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| just look at him. |
his name is hawnay troof. or that's his stage name--apparently his real name is vice something-or-other. cooler i think. i have no idea what his real real name is. but he's awesome. he was the second act in a four act show i saw last night at the cake shop--a cafe/bar that hosts shows in its basement (legally!). let me explain how much i love hawnay troof this way: the act that followed him (hollerado) bought shots and nachos for the crowd and had a drummer that played sans pants and a affection for their confetti cannon. and yet they were still less of a spectacle than mr. troof. you see, troof came out swinging at an unsuspecting crowd. we were all there to see a punk show, and then this dude from la wearing various animal prints and tux shoes wrapped in white duct tape (the above picture is more or less what he was wearing) started bouncing around and singing crazy dance jams, begging the crowd to get closer and bounce with him (we did, eventually). and he was all about some forward rolls and scissor kicks, too. he was like all the crazy at a dan deacon show rolled up into one man. and dan deacon put on the event that led to this:
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| i will take every opportunity i can to show this picture. |
and he was the most genuine dude about his craziness--he even dedicated a song to it.
i actually left the show early though (way after hawnay finished) because arielle, the girl who lives in the first apartment i checked out, invited me to her birthday celebration. since i know exactly zero people in this, well, this entire state, i figured i can’t turn down invitations. so i happened on over to clinton hill/bed-stuy to her place. when i got there, everyone was on the roof drinking, which i have to say is a pretty awesome way to celebrate. i realized pretty shortly after, though, that i was the lone dude at a party of seven or eight lesbians. doug (whom i previously thought was named dave--the horrible laugher) had passed out before i got there (thankfully taking all of my hate with him). the crew moved on to a bar down the road after a bit and i took off, not feeling like being the ninth wheel for any longer.
which leads into the big development of the day: i have an apartment for september! i’ll be living in greenpoint. which is great because i’ll avoid the problem i had last night--getting home without wandering alone through the hood. the subway near arielle’s (the g line, for those interested) is being worked on this weekend and is replaced by a bus running to the same stops. but, in their drunken directions to said bus, arielle and co. lead me into the hoodness. so, if you happened to get a late night call from me, it’s because i wanted moral support during the confusion. but, as i’m sure you’ve guessed, i made it out alive and unharmed.
but back to my apartment--it’s on the corner of monitor and norman in a family neighborhood near the transition into an industrial neighborhood and is actually down the street from the ymca i'm staying in. the apartment itself is rather spacious as brooklyn apartments go, has sweet wood paneling in the kitchen, houses a giant record collection i look forward to perusing, and there's a rumor (passed from handyman to previous subletter to tenant to me) that peter criss used to live there. the area is a much more comfortable place to walk around late at night than the other places i've looked at. in fact, i felt safe enough to use my laptop on the steps of the ymca (because that’s the only place i get a wireless signal) and the only thing that happened was a drunk pole came and sat down with me and asked if i was “watching all of everything.” granted, he did say that the two of us were going to “start a battle over there” (or something similar) while gesturing at the bar across the way, but i think there was some translation difficulties. he also may have tried to blow his nose in my shirt. i’m not really sure, but he certainly made a weird noise as he toppled toward me.
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