Marc Spitz

http://newyork.timeout.com/articles/own-this-city/81012/bowie-ball

am in this week’s time out new york, commenting on some of the bowie fans who dressed up for this year’s Bowie ball. link above if you want to read my “Fashion Police”- style er… comedy.

i woke up this morning with natalie merchant in my head. i suppose it’s easier than waking up with natalie merchant in your heart. less intriguing than waking up next to natalie merchant (there’s a funny sort of profane riff on her in my second novel, the one nobody bought). ”like the weather” (yes, i know it’s 10,000 maniacs’ In My Tribe… that cassette was glued into my car stereo for about a full month back in junior year of high school. i even abided by the child abuse song and naff cat stevens cover. i think i owned their first album as well. the one with “can’t ignore the train” on it. i guess i’m saying that i remember when natalie merchant was cool in that 120 Minutes way and i am also saying that there are two drunken bridge and tunnel weekend warriors who live my head, i guess, who make strange requests of my better self – and the only way to appease them and send them back to the bar and, well, away, is to just play them what they want. this morning all they wanted was pre-Lilith alterna-gal rock… which i of course, own and love but probably should never play again. you can’t really walk down the street in New York City in 2009, listening to Shooting Rubberbands At the Stars and feel remotely cool… in any way. less so when you’re pulling a winnie wagon full of dirty laundry. i have a creeping hangover today from drinking at hudson bar and books last night, breathing in cigar smoke and digging the smooth jazz. it’s the jazz that kills you in that otherwise perfect bar. it’s like chasing a whiskey in a heavy rocks glass with an entire bottle of grenadine. staying in bed for the rest of the day. four poster dull torpor.