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Real Art Ways continues its relentless Creative Cocktail Hour series with another Creative Cocktail Hour on Thursday at 6pm. Art from Claire Grill and music from Electric Junkyard Gamelan. Not that I've heard of either of them.

What's the best coffee on Farmington Ave.?

So who serves the best coffee on Farmington Ave.? Maybe the obvious choice is Tisane, but there's another contender nearby. Tangiers International, on the corner of Prospect and Farmington, serves a wide range of coffees and sells whole beans. When I say 'wide range' I don't mean espresso drinks with 31 different kinds of syrups available. Most notable is their Turkish coffee, which is hand-prepared, of course.



I have to tip my hat to Ted, for suggesting Tangiers. It's amazing I managed to write a whole paragraph about the place without mentioning their Falafel. The problem is that there's no question whether it's the best on Farmington Ave, the best in Hartford, and the best I've ever had. Pair the Falafel sandwich with the coffee and you're ready for anything afternoon can throw at you.

Hartford Bulletin of Zoological Nomenclature

Just got back from a great vacation in New Hampshire: lakefront cabin, lots of seafood, booze, golf….(you get the picture). So there I was, out on the dock, Heineken in my left hand and a fishing pole in the right. I fancy myself a bass-master, so I’m going after big game. Well, not really. Its just that they stock this lake heartily, so catching edible fish shouldn’t be a problem. But the only things I’m catching are little sunnies, some of which aren’t much bigger than the worm that I’m using. And even here my younger niece is proving herself a more proficient angler.

Then I see this massive bass float under the dock. All I need to do is catch that fish, I tell myself. If I can, then this vestigial, cave-man desire to put food on the table without first dropping a twenty at Stop n Shop gets satisfied.

I don’t catch the bass of course. But even if I had, I’m not allowed to eat it and appease my inner cave man. Why? Because this particular bass is protected by a “gentleman’s-fishing” ordinance. According to my father’s mental lexicon (Wittgenstein never gets started on the (anti) private-language-argument if he knows my father), this means that I have to throw the fish back should I catch it. Ok, so why is this fish privileged? Because this fish has a name: Bruno. Bruno, it turns out, is my father’s “lake-pet”.

Lake-pet?

On the ride home from NH I contemplated the following membership conditions for the category lake-pet:

(1) The pet must in some important sense still be in the wild. For instance, if Bruno is captured and forced to live in a bathtub, then he is no longer a lake-pet.
(2) The pet must be an animal that is by nature resistant to domestication. For example, if there is cat that hangs around the lake its high potential for domestication disqualifies it as a lake-pet.
(3) The pet must be aware of, and reasonably accepting of, the pet-owner’s presence. That is, the owner and/or the owner’s possessions (e.g., dock) must be sources of information in the animal’s local environment such that the pet doesn’t get freaked out by their presence.
(4) The owner must have some degree of affection for the pet. This affection typically manifests in the owner’s expectation of pet-sightings/interactions during daily routine and also a protective attitude towards the pet.

Note that this schema (admittedly crude) is perfectly general. Lakes are one place where these conditions are sometimes met. Urban locations are another. Perhaps there’s a bunch more.

I wonder, then, about the status of the Hartford-pet – the Hartford domesticus. Are there any? Where are they found? Do their owners scorn those who would eat them for dinner?

For starters, there’s a guy in my apartment building that has built a relationship with a flight of pigeons (they’re all fat because he feeds them all day). Indeed, the pigeon/lonely-man dynamic is likely the best exemplar of the Hartford domesticus. Then there are those plump rats that have grown comfortable roaming down Sisson Ave. However, I am sceptical that they satisfy condition (4). Further research is required.

Things to do: beginnings and endings edition

There's lots going on a Real Art Ways this week. On Thursday, there's a Creative Cocktail Hour where my pal DJ Latitude is playing, along with Santogold.


Saturday is the opening of 50,000 Beds, which is a huge collaboration between 45 artists and three different museums. Each artist was allowed to spend one night in a hotel room and film the results.

Rock Yer Socks are also having a show on Saturday in Manchester. It's going to be the last show at the American Legion, which had the virtue of cheap booze and the vice of costing RYS a great deal of money to rent. They'll continue to operate out of the Charter Oak Cultural Center and the Grady Tavern in Manchester.



