"...where de trash at, baby? Show me where de trash at!"-- Garbage collector, speaking to the neighbor's dog.
For anyone who hasn't already figured this out.
FOUND! + PostSecret = Fabulous
The Golden West Cafe on The Avenue was packed, just packed. Great food, for though I didn't manage to get near any of , everybody who did seemed impressed. Well, as impressed as hip urbanites get. If you make it "downee avnuue" for Honfest, check it out.
Davy was amazingly warm and sweet. Frank was reserved, but genuine. Peter was funny, and autographed something cute on the CD I was compelled to buy for Hawk. I mean, really, "The Booty Don't Stop" outlines pretty accurately our early romance. I'm trying to be only a tiny bit peeved that I have to wait for the next album (oops, showing my age) for "Bus or Beer?"
Both these projects are about stuff taken out of context, and the stories that go with them. The ones that you, the viewer, have to invent. Sort of the same thing that Gavin is doing with snippets of conversation over at DialogBlog. It's a more interactive form of media than the usual pap.
One big surprise that I wasn't expecting: I recognized no one. NOT ONE PERSON. I would have thought that with all of the supposedly hip people I know, there would have been someone with a familiar face- you know, one person? I mean, I know three people who showed up to the recent Trixie Little show, right? Okay, maybe not even someone I know personally, but, like, the guy with the dreadlocks from the bookstore? Or somebody from Red Emma's coffehouse? Somebody from CityPaper or the Baltimore School for the Arts? Actually, there might've been a CityPaper rep there; there are only three people who contribute whose faces I would recognize- no, four; sorry, Joab, almost missed you. (Speaking of which, check out The Animal. It's last week's, but still good.) So I guess the only logical conclusion is that my friends are not, in fact, hip. They're dorks who have grown up to be cool, which is different from hip.