potato is love, potato is life- local hell woman gives potato to her angelic future wife
Charlie: “I don’t think I should be allowed to interact with women ever again.”
Husk: “Is this about Vaggie giggling over a fucking potato earlier-”
Charlie: “OH IT’S ABOUT THE POTATO ALL RIGHT! WHY THE FUCK DOES THE PHRASE ‘apple of my eye’ EVEN EXIST IN THE SAME UNIVERSE WHERE ‘earth apple’ IS ANOTHER WORD FOR POTATO??? WHY DO PEOPLE CALL THE STUPID SPROUTY THINGS ON POTATOES ‘eyes’????? CREATION IS STUPID! IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!!”
Husk: “Did you fucking give her the potato.”
Charlie: (slumping) “I was trying to be romantic-!”
Husk: “Did you call HER your potato.”
Charlie: “THE POTATO OF MY HEART! The tuber of my root sprout!”
Husk: “Oh fuck. Shit, that’s. That’s terrible. You really shouldn’t fucking talk to women anymore.”
Charlie: (sobbing) “I WAS TRYING!!! TO BE SWEET!!!!!”
Angel Dust: “-hey gays m’kay, real fucked up question for ya both but- anyone know why Vag G-string is makin’ soppy doe eyes at an uncooked tater tot?”
Husk: “It’s because she’s almost as much of fucking fail loser as her girlfriend, is why.”
Charlie: (sniffs) “She. You think she likes it…?”
Angel Dust: “Charlie chip, she’s starin’ at the damn thing like it’s her first born child.”
Charlie: “Oh…”
Charlie: “…”
Charlie: “Unholy shit…. I am so GOOD with women-”
Husk: “No. No you’re fucking not. It’s just her.”
Charlie: “Well she’s the only one who counts so that’s perfect!”
Angel Dust: “Oh please don’ tell me you gave her the potato-”
Charlie: “BE RIGHT BACK IM GONNA GO GET HER ANOTHER ONE!!!”
Husk: “NO-!”
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“Isn’t it worth grieving? Isn’t it worth destroying yourself in order to move on? Isn’t it worth going through whatever you need to go through in order to move on? Isn’t it worth loving somebody even if this might happen to you? Just a communal understanding that love is worth it; grieving love is also worth it and that it might be this interesting, this colorful, or this odd.” -PSH
Philip Seymour Hoffman photographed by Martin Schoeller, 2003
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The Strokes Get Nostalgic at Forest Hills Stadium on Saturday
The Strokes – Forest Hills Stadium – August 19, 2023
It’s hard to tell if it was a fake-out or not. Julian Casablancas, early into the Strokes’ set on Saturday night in Queens, was singing the praises of our “fair metropolis” (his words, sort of) and said it would be “a great place to end it all.” Granted I’d been (lovingly) duped one set earlier. Angel Olsen, the soulful North Carolina folk-rock goddess, had already pulled a typically goofy bait and switch: “I’ve been so inspired,” she said, adding that her travels drove her to write a new song just a night earlier. “You guys know it, right?” she asked her bandmates. They smiled and launched into “Shut Up Kiss Me” (My Woman, 2016), the torch-rock banger that largely put her on the mainstream map.
So back to Casablancas: I nervously laughed, we moved on. How couldn’t we? The night was genuinely perfect, created-in-a-lab perfect for the Strokes’ much-anticipated hometown show — and their second of only two in the U.S. this year. “Sorry to talk about the weather,” he deadpanned at one point. (He bantered often and oddly, as is canon for him.)
The crowd was huge, every other fan sporting merch, new and old. They erupted from the first notes of “Is This It,” the set opener and title track off their first LP turned rock standard. But the crowd lost it from every first note of every song. Why wouldn’t we? The boys are near mascots to legions of elder millennials, having soundtracked a good portion of their impressionable alt-rock youths. The hits hit: “Someday,” “Reptilia,” “Meet Me in the Bathroom.” And the newer tracks landed, too, “Ode to the Mets” (The New Abnormal, 2020) in particular. Casablancas’s voice — that pitched-down and notable blend of New Wave crooner and Jim Morrison — and Albert Hammond Jr.’s singular rhythm guitar work are still, impressively, it to me.
The return of “Modern Girls & Old Fashion Men” — the Strokes’ 2004 single with Regina Spektor — was among many special moments. “It only took 20 years but look who showed up,” said Casablancas as she took the stage to join him, the crowd roaring. Another incredible surprise: For the first time in 17 years, they played “15 Minutes,” off First Impressions of Earth (2006), a low-key favorite of mine with something of a too-long-at-the-pub vibe. By the encore’s end, and after a deeply fun, singable night of nostalgia to the face, we were back at the beginning, with the frontman’s original tease — although it sounded a bit different this time. “This might be our last show in New York,” he said. The crowd booed, the music began and “Last Nite” hypnotized everyone into briefly not caring whether he was bluffing. A dangler of an end but a blast nonetheless. —Rachel Brody | @RachelCBrody
Photos courtesy of Dana Distortion | distortionpix.com
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