I’m moving into this box. It’s about the same size as my current Bushwick room, and a much more regular shape. It doubles as a desk with the front flap, and via side flaps, I can pretend I’m in an airplane (which has proved to be a toy in demand and a successful business enterprise for this kid so I am DIY, ok?)
Tomorrow night, the Baetrix is back (Sam is in California this week but I am here, so I guess the BAE is here and the TRIX is elsewhere up to no good he he love you Sam) with a brand new party at our beloved bar, The Flat. Called #TBT, it’s inspired by how tite pop culture was when we was young and had to walk 15 miles uphill, both ways, to get to a one room schoolhouse. Just fucking kidding but we’ll be playing all the music you got grinded on to as an awkward pre-teen, or annoyed the shit out of your parents by blasting it from your room while playing with Barbies or Hot Wheels or eating Play Doh, or screamed along to as a college student sneaking into bars because it’s YOUR FUCKING SONG, OKAY. The 90’s to the early 00’s were a great time for the charts, so here’s to you and your nostalgia.
If you’ve been to a party I’ve DJd before, or if you’re not a fucking idiot, you already know it’s kind of the worst when you request a song. But the good news is, my good friend Nick Turner and I will be accepting requests of relevant material via Twitter all night long. NOTE: if you’re asking for it and it was popular during the years 1990-2006, it’s prob already on our minds to play, so please be patient and we’ll try to cover it all! Follow us both on Twitter (@ohaileigh & @endlessnick_) to participate.
ALSO, the wonderful ladies of SHOP JEEN have put together a special gift bag for a randomly selected winner including tons of cool shit inspired by the times. To enter the raffle, RSVP here. BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE. I’ve decided to have an additional contest. Watch this video:
You remember. I remember having to hide this CD under my bed because the sexy nurse and Parental Advisory warning were a little too much for an 8 year old, according to my mom about how my dad would feel about me having this. Anyway, recreate one of the classic scenes from this at the party (no, not the streaking one…though if you did it around the block I would totally buy you a beer) by making a sign that mimics the boy-band posterboard exclamations of undying affection, your birthday, or some other ridiculous statement and we’ll choose the funniest one for an additional prize. BONUS POINTS IF IT’S ABOUT ME OR NICK, but all entries will be judged fairly I guess. See y’all tomorrow, take the JMZ to Hewes ❤
Once again, I am burning alive in blog hell for my posting hiatus, but I’m returning with some good news: while I did lose interest in the Snapchat story I was writing, I have been keeping busy with the FUN stuff like events and parties and things, and this Saturday, I’ll be back at The Flat for PRETTY DONUTS. Now, I don’t know if you get any donuts for attending, but if you like, I’d be more than happy to shove a donut in your mouth and take a cute pic of it. Anyway, party starts at 10, I’m on at 11, hang out and wave your arms around like a noodle. RSVP here for FREE ENTRY. Free stuff is tite. Just do it.
A few days ago, the good folks over at Mixmag were kind enough to share a free download of DKDS‘ new single “Deep Black.” Today, Safer at Night released the whole damn thang, available on Beatport exclusively. The rest of the record is definitely worth purchasing: “Deep Blue” contrasts the calming vibes of the title track with a tense buildup of melody and “Black & Blue” is the perfect hybrid of the two and belongs on a movie soundtrack tbh. Check it out and cop the release ASAP! Aside from being a staple in the NYC nightlife scene, DKDS have been getting support BBC Radio 1 from the likes of Skream and Annie Mac.
Plus they photograph really well. Grab tix for the Apex Tour featuring an awesome lineup of Justin Martin, Catz n Dogz, Kill Frenzy, Harvard Bass, Curses, Star Eyes, Tony Quattro, and of course, these dudes at Verboten this Friday. I will be there also, headlining the line at the bar.
Follow them on Twitter and most importantly, follow me on Twitter too. See you Friday!
Today is Friday and that means a lot of things. It means you may have gotten paid today. It also means that you are probably getting a bunch of Facebook reminders about stupid events from a person that you only see when you are out and wish death upon for wasting seconds of your life by sending you incessant notifications. Well, I don’t want to be one of those people, but there are some cool events going on tonight that I am going to so if you want to have fun (or if you are stalking me openly) you should check them out. You probably already know that I work for this joint, so that I have to be here regardless BUT. I am actually really stoked to see all of this dude’s art up in our store. Spoiler alert: there’s a lot of this “Grim Creeper” character and some ladies in some positions that got us reported on Instagram. Oops. So, if you’re into butts, blurred lines, and free Red Bull & vodkas, be here at some point between 7-10 for Reginald Pean. There will also be a dope shirt for sale. Don’t spill anything or I will yell at you. I might also be across the street at Trophy Bar inhaling as many burgers as possible before happy hour ends. Post-Mishka event, head to Webster Hall for Rusko because you remember what it was like to be 19, waiting for that one line: “Wake the fuck up.” before losing your shit and probably your phone at some point later on. Or you hate this kind of music, but Rusko is undeniably an entertaining performance. Also, T&B bb/my biggest fan on Twitter, Tony Quattro, will be opening and his new EP is MADE to be heard very loudly and in a large space like the WH main stage. Find me in the corner charging my phone and dancing for 5 minutes at a time until I need to charge my phone again. Also, the Studio party now features everyone’s favorite funny guy/label head Nick Catchdubs & whoever the hell he wants to feature that week, so the whole building is in session. Except the middle floor. Don’t go to the middle floor. Tickets here. After all of this, I will go to this party at this new venue called “My Bed” and where the drink special is “Gatorade” and this is streaming on a thousand screens:
I’ve never been a very peaceful person, but I was trying to think of something to do to get me to chill the fuck out so, that is how yoga and I met again. My first experience with yoga was my mother dragging me along to classes because she was super into it and, as a former gymnast, I figured it would be easy as shit and would make her happy so I just did it. We even went to Bikram yoga together—the kind where the studio feels like a Las Vegas desert. It was really intense and had lots of breath exercises, so intense that 15-year old me was convinced that I breathed smoke from a joint from the day before out during a post-practice session of whatever the hell those hundred little breaths are called, I don’t know. Mom–if you’re reading this, my bad. Pretend 15 says 18 and we’ll call it a day. Now, my mom is a certified yoga instructor as a hobby outside of her career, so I figure it must be rewarding in some way. Deciding to go to a yoga class in 2014 was more of a “I just need to DO SOMETHING” rather than a “man, I wish I could find inner peace…oh wait, frickin’ yoga, duh!” so I dragged my roommate to a studio a few blocks from our house to begin a long journey of…not being a Netflix-zombie for an hour and a half?
