Red Skies and Bluegrass.

Hey y’all…busy weekend over here in these parts. Aside from a final orgy of TIME-reading to put an end to my summer research work, I also went to go check out the Creative Time fireworks show, where I spent most of the 4-and-some-odd minutes trying to prevent Berkeley from having a coronary (Lousy judgment on my part bringing him…I thought he might enjoy night in the Park, but he clearly thought he was back on Hill 243.) And I got to see St. Felix Station, my friend’s great bluegrass band over at Pete’s Candy Store in Williamsburg (and was delighted to find said candy store has a weekly trivia night…booyah.)

Start Spreading the News.

Hey y’all…after a massive amount of traveling, bill-paying, and errand-running over the past 48 hours or so, I’m now back home in NYC. While I’m a bit melancholy that three weeks of sun and fun are over, there is something to be said for having Berk at my side and the world at my fingertips again…no more dial-up, booyah. At any rate, I’ll post some vacation pics here once I get all my images organized…in the meantime, expect updates here to resume normal schedule.

Indy Carnies (Carny Indies?)

This Modern Age plays Hipster Bingo at the Siren Music Festival on Coney Island. (Via Listen Missy.) I was there on Saturday too, and was kicking myself for not printing out a card. (I must say I also quite relished being at a beach and being well within the skin tone median – usually I’m the whitest guy for miles, but with indy rockers galore about I felt certifiably tan.) At any rate, the only acts I caught were Hot Hot Heat (interesting), The Datsuns (bleah), and Modest Mouse (ho hum) – I spent most of the time enjoying ancient amusement park technology and eating carny food. All in all, it was a beautiful day to enjoy a quintessential NYC summer attraction.

The signs of war advance.

No king of England if not of France. Alas, the NY Times didn’t think much of Henry V in the park. I caught it a few weeks ago and enjoyed it better than this reviewer, for sure. Given recent events, I do wish they’d turned up the satire a notch (“We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,” as the posters proclaim) and Bronson Pinchot’s Balki-esque schtick as Pistol seemed wildly out of place. But all in all, I thought the show made for a lively summer evening. And as a fan of the McKellen Richard III, I enjoyed the WWI motif Liev Schreiber & co. were aiming for.