666

february 2010 tk shows

After nearly two years, Tin Kitchen are going to play a couple of shows. It just turns out we'll be in the same place at the same time. Both shows are with P.S. Eliot, who have a new 7" coming out on Freedom School Records that weekend. Come say hi, who knows when/if this will happen again.

February 12 -
at Meat Town - New Brunswick, NJ
with P.S. Eliot, Kicking Spit, Mattress

February 13 -
at The Cedar Mansion - Brooklyn, NY
with P.S. Eliot, Forgetters, the Weird Fantasy Band

I-20 E

227 mi
3 hours 48 mins

16 December - 09 January
12 November - 15 December

33487

thanks sharon

delay

cb

"We fly into Oslo, exhausted but eager for a few days without moving. Tour is all about moving, about momentum, despite the fact that your body wants to stay still. Stillness is the enemy of tour; it allows time for wanting, and there is no wanting on tour because there is very little that you can have. Or rather, what you are allowed to want is what is right in front of you: sounds and sights and tastes and smells; a good meal, a great show, a firm bed. But you can't want something back at home, or back in the last city you were in, because it's not there or it's already gone. A camera that was left in a mess of sheets, a book that you forgot in a cafe you don't know the name of. What you have is right in front of you. It's what makes tour alluring and it's what makes it devastating. We play the Oya Festival. The stage looks out over the river and the city. Bright and clean. We are plagued by technical problems again. This time, I lose my composure and a water bottle goes flying. I don't feel punk rock. I feel like a big baby. I think about all the water and beer that's been thrown over the years, the guitars that have been smashed, the blood that has been drawn and spilled. All the temper tantrums. All the babies playing rock 'n' roll."

137 pack backpack

polaris mine

I've been kind of obsessed with Polaris Mine since my second year of college. I would sit in my room on Stone Street and listen to the songs I recorded into .wav's from their myspace.

It's been rainy and wet and I've been listening to them a lot so I thought I'd share. You can download four releases from their blog. I wish I could have gotten my hands on this in 2005. I'm especially fond of the April Fog EP.

http://polarismine.com/

7/2

by streetnoize

girl you're so hot
you make my electric bill high
coz the air clicks on
everytime you stop by
yeah girl you're so hot
like something baked in foil
when you open the fridge
you make all the food spoil

you're a hot hot girl
like the hot hot seats
in my little black scion
blastin hot hot beats
you're a hot hot girl
like a hot hot dog
or sweaty noon runner
on a hot hot jog

git git with it
-streetnoize

http://soitsgray.com/

http://www.medievaljeweler.com/

48

as per our conversation

it's been a year already

i still miss this band

15 october - 11 november

i really, really hope this is real

how i know fall is here

werk

me: i just printed the elaine mustache pic and taped it to the wall here

K: yessss

we should put it up at the apartment

i'll print another

okay

October
06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14
the 15th never happened

ugh

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cepheus_%28constellation%29

David Thorne, where you at?

13

flying east towards newark

flying over newark bay

current 18:03, 27 June 2009

Alder Maple Rosewood

The underground is overcrowded

The jury gathered all around the aqueduct
Drinking and laughing and lighting up
Reminiscing just how bad he sucked
Singing

Throw him in the river
Throw him in the river
Throw him in the river
Throw the bastard in the river

http://ihardlyknowher.com/jjjacquelyn/
http://ihardlyknowher.com/jjjacquelyn/sets

September 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30
October 01 02 03 04 05

breakfast

i don't know why all my links disappeared, but they did. someday i'll put them back there.

david bowie as andy warhol in basquiat

I believe in the terrible ghosts Of some strange place

still the best movie

Delta Airlines Fail(s)

delta flight confirmation number fail:


delta skymiles earnings fail:

17 August 2009 - 18 August 2009
Greyhound from
Birmingham, AL to Port Authority, New York, NY

I met D at the back of the Greyhound bus in Birmingham. He was sitting alone across from me. I was sitting in on the outside of a two seater on the right hand side of the bus next to a pretty black girl with short, stiff hair who was twenty years old and had been traveling the country by bus since May. Although she was sitting I could tell that she is much taller than me. Sitting in the seat in front of us was a young man in his mid-twenties who was moving from Los Angeles. Across from him in a three seater were two women who are on their way home from somewhere in Arizona or New Mexico. I think they are mother and daughter, but it's hard to be sure. The girl next to me and the boy from L.A. and the women returning from the west and I all trade stories about the bus and our summers and traveling, there's a lot of laughter and the girl leans into me in a strange way while we're laughing, as if she's known me for a lifetime. Everyone's final destination is Atlanta, except for D and me.

The bus leaves Birmingham station two hours behind schedule. Our first and only stop before Atlanta is Anniston, Alabama, which we hit about an hour after leaving our origin. The station here is small and desolate, tall dying grass seems to sprout up all around it as far out as I can see. There's an old drive in theatre a couple of minutes before the station and it's impossible to tell whether or not it still operates.

D is still sitting across from me when we leave Anniston. At one point he seems to ask the open air around him, "Does anyone smell that? I smell the brakes burnin'." This is the last thing I want to hear after the van fire ordeal in Bulls Gap, Tennessee that landed me on this 26 hour bus trip in the first place. I end up explaining this whole story to him later when we become aquainted. I smell what he smells too, but barely over the stench of the bathroom, which is overwhelming. Everytime someone opens the door it reeks hot and sour and fills the cabin and fills everyone's eyes with water and then subsides, prompting another passenger to open it and trudge inside.

D is a middle-aged, single black man who lives in Florida with a jack russell/rat terrier mix that he bought his ex's youngest daughter before they split. He spends less than a week at home every month because of his job, and rides the Greyhound regularly. He works in Massachusetts with his brother and owns two houses in Birmingham that he is restoring. He plans to sell or rent one of them and to keep one, as an asset. We pass the hours with conversation, being forced off and on the bus at nearly every stop for cleaning which we can never recognize once we're allowed to get back on.

When we reboard in Greenville, D puts on deoderant. At the Charlotte station he buys me a bottle of water and I learn how he manages to smoke joints undetected at the station stops. D doesn't drink alcohol anymore, but he really enjoys smoking. Justifying the purchase of the water for me, he claims that "he'd hope someone would do the same for his kids if they were on the road." Around 4 o'clock in the morning we get to Raleigh, where all the Marines that were on the bus from the stop before get off and get in line to go back to Camp Lejune. I think about John and wonder how many times he had to take the Greyhound. I fell asleep sometime after leaving Raleigh and slept until the sun was coming up and we were in Virginia. After Atlanta D always let me have the window seat. Once you make it through the darkness it feels like a lot of the trip is behind you.

D is wearing tall white socks that are scrunched down, baggy green shorts and a tee shirt. He's missing his front left tooth, and the front right one is chipped pretty severely. He's got big, watery brown eyes and has an accent I can't place; pronounces his hard A's like in "GUARD" and "YARD" really heavily. He's always saying,"It just don't make no sense." I guess a lot of things don't.

He and I part ways in Washington, DC, where our itineraries finally differ on paper. He gives me his phone number but I never use it. When I get back on the bus the seat next to me is empty until I get to New York.

from postsecret