Black List: HAVING TO VOTE FOR A THIRD PARTY LOSER

Last week I voted for a third party candidate in this year’s mayoral election because I couldn’t vote for either of the major candidates. I was hoping for a more interesting yet still palatable candidate for mayor but I was out of luck.

As expected, Mayor Bloomberg rolled right over his Democratic challenger. Bloomberg is a much better mayor than I thought he would be, and he has the businesslike demeanor and independent thinking that New Yorkers respect. He runs the city well, when he’s not trying to swindle the taxpayers with multi-million dollar giveaways to greedy developers or having the police ride roughshod over the First Amendment. I guess I should be thankful that the more competent of two evils one.

Last Word on New Orleans, For Now

Yes, I know: long time, no blog. I’ve been busy and lazy, though not necessarily in that order.

My latest column went up on GetUnderground at the start of this month and documents my visit to New Orleans this summer and some thoughts about the aftermath. It think it’s one of my better columns in recent memory.

From Blackout Matt: R.I.P. Al of Hate

From Blackout Matt:

Like anyone else that ever met him or saw him perform, I was very sad to learn of Al of Hate’s death.

The first thing that I noticed when I saw Eyes of Hate for the first time was that their singer didn’t stand on the stage. Al stood in front of the stage, among the fans. I’ve seen them about a half a dozen times, not including the two shows they played with Blackout Shoppers, and every time Al was down in front of the stage.

Al was the lead singer and therefore the band’s most visible member, but he did away with the barrier between band and audience and refused the pedestal of the stage. He was a powerful and charismatic front man who insisted that the fans be in the spotlight with him. While he prowled back and forth and commanded the room, Al never denied anyone a chance to sing along.

The first time Blackout Shoppers played with them, Eyes of Hate had one of their fans join them on stage and play bass for several songs. While she was getting situated, Antonio the guitar player and Jay the drummer launched into an impromptu version of Slayer’s ‘Reign in Blood.’ It rocked, but Al wasn’t about to be distracted from giving one of his fans a chance to play with her favorite band and he cut them off. Few bands are as trustworthy and as caring about their fans as that.

The second time we played with Eyes of Hate was earlier this year at Grand Central Bar in Brooklyn. Due to some bands canceling at the last minute, we scrambled to help fill the open slots on the bill. Eyes of Hate was one of the bands to accept our invitation only about a week before the show. They ended up bringing the largest number of fans and making the show one of the best we’ve ever played.

That show they played with us was one of three that they played that day. Talking to Al outside the bar, I marveled at how they could do that. Al didn’t complain about how tired he was or anything, but just shrugged it off. It’s what you have to do if you’re in a band, he explained to me. You have to work. He gave me encouragement and said that if we wanted to travel more we need to invest in getting a van. Playing three shows in one day just wouldn’t be possible for them without their van, he said.

Al personified and voiced both the thrills and frustrations of living in New York, most notably in an Eyes of Hate song ‘Sweet Home New York City,’ done in the tune of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’ He sang a song in Spanish and at one point had been studying Korean to better communicate with some of his neighbors.

He was a hardcore punk through and through and made aggressive music that had people moshing up a storm, but refused to cater to Neanderthals and thugs intent on meaningless violence. He sang about the importance of questioning authority and his political lyrics were not based on blind adherence to ideology but to a deep and abiding respect for New York and America’s beleaguered working class.

After Al died, I learned more about him as the Internet lit up with stories and condolences. Al would use his van to take people to shows, would pay for those too broke to attend or sneak people into shows that were underage. Cutie Calamity from the band S.M.U.T. told of how once Al booked a show just for her at the Knitting Factory when she really needed cheering up. Cutie is now busy booking shows to pay tribute to Al of Hate and I’m sure has more bands wanting to play than she could ever book.

