To mildly put it Andrew WK last night, playing at Middling City College's Spring Fest, was r-i-p-e, just the way he wants to be. Dirty white t-shirt, dirty white jeans and new white sneaks. Shooting from the pit I kept smelling something and realized it was him. Other than the aromatic category he looked hot. I nearly missed his spit, or vice versa, and was at one point entangled in his mic cord. The other bands, The Used and a regional hip-hop operation, One World Tribe, were good but did not approach WK's hype machine. After their set I talked with WK's bass player and asked if they were working on the second cd. He sort of looked at me for a while and then said, Well, Andrew is playing all the instruments and doing all the vocals. I actually have two other band projects that I'm working with.
So this is merely a touring band. And one of the crew pointed out, as we stood stageside, that Andrew WK and pals were playing along to a DAT. I was dubious until he pointed out that there were ghostly keyboard parts happening and Andrew was center stage brandishing his mic in his manic salutatory, repetitive sign o'the cross manner.
Tonight is Patti Smith. This might be the only other rock star in front of which I might be starstruck. I really cannot recall who was the first so maybe this is false - SHE is the sole rock star that may leave me starstricken. PJ Harvey did not do so, though her Jimmy Choo shoes made me a bit jealous.
All for now and over and out.

Big news yesterday was that some Americanos discovered suicide jackets in Iraq and all I could think was What a great band name.
Fav Middling City band is imploding, or exploding, depending upon how one fixes one's gaze to musical matters - both the guitar star and drummer of Last Conservative stepped off, Roger for creative diffs and Jeff because he would prefer not to tour. Not tour and in a band? Kiss your self-respect and prospects au revoir.
Monday I jet back into the Broome Street galaxy of Dorota for a few moments to schmooze my schoolies at Parsons and to hear ol' craggly ass Duane Michals who exhibits an enormous amount of that special X factor that makes us photographers amongst the most special people who walk about: resourcefulness. Michals shits resourcefulness, pragmatism and that Can-Do-ness that is infectious. Geez, I hope not infectious with all this SARS paranoia. Not so far from the Middling City Toronto is QUARANTINED for god's freakin' sakes.
And a few weeks ago Laura asked me if I thought it was worth the risk to shoot up their for some rock and roll and I put on my most Disdainful/Fuck-the-Establishment posture and said, Of course.
Wait a second, I have not changed my mind.
SARS, SIDS, AIDS, SCABIES.
I am seeing a pattern, all these pestilences have s's, they make a snakey sound.
You can take the girl out of the English major but you can't take the English major out of the girl.
Power to the People, right on.
Speaking of such: I have waited my entire LIFE to see Patti Smith and I get to shoot her twice this week - time #1 with Nalph Rader at a patchouli fest and the following night at a proper joint.
Love.

Minding my own business I was at my last Dyngus Day stop at the Adam Miskiewicziczicziewiczskiiewcz Library and then Krupnik started flowing like the waters out of squirt guns.
Also minding my own business I was talking in a corner to CG when a guy started squirting me in the face and I began swatting him hard in the ass and environs. Turns out he's an off-duty cop and shows us his piece. Just then an acquaintance who works at City Hall moseys over and the off-duty cop starts patronizing the little City Hall guy and then I point out the off-duty guy's piece in his belt, next to his Dyngus-worthy squirt gun. The little City Hall man says this, to the amazement of CG and I:
What are you fucking nuts, you're off-duty, drunk and carrying a gun? (he's moving aside the jacket of the off-duty cop to see his name emblazoned as he's dialing his cell phone)
CG and I are watching over the minor anti-Dyngus melee (well I did offer up the Hey, HOLD ON A MINUTE HERE GUYS, THIS IS DYNGUS DAY) to no avail so then the off-duty cop runs out after the man making the call to the other authorities and I wander out, too to make sure that the little City Hall guy doesn't get his ass whooped.
Despite that legal entanglement all was delightful chaos with pussy willows brandished, krupnik gulped and water pistols asquirted and new pals and enemies made.
Holiday love and mayhem.