on my Ipod Uk on the streets of Manhattan. In fact, it makes species.
So listen "Just looking" of the Charlatans and the metalhead next to me on the subway reads Vanity Fair, listening to "She's a man" of Thurman and one can stop me to ask `where is the closest noodle shop (the signs become more sophisticated every day ...), I hear the dodgy, "Staying out for the summer," while later in the Gristedes supermarket, begins "Happy" of Travis and I try in vain peeled tomatoes, even the Northern Uproar and the cashier asks me something I can not feel convinced and I nod, I go up to "Radio speaks" of the West 4th Revelino that takes me home.
On flights of stairs of 523 Hudson Street Party "Underwear" by Pulp and I can not help but think that this song is Valentine's most beautiful in the world. Then I go into my house tilted, and Connie is back.
not make a fucking cold, Du: In '75 we c'avevamo Gilda
Vice President Cheney after a nice drink has impallinato a hunting companion, find new photos of torture at Abu Ghraib and the U.S. , upset, are divided: 50% is shocked by the flirtation between Jessica Simpson and singer of Maroon 5 and the remaining 50% is masturbating with a special issue of Sports Illustrated swimsuit.
Wednesday is the big day of the return of the Star Spangles, with a disc in the freezer in October, a bassist and a drummer changed and a contract with Capitol that is not understood well. When I saw them play in 2003, the hipster world was abuzz in anticipation of their debut album, the concerts a pit (here, I remember, it means beating of feet deep), perennially sold-out. I crushed their first album, "Bazooka" I can not drive for more to anyone (no, is illegal: I made a private copy and maybe not even that) and then, shit, I expected great things, considering the venue, CBGB's.
The charm of the place remains unchanged, it is just a big bullshit this whole thing of the closure (which will happen ', without exception, in October). Valli understand, 'sti assholes. Anyway. The first surprise is that there's no too many people, in fact there is almost a fuck about anyone ... The groups are open as long as you leave (the Wired are the worst, but The New Story, the Orange Park are the Kings Of Leon but worse than The New Story), the selection of groups in the ass in fact may have its weight to the fortunes of a club, even if one speaks of CBGB's.
The Spangles, despite everything, beautiful part loads, you see that is a good deal 'that do not play, alternating new one and old one (including the classics, "I live for speed," "I do not want to be crazy anymore," "Which of the two of us ...", "Science fiction"), but the belief is waning because people do not `and` nothing to share. There is more public, and infinitely more excited to see the 128 Picchio Rosso Krupps (without taking anything away from them) ... The impression is that their time is gone forever. Too bad, fuck. Stupid me that I was so deluded that a group could pull more than the debut album. Poor Spangles.
not make a fucking cold, Tri: My new group more preferred (the part that does not want to read Coope)
In fooling network that distinguishes my work days, I pulled out of the hat of the calls for the world premiere of "Date Movie", a sort of sequel to "Scary Movie of total ignorance and disconcerting, with gags so obvious and down to earth that I laugh out loud from beginning to end. As soon as I finish
sling subway to the Lower East Side. At the intersection where it should be the Rothko, there is only `a Deli and also rather Zozzo. R'n'R stationed in front of them four girls of the species from Friday night at Plastic, dark look strictly 80s and frangettona ordnance. Our dialogue (translated freely as always):
"Excuse me, you know where is the Rothko?
"Yes, is right here behind them ... I bet you go to see the Baby Shakes!"
"No, really go for the other two groups, the Hong Kong and Celebration"
"Oh ... but the baby shakes us ..."
"Ah. Well. Well, I bet you're also very respectable"
... and despite the approach they take it all and even the singer is said to "love" of my name (... oh, well), I accompany inside, I have the bass like I `who knows (I have not idea why), I give the order, brooch, a single copy of the CD, the latest copy of the 45 laps. Earned, in just a few minutes and without any kind of play, the title of my favorite band (not difficult bribe). And I'm talking about this , so to speak.
subsequent groups seem to be the most interesting band in circulation without a recording contract, and in fact are among the best things that I have passed between my ears since I came here. The Hong Kong are the Strokes with Debbie Harry, and Celebration are heading a cross between Siouxsie & The Banshees and Blonde Redhead. Are both well worth a listen, but believe me, the Baby Shakes, fuck, are the best team in the world. Listen to your headphones to bleed remains of sponge. That you can.
(during the night I learned a new word that I misused for hours, only to discover that means "to ejaculate on qlcosa, qlcuno ... taught me suits, the friend of the Korean Jurie, James Iha of Smashing Pumpkins put the disks in the post-concert)
not make a fucking cold, final reccomendations.
whole life, Baby Shakes . Listen to it. And maybe let me know. I'm curious.
"Not Getting Better" of Hong Kong.
"Galaxies" of Hong Kong, which gets them .
Finally, Celebration.
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