Update 9/7/05
I'm back from Burning Man. My body feels like it's been through a Kung Fu carwash. The too-short nights, the glow, the dusty hot work, the running around, the vast desert expanse and the stifling crowd, the razor's edge of wheeeeeee... My four burn experiences have drawn more peaks and valleys than an EKG readout. That, I believe, is why I like it. So here are my pics; there's a little more musing below.

One difference to this year's burn: after spending a week in a world circumscribed by fire, we returned to a national heartache of flood. There's an odd disconnect now; a vein of anxiety from spending so much time in luxurious isolation. Even as I catch up on the New Orleans story, I can't begin to imagine how it felt to see the news unfold day after day, in the mode of an evolving, accumulating nightmare. I'm missing a big chunk of collective national consciousness, or at least timely distress, and it's unsettling me. Reading myself up to speed on the events, I'm quietly reminded...even if much of human suffering gets mentally diffused over distance, it's pretty much a perpetual thrum, the kind we tune out to go about our blithe business. And now I'm going to stop writing this before, well, ack.

A more cheerful, somewhat silly postscript (which will not help answer the question of "What is the world coming to?" ): Last month I got my first, err, stint as a talking head. Oh dear.

Update 6/11
Getting into the groove of my new gig at The New York Observer -- the latest stories are now up in clips. And here's a picture of the deliriously fake, fire tossin' band I was in earlier this year, aka Top Secret Project: Skorpion, the Madagascar Institute's contribution to the Scope Arts Festival. I'm in the bottom row, second space cadet from the left.

Update 3/26
I've completed my J-school master's degree! To wit, I'm now trying to navigate the shoals of this lousy economy, riding a raft made of paper and brandishing my bushel of freelance work. Everything you ever wanted to know about the NYPD's prostitute school, a mental-institution-turned-ghost town near Princeton, and the real life Disney cottage built by a squatter named Pink, is over in clips.

Update 8/9
This summer has sped past, fueled by dueling projects: a master's thesis and bunch of feature articles for the NYT, most of which have made it over to the clips section...

Update 5/20: 801 Hit the Knit!
Thanks to everyone who came...

Update 5/6: Coachella
I kept wanting to call this music festival "Cinderella," which would make her wicked stepsisters Shadeless Heat and Poor Organization. But the lineup was mesmerizing, and the California sun and Pixies-style surf were delightful. Frank Black and Kim Deal gave me the chills, as did the Flaming Lips and !!! Below is a pic of Lisa (resplendent in wig), me, Douglas.

Update 4/11: The 801 Rides Again


Proving that glam rock never dies, even when half the band moves to Portland!

We, the little Brian Eno cover band that could, will be opening for Ida, those masters of melodic indie, at the Knitting Factory on Wednesday, May 19th at 8 pm. Ida is a wonderful, lushly-textured, harmony-honeyed slice of heaven. And the 801, well, we are what we are. Expect spangles and sparkles and shrieks of enthusiasm.

Above, we are playing at the Charleston in Williamsburg.

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Update 11/25, with forehead scrunched up and monitors glued to my head....
Liz and I uploaded a recording of the 801's second and last show to my Mac today. It all needs to be cut and edited, levels adjusted, etc., but here's a rough track of Mother Whale Eyeless to get your Eno on....

...and if you liked that, but want to hear us speak in tongues, be sure to try the painfully delicious Blubber Mix.