Jay Reatard played at the Oval in the quad of Stuy Town. That place gives me the fucking creeps. It's a housing community that has been transformed from low-income projects to yuppie family dwellings and city college kid housing. There were kids everywhere, pot smoke bellowing out of windows, and hipsters pouring out of the L at 1st Ave to take advantage of a recession-friendly free show. Funnily enough, this series is also advertised as family-friendly.
Also giving me the creeps was the old (homeless?) dude standing next to me wearing roller blades and wrestling with a stray cat under his tee-shirt. Next to him was a 10-year-old girl in a wheelchair with cerebral palsy, and on the other side of me was a half-assed attempt at a pit being made by aforementioned Brooklynites who were just aware of themselves enough to elbow and push each other around for five minutes.
The show was free, like I said, and the band was great. They played a tight, 40-minute set, banging out all your Reatard faves. But still, I couldn't help but feel like I was bearing witness to something wholly inappropriate and just sort of, wrong. The icing on the cake was the Verizon sponsorship of the summer concert series. Blech.
I left quickly and braved the Sephora in Times Sq to load up on free eyeliner before meeting this guy for a date to see Todd Barry at a fucking comedy club. I know, I know. Jesus christ, I must be a masochist. Lately more and more I have been looking in the mirror and not recognizing the person staring back. It takes only one trip to midtown Manhattan on a summer evening to make you completely hate yourself, in case you were wondering.
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