New Year’s Eve Punk House Show PAR-TAY!


Me and Becky and Kristen went to a house show New Year’s Eve. My other friend Becky told me it was in Crown Heights and all these punk bands I’d never heard of (Stupid Party, Bad Blood, Ghostwood, Dos Tornadoes, Screaming Females, Hey Baby, Hinges, Nude Beach) were playing, so we figured, why not crash the fun?



First, though, we hung out at Kristen’s apartment, had wine and beer, and cuddled with Kiki. Kiki is some sort of smallish yet non-pussy dog, who’s a ball of spastic energy. Kiki’s idea of fun is to run around offering everybody sloppy kisses despite her insane doggy breath. Oh, speaking of “breath”! Kristen has this tic where some words seriously work her gag reflex, and she especially hates it when people speak in a phone sex voice and say breeeeath.

We finished our booze and took the G from Nassau to Broadway, before transferring to the B46 into Crown Heights. All along the way we were talking about how bummed we were gonna be if we ended up spending 12:00 a.m. in a frigging bus.

But we made it just in time! It was really packed!

midnight1The second we walked in people started counting down the ball! Shit got crazy those first seconds of 2009!



So we started kissing each other…


…but we weren’t the only ones.


Others shared passages they’d written for their favorite Anarchist zines.


We laughed really hard when we saw this guy’s dread(ful) mullet!


You know what, though? I’m not gonna knock this girl for the hairy pits. I actually think it’s really hot.


I told Becky she should grow her pits out, too. She was all heeeeeey!


What with his signature way of holding his 40oz while cradling a cigarette, Ballantine should wise up and pay this dude for his party appearances.


We were having so much fun we almost forgot to check out the bands playing. Although the singer’s glasses were queer as shit, we did like very much the phallicly exploding volcano.


Fuck fat, sweaty, leather-wearing dirtbags named “T-Bone”; why don’t more bands hire roadies like this?


This photo pretty much wrote itself “Anti Capitalist Kitsch”. Update: Holy shit! The clock’s set to 4:20!


This is Melissa. I was taking pictures of her when she asked if I could send them to her email. I said sure, and handed her my notepad. She scribbled something down and said, actually, why don’t you just send them to my phone number? I thought that was pretty fucking smooth.


Beyond the 10s I rolled in with, this girl was pretty much the cutest girl there. I totally dig how her outfit suggests she just hopped off her kiwi parents’ sheep farm to say what’s up to the drummer of Stupid Party before texting her mum back home about bringing those nifty pair of sheers. I looked over her shoulder and she was typing: “lol. theres this guy here with this dreadful mullett. Pun! Pun!”


Then all of a sudden this big gnarly punker dude with 10-inch spikes on his neck marches over to me and starts giving me a hard time for taking photos of everybody. Acting all smooth and shit, I turned the camera on him, pushed the button, and FLASH! He magically turned into a dweebish little pussy with pubic hair for sideburns!
Turns out, Becky’s camera had magical powers, too.
This guy kept telling people how he totally knows people at VICE. The girl he was kicking it to didn’t give two fucks, but, I mean, I was impressed.
Oh, did I mention how much Kristen hates being photographed? You wouldn’t think so, because of how totally gorgeous Kristen is. Throughout the night I pretty much made it my mission to bring out her inner model. I mean, I’m no slick shit party photographer from Los Angeles with a stupid, redundant name or anything, so I don’t feel bad when I didn’t exactly succeed.
But then, amazingly, Kristen opened up and let me know exactly what she thought of me.
I was so startled I dropped the last of my malt liquor. Anyway, it was probably time to go home. Happy 2009!

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