At his funeral five days after his death, family, fans and friends filled the chapel where his funeral service was held. As the service got under way, a crush of punk rockers, many wearing Eyes of Hate t-shirts, packed into the chapel until there was no place left to sit. The spectacle of conservatively dressed family members turning around in their seats to witness the mob of punks filling the room was one I’m sure Al would enjoy.

Eyes of Hate bass player Tommy was the first person to speak at the funeral. He marveled at the band’s progress and his times with Al. One day he met Al at a show and before he knew it they were making music and traveling the country together.

I can’t help but feel a deep sense of regret. Regret I didn’t get to know Al as well, regret we didn’t get to play more shows with him, but most of all regret for what the punk rock world and New York City has lost.

Blackout Matt

Road Trip to New Orleans, Part II

My latest column follows my and Melissa’s journey from Roanoke, Virginia to New Orleans. The highlight of this leg of the journey was our drive along the Natchez Trace Parkway.

We ended up staying the night in Tupelo, Mississippi, which is the birthplace of Elvis Presley. We didn’t get to see any Elvis Presley related historic sites there, but managed to see plenty of interesting things while driving along the Natchez Trace.

Sadly, it seems most people who drive in that vicinity don’t take the time to visit this beautiful national park. I hope this column inspires people to take the time to enjoy things when they travel. You never know when you’re going to get the opportunity to do and see something again.

Road Trip to New Orleans, Part I

My latest column looks at the first leg of my road trip to New Orleans. Overall the trip was a great success. I got to see interesting parts of the country and spend a few days in New Orleans with Melissa Lewis, poet extraordinaire.

It’s important to get outside of the city, especially in the summertime when the heat is particularly unforgiving of urban areas. Just to maintain one’s own sanity, get out and breathe the fresh air and step on green grass. Sit under a tree by yourself in a yard or forest.

The more one travels America, the more one loves but is frustrated by America. This is a beautiful country populated by great people, but I can’t help the overwhelming feeling that we have been heading in the wrong direction as a country for quite some time now. I try to address some of this in my column, but will have more of that in Part II.

No Olympics? No Problem.

Yesterday New Yorkers got the news we’ve been waiting for: the 2012 Olympics will not be coming to New York City. Few were surprised and fewer were disappointed, as the Olympics promised to be a financial disaster for the city.

New York doesn’t need the Olympics. We already have millions of tourists coming here every year. We already have enough facilities in the greater metropolitan area to host the Olympic Games. In light of this, it looked more and more like a well-crafted excuse to give away large parcels of real estate and tax dollars to private developers.

While the stadium plan for the West side of Manhattan fortunately fizzled, the plans to destroy the Prospect Heights area of Brooklyn with the Brooklyn Atlantic Yards development project continue unabated. One of the borough’s most interesting neighborhoods will be destroyed by this project. The effort to blight the area in advance of construction has already taken its toll.

The Brooklyn Atlantic Yards project threatens to be another sad chapter in city history unless we can stop it. Also, whatever happens to be built over the West side rail yards, it likely won’t benefit the average New Yorker one bit – just like the proposed stadium.

Getting Arrested

My latest column documents my first arrest. I’m not proud of getting arrested, but neither am I ashamed of what I did to get arrested. I hope you’ll agree that the general public would have been better served had the police simply issued me a ticket and let me go on my way, but maybe it was a slow night.

While my story may be humorous, there are much more serious matters to do with the NYPD and whom they arrest. If you have an opportunity, attend a screening or order a DVD of Still We Ride, a documentary about the NYPD’s war against cyclists.

Von Von Von's Vontastic Show

Earlier this week I went to the Lower East Side to catch '80s pop sensation Von Von Von screen a documentary about his life and perform some songs. I normally prefer punk rock music, but Von Von Von is one of my favorite acts from the 1980s. I was lucky enough to interview him and write a story about him a few years back.

Von's fall from grace was so tremendous and abrupt that even those of us who wanted to drive the final nail into the coffin of 1980s Euro-pop were rooting for Von. After all, unlike his contemporaries he had a rich musical background as a classical harmonica protégé and was one of the truly inspiring lyricists from that period. Also, Von Von Von has an authenticity that is otherwise completely absent from pop music.