The studio is clean and cute, and in a building that is essentially a dorm because hey, it’s Bushwick, aka post-collegiate campus of life. Luckily only 3 other students are attending with us, so we get to see everything and the teacher is super attentive and helpful in correcting our novice form. I go into this with a positive outlook, like hey, maybe I will find some sense of calm and be proud of myself for being somewhat active. I take the first few breaths and even quietly do the beginning of practice ohms (VERY. QUIETLY.) and as we go into our first downward-facing-dog (which in itself, tells you I shouldn’t be doing yoga with others because the phrase alone cracks me up) and think “this isn’t so bad.”
Then I heard a faint hissing of a radiator. No, wait. That’s just the girl in front of me. Breathing.
I carry on, assuming she’s just relieving a lot of stress.
No, wait. There it goes again. With nearly every pose that is sitting or laying down, I hear a sound reminiscent of my first Brooklyn apartment in the winter. A faint, shrill, whistle that kept me up every night, wondering what I did to deserve that sound. And now it has infiltrated my auditory canal in a supposedly sacred setting? I don’t think so. However, I feel it would be in poor taste to tell a practicing partner to close her nose and shut the fuck up, so I carry on. I listen carefully to see if the rest of the class is following suit. As far as I’m concerned, the rest of us may as well have been dead, because nothing more that a murmur escaped the lips of the other 4 people in the room.
I realize that one of the reasons I came to yoga in the first place was because I have a terrible temper and focusing on something like that would probably help me chill. So I force myself to pretend the lead vocalist of the Heat Steam Machines isn’t in the room, and as we lay in corpse pose (obviously my favorite, because I would rather lay down on the floor than do pretty much anything else) I look up at the ceiling and start to chill. “Wow.” I think to myself. “This tin ceiling is cool, but kinda weird….oh. Oh no. I get it.”
And then, for the rest of the class, every time we are in a pose on our backs, all I can think about is how there are hundreds of silver vaginas, staring down at me, begging me to say SOMETHING. Of all the tin tiles in the world, this is what you choose!? It takes every ounce of willpower I have to not laugh, but as I realize this, I look over at my roommate and once again Radiator Death March lets out some seriously loud airflow and of course, we both lose our shit. I can see it in her eyes: “Leigh, what the fuck are we doing here and why did you suggest this?” but we stifle our mouths and carry on with whatever salutation is occurring at the moment.
Just when I think my imagination cannot get any more off-topic, I notice the contraptions for the aerial yoga class. This leads me to think of people hanging from them like puppets.
It’s just like that N’SYNC video! Bye Bye Byeeeeee! Or…Ohm Ohm Ohm? It could turn into a very impressive dance number if sped up, right?
Moral of the story is: if you can’t get your brain to turn off and focus, yoga class is probably not for you. If you think everything is hilarious, yoga class is probably not for you. Better yet, if you are this type of person but think you are ready for a change, do not attend a class with a like-minded individual because you will not be able to control yourself if someone openly agrees with you on the level of ridiculousness that is a room with funny shapes and sounds. Apologies to anyone who takes their practice very seriously and I wish you the best of luck. I also hope you don’t breathe out like you’ve got the air supply of a thousand humans stuck in your lungs because your neighboring yogi-in-training probably HATES YOU.
Our Brooklyn Broadway shop is turning 5 years old today and we put together this lil party to celebrate! If you’re NYC based, come out tonight to the store from 7-10PM for some free beers and raffles with prizes from awesome Brooklyn-based brands like Gimme Coffee, Trophy Bar, Bedford Slims, Brooklyn Brewery, and Trouble & Bass. The after party is at The Flat, right down the block, with bands & DJs. If you’re in Miami right now like I had hoped to be, go fuck yourself. I’m incredibly jealous but this will still be really awesome. Just colder. Buy me a shot and bring me an Adderal because I’m working from regular office hours-4AM. Just kidding, I accept Red Bulls as well.