Slay the evil unicorn!

The Hartford Profile

Suppose you are a Hartford resident. Suppose also that you wake up this morning and you’ve got a list of stuff that has to get done (i.e., get your oil changed, read stuff, buy food). Where do you go? Where should you set up shop for the day?

I deal with this question a lot, and by the time I get out of the shower I often know that I’ll be off to Glastonbury. Why is this? For one, the grass is truly greener in Glastonbury, and they’ve got more of it. Second, no one has held me up at gunpoint in Glastonbury yet. Third, the score of the “breaking into my car” game is 4 – 0 with Hartford in a comfortable lead. Four, the libraries in Glastonbury don’t smell like urine – nor do they function as repositories of internet porn for a population of homeless dudes.

Now, I happen to despise the culture of Glastonbury. There’s the SUVs. There’s the soccer-moms that clutch their kids a bit tighter when you walk by (as if they smell the musk of Hartford on you). There’s the group of 40 yr. old guys at the yuppie bar whose ridiculously loud conversation is really meant for the big-cleavage bartender and whoever else might confirm them. And so on. But this is all Ok, as long as you are not from Glastonbury – as long as you are not one of them. That is, its Ok if you are visiting for the day, in which case you are using these people for their tax money and the niceties they subsidize.

Such was my daily scheme for a while, and it felt clever and romantic. But last weekend it cracked. I had been cruising Glastonbury in my Nissan. In the rearview I see a trail of cars behind me with a cop at the end. Everyone’s going slow, making full stops, etc. Then the cop speeds ahead of the pack so as to sit right behind me. That’s fine, I think to myself – I’ve got my seatbelt on and I’m obeying all the road rules. But the Nissan was looking rough that day – old and rusty. And my behavior (e.g., dangling my arm out the window) was more “pragmatic driving in hot Hartford weather” than “deference to Glastonbury cop.” I was pulled over, for no reason. I’ll skip the details that followed. The important point is that I was profiled: the only business I could have had in Glastonbury was to highjack a couple of BMWs.

When I crossed back into Hartford I felt a sense of relief. Here I could drive my beater anonymously. Here, I could see that the guy driving the car to my left was about done with his Corona. Of course, these low policing standards come with their own set of problems. But, as I have come to learn, it is important not to take them for granted.

A Mo's Morning

This morning I had to wake up early, but I hustled enough out of bed to get to Mo's Midtown as they opened. Sometimes waking up early after good sleeping weather makes everyone a bit more chipper than usual. I think that was the case this morning as the cook and waitress were chatting excitedly. I couldn't understand a word of the Polish, so of course I started daydreaming about what they were talking about. But then "blah, blah, blah" was interrupted by "VIP Room. Yeah? VIP Room." and once again back to "blah, blah, blah."

Punk Show Friday

Rock Yer Socks are hosting a punk show at the Charter Oak Cultural Center tomorrow (Friday). Ted and I probably can't go because there's a mutual friend in town, but I might be able to come late.

Eastern League All-Star "Game"

I spent most of yesterday in Norwich, CT at the Eastern League All-Star Game.  The South Division was coached by Akron's Tim Bogar and the Aeros had six players there.   The North Division was coached by CT Defenders coach Dave Machemer.   Dodd Stadium is a pleasant place to watch baseball and the concession prices, relative to most stadiums, are excellent (2 buck hot dogs, 4 dollar 20oz beers!).

Unfortunately, the game was fogged out after three innings.  Since the gates opened hours early, I was able to watch batting practice and get some pictures.  It was so foggy during the Home Run Derby, that you couldn't see any of the balls go over the fence.

Here are the some really crappy videos of AstroCab, Barton, and Brown:

Outside the stadium:

Players stretching:

Jordan Brown:

Brian Barton:

AstroCab and Barton:

Back In The Day

Frank’s post on the show at The Charter Oak Cultural Center got me thinking about CT underground music. A turnout of 20 is indeed a disappointment, especially given the quality of bands and venue. So I wonder.