Von played at a club called Pianos and he had the place packed. It was tough to get to the bar and even tougher to see the action when the show started. Von was looking good, sporting a belt buckle that doubled as an electronic screen alternately scrolling ‘Von Von Von’ and ‘Vontastic.’

The Vontastic one opened the show with his new hit 'House of Von’ and followed it up with his hit ‘Making Love.’ Then the documentary rolled. It was well made and comprehensive, covering the Von’s early rise as a pop sensation, the rough years spent working his way back out of obscurity at a Bitchen Schnitzel in Berlin and his triumphant return to the stage at the famous Apollo Theater.

You should definitely go see Von Von Von when you get a chance.

New York: Refuge from America's Celebrity Sickness

If you walk around New York long enough, you’ll see somebody famous. New York is about not caring how famous someone is. Don’t gawk at or squeal with glee at celebrities, it insults our city. The U.S.A. is already too celebrity obsessed. Let New York be a refuge from that. That’s the point of my latest column.

New York Democrats: Can We Elect a Mayor?

New York City is one of the most Democratic cities in the country. We haven’t elected a mayor in more than 12 years and we might make it 16 years if things continue as is.

None of the four major candidates for mayor show much promise for more than infighting and grand standing. The front runner going into the primary was former Bronx borough president Fernando Ferrer. Ferrer got himself into hot water among the city’s race-baiting black activists when he admitted to a gathering of police officials that the 1999 shooting of Amadou Diallo was not a crime. Most of the city has known that for more than six years, but the Al Sharptons of the world screamed for the cops’ blood back then and Ferrer was obliged to scream along with them.

This is the chickens coming home to roost for Ferrer. He ran a race-bating campaign four years ago that tried to get Blacks and Hispancis to vote against White candidates and it ended up backfiring on him. He was a sore loser and would not campaign on behalf of the Democratic nominee, Mark Green. Mark Green did a lot of his own undoing, but Ferrer and Al Sharpton should not be forgiven by New York City voters for turning on their own political party in the name of racial politics. To them, Mark Green had not genuflected far enough and they had no problem undermining his campaign.

Bloomberg took advantage of the Democrats’ division. He was helped by his own billions and by Rudolph Giuliani’s endorsement and post-September 11th popularity. Bloomberg has been a much better mayor than I ever thought he would be. He has a lot of the down-to-Earth qualities that New Yorker’s like but without Giuliani’s vindictive nuttiness.

However, Bloomberg has done things that have made me unable to vote for him: he brought the Republican National Convention to New York City and has overseen outrageous and un-American police conduct against protesters and bicycle riders. He has proposed and championed one of the biggest acts of corporate welfare in his West Side stadium plan that will spend $600 million in taxpayers’ money to give a sports complex to a millionaire.

I can’t vote for Bloomberg, but I can’t vote for a race-baiter like Ferrer or C. Virginia Fields either. If those are my choices, I’ll vote for a protest candidate like Christopher X. Brodeur.

Spring Comes to New York

New York City finally entered spring this week. The last vestiges of winter chill melted under afternoon sun. Women’s legs started making more appearances. Being inside behind a desk became that much more depressing. It was still light out when I got out of work – most evenings anyway.

Spring brought with it the first flush of heat that promises the oppressive city summer in a few months time. There will also be at least one weekend in the spring where we get a heavy, awful taste of summer heat. It will be May and 97 degrees and we will test out our air conditioners for the first time.

After work a few evenings ago I went with some co-workers to a bar in New York’s financial district to say goodbye to a former co-worker. The bar was so crowded that I didn’t stay for a drink. I said my goodbyes to my former co-worker, a very pleasant and attractive woman who has a very bright and positive personality and is already missed. I congratulated her on her new job and gave her an awkward one-armed hug.

