Friday, July 22, 2005
Southpaw, Brooklyn, New York

In case the TB flunky responsible for dishing Day 1 omitted the obvious, Day One was significant for only two things: the stifling heat in AND outside Southpaw and one jaw-dropping set courtesy of Zero Boys. That’s it. Goodnight nurse.

Day Two began with me waking up (still drenched in my own sweat) on Christy and Stuart’s loveseat in Brooklyn. I decide to pass on a shower (complete with a Discharge shower curtain!) and put my shoes on. BOOM, I’m ready to go get some fucking food. Stuart, Christy and Timmy, on the other hand, all had to apply so many different belts and punkish do-dads before making the long walk to the bagel shop. Watching this all unfold first thing in the morni, er, afternoon, was totally awesome. My head was spinning before I had a chance to light my first smoke of the day. Punks in The City really know how to accessorize. A welcome change of pace from the bike-riding hobo punks that rule my roost.

Mitch Kissin' Japanese Dudes Part One by Young Steve

Bagels. As a Native Californian, bagels have never been a staple of my diet. I’m a donut man. Call me crass, but I’m not ashamed of this. In fact, we Westerners pride ourselves on our donuts. Ask the flock of punx out front of Happy Donuts on Gilman St every weekend. Ask Fred of Vinyl Warning and the rest of the Portland kids. Donuts up! Bagels down! BUT…the phrase “When In Rome…” pops into my head and I make a go of it. Now these Brooklyn bagels are no joke. First, there are so many options (various seed, herb and grain flavorings, not to mention the incredibly ridiculous “Everything” bagel) that I don’t know where to start. Sensing the pressure to move quickly in a city that never fucking takes a breather, I quickly belt out “eraplainbagelwithcreamcheesethankyouer” to the clerk. What I got was more like a Quarter Pounder with (Cream) Cheese. I needed a chair and a foot massage after eating that fucking thing. I soon found out that huge amounts of dairy and fat-guy-killing humidity do not mix. It was really good though.

After my recovery, Icki demanded that we go to Coney Island, which I was more than up for. Several things are notable for the 5 or so hours we spent at this incredibly fucking wonderful place. First, Nathan’s is now officially the best fast-food restaurant in the universe. White Castle, as much as I love it, simply can not fuck with Nathan’s. Secondly, let it be known that Mitch Cardwell is too fat to ride The Cyclone. After my fast-food assertion above, I’m sure this will come as no surprise. The cigar-chomping carnie tending the cars suggested that I keep trying to squeeze in, but I knew when to say uncle. Next, watching fat, hairy, shirtless men critique the beautiful bikini-clad skin of teenage Puerto Rican girls is something that I hope you all will have the pleasure to overhear at least once in your lives. “Looka ‘dat skin! Looka ‘dat skin! Nota single fuggin’ blemish! Finda blemish! Ya can’t! Ya just can’t!” I’ve yet to find the right social setting to bust this quote out, but when I do, watch out! Lastly, freak shows that serve beer are far superior to freak shows that DON’T serve beer. This and the ridiculous tropical drinks (served in “bong cups”) sent us happily packing and to Southpaw for night #2.

Mitch Kissin' Japanese Dudes Part Two by Young Steve

Then some bands played.

I only caught a smidge of DC Snipers. Miss Alex White was very impressive and I finally understood what all the fuss was about (in the wake of her debut LP, it feels as if I’m the only one still fussing…but I am). Human Eye lit stuff on fire, which made Jeff “Algebra Teacher” Greenback concerned for the well-being of the band and audience alike. It ruled. The Gizmos were a complete and total fucking letdown. No “The Midwest Can Be Alright” and not a single Kenny Highland tune. Gimme a goddamn break! Los Reactors were even worse.

To sum up: Teengenerate didn’t play on Day 2. Nothing to see here.

Text by Mitch Cardwell
Pics by Young Steve Strange