Back in the early to mid 90’s (or “back in the day”, to add that generation-privileger) CT featured a thriving underground music scene. The number of hardcore, ska, and punk bands was almost absurd. Every kid toting a trumpet or trombone to high school was starting a ska band (myself included), and individual clubs (e.g., Studio 158, Tune Inn, The Boiler Room) had achieved their own gravitational pull with the same kids and same bands in faithful orbit. Perhaps this over-saturation, together with the emergent “14yr old girl ska fan” that was parasitic on and offensive to the Old-Schooler, sent The Scene into oblivion. Or maybe it was because people went to college and Spring Heeled Jack had a video on MTV. Who knows. The point is that there was a ton of musical energy in CT at that time. A number of CT bands were objectively stellar (BiG MiSTAKE, SHJ, Spicy Griblets, Jasta 14) and various clubs would pack in hundreds for a good show.

But we were also young. The strength of that scene was built partly on boredom, the need to distance ourselves both musically and socially from our peers, and the fact that we weren’t allowed to drink in bars. In so far as current underground shows in Hartford and CT target people in their twenties and thirties (folks for whom these factors are generally absent, I take it) it will be difficult to generate a lot of momentum (especially at dry venues). This by no means justifies the low turn out at the Cultural Center, but it may go some way in explaining it.



As far as Hartford is concerned, it seems that the city has always been more bar-driven than indy-music driven. Note, for instance, that none of the aforementioned clubs are (or were) in Hartford. Rather, kids had to travel to Willimantic or sketchy parts of New Britain to see a show. Which brings me to an anecdote. The first real show that my band played was at a bar called Scarlett O’ Hara’s (now Vaughan’s Public House) which was on Pratt St., Hartford. There were no “scene kids” there of course, only a smallish crowd of seasoned drinkers. If they listened at all it was only superficially: they were getting drunk, and our young age together with our being perched up on this attic-like floor must have presented us as a novelty act. Such was my early experience of the Hartford – Indy music disconnect. Nor did it help that our parents drove us to the bar! Our drummer’s dad sat in the back of the bar and drank milk. Yes – milk.

All-Stars in Connecticut

The AA All-Star game is being held in Norwich, Connecticut this year. I hope to come back with some nice pictures and amateurish scouting reports tomorrow. I'm particularly keen to see Asdrubal Cabrera (aka AstroCab) and sad not to be able to see Clay Buchholz.

What Are You?

So the dictionary says someone from Connecticut is to be called a "Connecticuter"? Lame. Does anyone even use that? I'd go for Cotton Mather's "Connecticotian", first. "Connecter," maybe?

This is a disturbing state of affairs.

Joe Jack Talcum Comes to Hartford Again

Joe Jack Talcum, from the Dead Milkmen, appeared for the second time in as many years at the Charter Oak Cultural Center last night for Rock Yer Socks. He was every bit as good as he was the last time. His set is mostly a one-man Dead Milkmen show, which was more than acceptable to the crowd, many of whom sang along.

Joe Jack fans also got to see him stumble along as the fill-in bassist for UkeBox. We were told they only had one practice together before the show. Nevertheless, they're a solid band which employs a surprisingly effective electrified ukulele. I really, really want an electrified ukulele.

Big Attack was also a pleasant surprise. I'm tired of ponderous, meandering punk and singers with no stage presence. Big Attack was to the point and managed to be energetic despite playing in front of about 15 people to start the show.

Which brings us to the real disappointment of the night. There was an embarrassingly low turnout. Seeing Joe Jack is easily worth twice the door amount (six dollars) and I'm a really cheap guy. In Hartford's defense, even the bars were mostly empty this weekend (Half-Door Friday, Tisane Saturday, Pig Pub Sunday), so maybe people had private business to attend to.

I'm sure I'll be returning to this theme, but Rock Yer Socks are well worth supporting for Hartford's sake and yours.

Look Around You, Hartford

Look around you.

Chances are, you'll not see a blog about Hartford. It's okay, it doesn't mean Hartford is a terrible or boring place. Other things might mean that, but that won't be our concern here. We're going to write about Hartford here, but we're not going to start off with any thesis about what Hartford is or what it should be. We just intend to tell it like we see it, but from two rather different perspectives.

I won't speak much for Ted, but he's spent many years in Connecticut and Hartford in particular. He knows the city well. I just moved to Hartford a few weeks ago, although I've lived in Connecticut for four years. We won't say anything else about us, but I'm sure over time our writing will reflect as much about us as the city itself.

We welcome you to read along and also to contribute by adding your own stories and comments.