What a fun weekend. Many themes and trends to review….


Daddy Wrall and I flew off Nantucket on Thursday evening on a plane piloted by a wonderful and interesting pilot, who we’ll call Spencer. Now “Spencer” has perfected the pre-flight spiel to a degree previously unheard of: “Himynameisspenceri’llbeflyingyoualltoprovidencetodayshouldbeasmoothflightdespitetheclo udsthatyouseeitwilltakeaboutthirtyminuteswiththeraretailwindthatwehavethreeexitsareavaila blethedooryoucameinthedoortomyleftandthedoorovertherighthandseatofrowtwo…

And on and on. It took him about fourteen seconds to say the above passage and another twelve to finish the spiel. Amazingly, I was able to retain and hear all of it. Bravo “Spencer”!!

During my time in New York, I also made efforts to contact a friend of mine from college. Let’s call him Micah. “Micah” didn’t answer his phone, but I was lucky enough to hear his answering machine twice: “Hiyou’vereachedmicahleaveamessageandi’llcallyou backBEEP!”

Somehow, I managed to respond: “Himicahit’sschuyleri’minnewyorkwe’replayingatsin- eonsaturdayi’dlovetogettogetherorseeyouattheshowwe’llalsobeinmanhattanonsaturdaymayb ewecangotoamuseumcallmeonthisnumberwhenyougetinlookingforwardtoitbye.”

Both times. And he still didn’t call back. Maybe I didn’t speak clearly enough.


Samuel still has one. Can’t get rid of it. He’s doing all the right things, too: dayquil, herbal tea, gigs every weekend all over the continent, staying up till five every saturday hobnobbing with other superstar djs… Daddy Wrall and I, meanwhile, are hovering on the edge of this virus.

New York is Cold. New England, too. Windy and snowy and here come the winter coats. I prefer the warm jets. Oh well.

Lofts in Bushwick are cold, too. But great. Cold, but great.


So, as far as I understand, a properly poached egg is runny, not solid like a hard-boiled egg. I have asked around and this assumption has been confirmed. So when my poached eggs came hard-boiled on Saturday morning, I (as politely as possible) sent them back. They came back perfect, despite the saliva mixed with yolk, but everything else that had been on the plate was missing… Now, I’ve been at this restaurant before (we’ll call it Enid’s) and have loved the food, so what’s going on? Am I completely deficient when it comes to ordering a meal? We’ll go with yes.


After dinner on Saturday, we thanked a couple of women who had switched tables to make room for us and allowed me to reach into their bag to collect my sunglasses that had fallen in there, when Daddy Wrall shared the details of our imminent gig. Our server couldn’t have been more excited:

Waiter: “Wait you’re a band?” DW: (Thinking: Free meal?) “Yes” Waiter: “Wow. What are you called?” DW: (Free meal and dessert?) “Miss Fairchild.” Waiter: “That’s great. What kind of music is it?” DW: (Okay, I’m just going to pick my money up off the table…) “Future pop.” Waiter: “What time? I’d love to come down” DW: (Dinner for a spot on the guest list? I’ll make that trade…) “Nine.” Waiter: “Too bad. I’ll be working” DW: (Putting the money back…) “Too bad…”

Flashforward to after the gig. Hanging out at a local bar with two friends (“Josiah” and “Christina”) I discussed my unhealthy obsession with adding integers and remembering phone numbers. When “Josiah” and “Christina” left, a man asked if he could take a picture of me. I nodded and “posed.” It might have been my hip Japanese baseball jersey and brown corduroy jacket, but more likely it was the maroon Golce and Dabana shades that have lately become indispensable to me. Have it known here: Golce and Dabana is the new trend…


Sin-e was great as usual. Thanks to everyone who came down. Also thank you “Ollie”, “Joanne”, “Don”, “Chris” and “Sue.” Great to see/meet/stay with you all, as applicable.

Say word: the ridonkulous stamina show
Say turd: city honking and random snow

Say word: Golce and Dabana
Say turd: jokes about yo mama

See you at the next show and don’t forget to write. The Great Dunlap, emphasis on Lap.