I went to the restroom and when I returned, my co-worker Ari said, “I’m not staying.”

“I’m with you, Ari,” I told him, and we left. I’m sorry, but no amount of drink specials is worth being miserable. I go to bars to either drink and relax with friends or to see live music. Neither was happening here.

Ari and I were grateful for the fresh air and to be out of the hellish bar. We briefly explored the interesting narrow alley known as Liberty Place – near Liberty and Nassau Streets. Downtown is a fascinating maze of streets you’ve never heard of will take you to neat pockets of the city you’ve never been to or knew were there. What makes it interesting is that this is the oldest part of New York City and the streets were created by the Dutch a long time ago. You have very old, narrow streets lined with very large buildings. It is a part of the city that has a lot of character.

The subway ride home was the same crowded, overheated hell that I had just fled, but at least I had a seat and could read or doze off to help me forget my misery.

Irish Uncle Toms

My latest column is now online. It may be outdated as far as what happened and didn’t happen on St. Patrick’s Day, but sadly there always seem to be plenty of Irish Uncle Toms around.

So read my latest column and post comments on it. Hate mail welcome; this is about the Irish after all…

R.I.P.: John Paul II

I was raised a Catholic and was once an (unmolested) altar boy, and I grew up respecting the Pope. When John Paul II came to the U.S. in 1979, I stood in the midtown Manhattan rain for hours waiting for his caravan to pass me by. When he finally drove by he didn’t disappoint, standing in his open air Popemobile (this was before he was shot and saddled with his Popemobile bubble) in the rain to wave back.

When I got older, I ditched Roman Catholicism and view all religion as garbage. I never lost respect for the Pope, though. John Paul II may have presided over an arcane religious institution and held a lot of reactionary views on social issues like abortion and homosexuality, but he spoke out against poverty and war just as fervently if not more so. He didn’t subscribe to the transparent and false morality that opposes aborting American fetuses while approving the bombing deaths of Iraqi children.

Terri Shiavo’s body was not yet cold when the world’s media began its ghoulish death watch of John Paul II. The television news wasted hours of their time telling us this past weekend that His Holiness was still dead. This circus won’t end soon either, as his funeral and the selection of the next Pope will consume more hours of network news coverage.

Most of the world will continue to lack his courage and unwavering commitment to faith. Catholics will mourn the passing of John Paul II with gratitude for his life.

Meeting James Carville

When not polluting the blogosphere with my frustrated ranting or drinking overpriced beer at punk rock shows, I work for a living as a financial journalist. Every year the company I work for holds conferences for the buyout industry and brings in interesting speakers from well outside the world of buyouts. Two of this year’s speakers were Tucker Carlson and James Carville, the former ‘Crossfire’ rivals and political pundits.

The two spoke and debated and took questions from the audience. Carlson delivered a long but very good speech analyzing the Democrats’ loss in the most recent presidential election. While unabashedly conservative, Carlson’s analysis was dead-on, pointing out some tactical faults in the Kerry campaign and comparing them to past Republican gaffes in campaign strategy.

Carville was good also, saying the working title of his next book about the Democratic Party had the working title of ‘It’s My Party and I’ll Cry if I Want To.’ His delivery is shorter and not as focused as Carlson’s is, but the crowd liked him just as much, if not more.

After the speeches/debate/Q&A, Tucker Carlson had to leave right away but Carville hung around afterward at the cocktail reception.

I can honestly say that Carville is the same down-to-earth person you see on TV. It was definitely a high point of the week to meet and talk with him. I joined the phalanx of admirers peppering him with political questions and he answered all honestly and with humor.

His talking about his own life underscored why he’s one of my heroes. "I was 49 before I was married, I had kids for the first time when I was 52, and I’m 60 years old and still never had a real job," he laughed. " I’ve never had ‘FICA’ taken out of my paycheck." [That may not be an exact quote – but that was generally what he said].

Carville mentioned that he threw the last party for Hunter S. Thompson, which he held earlier this year in New Orleans.

