Corona!

I am at Brighton Beach with my friend AMP. It is a gorgeous August summer weekend. The perfect temperature. The ocean, a perfect shade of blue. The waves, not too wavey. The beach, not too packed.

Ahh, Brighton Beach. There is, behind me, a not-couple of gay man and not-gay woman drinking what would ultimately be five bottles of Sovetskoye Shampanskoye. Somewhere to the right, someone with a boom box playing, of all things, Russian accordion music - loudly. Several entrepreneurial types are plying the beach, selling water - "ice-cold water! Water that's almost TOO cold." - beer - "Ice-cold beer! Corona! Smirnoff Ice! Kholodnoye pivo!" - and solid advice - "All the pretty women, pay attention! Ladies - if your man beats you, leave him!" Seedy, yes, but somehow in a normal, non-threatening, "it's just Brooklyn" kinda way.

Eventually, surrounded by such temptation, we begin to want Coronas. We buy one apiece from one of our entrepreneurs. This one is lugging beer around the beach in black plastic bags, and having his two - daughters? - help him to make change and open the beers. We toast ourselves. We toast our befuddled champagne-drinking friends. We take pictures of our feet on the beach with the surprisingly cold Coronas and otherwise feel as if we have suddenly inhabited a beer commercial.

A watchful neighbor notices the beach police drawing near in their beach buggy. We hide our beers under clothes and in bags. The police take up residence 20 feet away from us, apparently hitting on a couple of women. The entire beach near us - all drunk, all - pretends to be asleep. My friend's phone rings, but she cannot answer it without taking the beer out of the bag. The police leave, undoubtedly knowing that they could bust every single one of us if they wanted to (the trash can nearby, filled to overflowing with empty Corona bottles, is a dead give-away).

A comic moment.

I know I just posted about Calexico, but I have to link to this. It is so perfect.

There on the beach.
I can see it in her eyes.
I only had a Corona.
Five cents deposit.

Miles Of Highway Poppies

Liking the new Calexico stuff that people are posting. Just like always, the mariachi trumpets and gee-tars send my mind down an empty shimmering highway in a Cadillac, windows down, on my unhurried way to a dusty sun-baked Mexican bar - and I have a very specific bar in my mind's eye. Where there will be an outdoor area without any shade, with mellowed-out drunks and maybe someone noodling on an acoustic guitar. And cheap Christmas tree lights at night.

The stars in their slowness took us by surprise. Thank you, whoever posted this picture.

Here.

"Which One's The One?"

My favorite stage banter of All Points West (liberties taken where memory fails):

Sia, to crowd: Well, hello there! How are you all? Can I get you anything? A cup of tea? No? Why, you're not very demanding, as crowds go...

Kings of Leon frontman Caleb Followill: Hey ya'll. I hear they're not letting you get very drunk out there. (Disapproving boo from crowd.) Well, they didn't say anything to me, so I'm gonna have a drink.

Radiohead's Thom Yorke: This one's dedicated to Kings of Leon. If we were better-looking, we'd be friends with them.

Girl Talk's Gregg Willis (with abnormally high energy): I just got back from Norway - I played with these guys Mayhem - those guys just go on stage and kill each other and they don't even care. Let's party!

Thom (to Jonny, trying to figure out the down beat to "Videotape"): Which one's the one? Which one's the one? Jonny! Wake up! Which one's the one?

Jack Johnson (peering at odd large balloon/bamboo animal being held aloft in front of him by the crowd, during an impromptu bridge in his first song): That thing is very strange. What is it? It's phallic, yet oddly feminine. I think I like it.

Thom (to crowd, apropos of nothing): Cool beans.

All Points West - The Money Shot

Thom & Jonny on acoustic guitars.

Every picture I took before this one and most after were blurry messes. The Radiohead gods smiled upon me for one moment only.