I only hope he returns to American politics. We need him now more than ever.

Seeing 'The Gates'

This past Friday I went to Central Park to see ‘The Gates,’ the latest large public art installation by Christ and Jeanne-Claude.

Yes, the color was ugly (I think ‘saffron’ is French for ‘We fucked up and ordered orange drapes’). Yes, it was over-hyped; Manhattan was crowded with the pretentious sporting orange scarves and the telltale Metropolitan Museum of Art pins (take those off when you leave the museum, otherwise they mark you as clueless tourists and easy prey).

But it was fun, interesting, and free of charge. Central Park was abuzz with people enjoying themselves and taking lots of photos. My brother and his girlfriend flew in from San Francisco so they could see the exhibit. Volunteers handed out free pieces of orange fabric and answered people’s questions. It snowed during the week and I took some nice pictures of the Sheep Meadow with the Central Park South skyline highlighted by an orange line of The Gates.

Just the fact that people argue and debate about The Gates make them a worthwhile experience. When was the last time that people argued and debated over a piece of art? The debate over what constitutes art and what makes good art is worth having, don’t shy away from a good debate.

Not a dime of taxpayer’s money went to this. Also, all proceeds from selling the silly Gates merchandise sold goes to preservation groups Nurture New York’s Nature and The Central Park Conservancy. Christo and his wife make their money from people who shell out as much as $500,000 for one of his original drawings. So in a way Christo and Jeanne-Claude in a way are having the last laugh at the art world: real people get to experience the art for free, the city gets an economic boost, and the wealthy elite who give art a bad name are stuck with the bill.

I love the fact that such a grand and unusual vision could come to life. It was a triumph to all weird dreamers everywhere: no idea is too unusual to voice, no dream to strange to come true. Christo and Jeanne-Claude are people with big ideas and big dreams and have been working on The Gates since I was in the second grade. They are leaving New York a richer place.

Please Don’t Fuck Up Hell’s Kitchen

Right now officials of the Olympic Games are touring New York City to assess its viability to host the 2012 Olympic Games. Our Mayor Bloomberg is campaigning hard to bring the games to the Big Apple. The problem is that his plan to bring the Olympics here hinge upon his ability to build a sports stadium on the West side of Manhattan.

Even if you think the stadium idea is a good one (it isn’t – it will destroy more good than it brings), consider this: do you think that $600 million of our tax dollars should go to this? At a time that the city has threatened to lay off cops and can’t afford to put toilet paper in public school restrooms, Bloomberg and the pro-stadium forces want to sell the MTA’s property for a pittance and build a stadium for the New York Jets.

In Brooklyn, residents of Prospect Heights are fighting their own battle against such a robbery. Under the guise of bringing the Nets to Brooklyn, billionaire and political influence peddler Bruce Ratner will destroy one of that borough’s finest neighborhoods. If there is a Hell, there is a special section reserved for people like Ratner.

I support bringing the Jets back to New York City, but I oppose robbing the city to the tune of $600 million, especially when we won’t even get free Jets tickets.

R.I.P. Hunter S. Thompson

Hunter S. Thompson killed himself yesterday at his home on Colorado. There’s not a respectable writer in America today who doesn’t admire Hunter S. Thompson.

Five years ago, two friends of mine managed to meet Thompson and hang out with him as they drove across the country. Read about their adventures on The Black Table. They encountered an egomaniacal cokehead who liked to have his own decades-old words read back to him by his admirers, which is somewhat pathetic. I hope I don’t get like that when I'm 67, but if I do, I hope I'd have the good sense to kill myself like HST.

There’s snow again here in New York. I have the day off from work because it’s President’s Day, but I should be getting separate days off for Lincoln’s birthday and Washington’s birthday. We should have a lot more federal holidays. For some suggestions, read this.

Meeting New York's best clergywoman, Reverend Jen

Riding the subway yesterday, I was caught on a train that was going local rather than express. The A train, one of the worst train lines in the city in my opinion, was slugging along down the West Side of Central Park. Hordes of tourists and others babbled on in their clueless white language of annoying small talk. An old man nearly fell on top of me when the train lurched forward (yes, I offered him my seat but he didn't take it).

At one stop who should sit next to me but Reverend Jen, the Lower East Side's greatest advocate and artistic saint. I have read poetry at some of her anti-slams, and she somewhat remembered me. She was heading back home from shopping for more shelves for her apartment/troll doll museum, which you can visit if you have an appointment.

Jen's weekly anti-slam is an interesting event to attend, and I should go there more often. One gets to do whatever one wants to for six minutes, rather than the normal three minutes. The anti-slam venue, a theater and art space called Collective Unconscious, has moved away from Rev. Jen's beloved Lower East Side to Tribeca, due to greedy real estate developers buying up and demolishing buildings to put up luxury apartments. Rev. Jen and others are fighting what is often an uphill battle to preserve the character of the Lower East Side. She and I lamented the demise of the Freakatorium, a museum of the freakish and the unusual that formerly resided on Clinton Street.

I promised the good Reverend I would stop by her anti-slam at its new location. You should too.

Latest 'Notes from a Polite New Yorker' is now online

My latest 'Notes from a Polite New Yorker' column is now online at GetUnderground.com. Click here to read it.

The column is entitled 'Death by Cubicle' and its part muck-raking anti-corporate diatribe, part escapist fantasy. It documents and discusses the travails of being stuck behind a desk all day. When I was unemployed, I couldn't wait to get back into writing financial news, now I'm thinking about being a bounty hunter, dog catcher, pimp or bank robber, anything that will get me out from behind this desk.

I hope this column doesn't get me fired. If I do get fired from my job, I would want it for be for something I wrote. For a writer, being fired for one's writing is the third greatest compliment, the first two being having one's books burned and being jailed.

And speaking of jailing writers for what they write, it can happen here.

New York is (usually) for Valentines like (not) me...

While my girlfriend and I have been together for a while now (don't ask me exactly how long - over a year by far), I'm still not accustomed to having a girlfriend during Valentine's Day and other holidays. I'm still too accustomed to being alone. So maybe my Valentine's Day for my girlfriend was not all it should have been, but she seemed to enjoy it.

My girlfriend is a big fan of Hell's Kitchen and lived there for a while, so we met at Kennedy's on 57th Street for drinks before going to dinner. We saw John Mahoney, the actor most well known for playing Frasier's father on the show 'Frasier.' Declan, the bartender, pointed out that a recent visitor to Kennedy's included Nobel Peace Prize winner John Hume. His picture graced the wall. Kennedy's is a good place for celebrity watching, so long as you don't gawk or act like a fool. My girlfriend, who is still pretty much a regular there even though she moved away from Hell's Kitchen, drank with Lawrence Fishburne on her birthday a few years ago. It's a bit pricey to eat there regularly and the drinks are slightly above regular prices, but it's a good place. It's very nice and clean but not pretentious, and they've got good craic (Irish for celebratory spirit or ambiance, I think).

Then it was on to Ralph's, an Italian restaurant on the corner of 56th St. and 9th Ave. Like all New York restaurants, it was too crowded and there was no waiting area. We were seated pretty quickly though, and the food was very good. The service was pretty good too for such a small and relatively inexpensive place. Thanks again to my awesome girlfriend for picking the place out.

We took a cab home, with the corner of my raincoat caught in the cab door and getting a rough ride up the West Side Highway. My girlfriend got me some very nice gifts.

Shameless Self Promotion: Check out today's Black List on The Black Table at www.blacktable.com

Today's Chinese Cookie Wisdom: "An hour with friends is worth more than ten with strangers."

Welcome to my Blog

Yes, I'm jumping on the blog bandwagon. This will be my forum to vent at the frustrations of life and to shamelessly promote myself. Welcome.