In a lot of ways America is becoming more and more like a third world country. For a nation that is supposed to be a leader in technology, democracy, and free-market efficiency, we still handle certain vital institutions with the bumbling ineptitude of a night manager at Kinko’s. Take, for example, airport security. I know this old trope has been talked to death, but still. After getting to the airport two hours early, after taking off your shoes, your belt, your watch, after chugging any water you happen to have on you and showing your ID to twelve different senior citizens (many of whom look as though they were formerly employed as greeters at Wal-Mart), and after having some fat guy wave a wand over your crotch - do you really feel any safer? Do you really think some apathetic high school drop-out making minimum wage working the X-Ray machine is going to outsmart a terrorist? I mean, come on. The frickin’ CIA can’t even keep up with these guys.
And yet we accept the inanity of this process as par for the course. Like we don’t really expect our government or our country to do better. Corrupt politicians, crumbling infrastructure, failing industry - these are all the stereotypical hallmarks of a third world republic, and they’ve become part of the normal discourse on the United States. WTF?
For the most part it seems like our government just likes chasing its tail. They’ve hypnotized themselves into a sense of accomplishment by repeatedly treating the symptoms of our critical shortcomings instead of solving the problems that cause them. Think, for example, of how many times in recent years you’ve heard about foreign musicians being denied visas to play in this country. And we’re not talking about, like, the Al-Qaeda 12 Man String Band or anything. In most cases it’s just some scruffy indie rockers from Canada or England. This is what happened to Ontario band Young Rival. The last time they tried to cross the border to play a sold out show with Tokyo Police Club at the Bowery Ballroom they were denied entry.
Really? Really? Look at these guys. They wouldn’t squash a grape in a fruit fight. Do they not teach common sense to those government agents guarding the border? Has our country become the kind of place that doesn’t tolerate dreamy guitar rock? What are we supposed to listen to on late night drives through the desert? Who will provide the soundtrack to boozy summer make-out sessions? If Young Rival continues to be denied entry to this country then our nation will definitely suffer in these areas. Is that really the kind of place where we want to raise our children?
Watch out America. Canada is looking better and better each day.
Sometimes you want a well-rounded homemade meal. You know - with a salad and fresh rolls and everything. Other times you might want a nice, healthy smoothie. If you can afford it, you might even go in for the occasional night out at some fancy French restaurant. Eating right is good for body and mind, and it also aids in proper digestion. Everybody knows this is the right way to live. That’s why mom forced all that broccoli on you as a kid.
But you know what? Every now and then you just need a mothafuckin candy bar. And now is one of those times, my trembling little sucrose junkies. Behold the sugary pop goodness of The Submarines. So good, but don’t listen to too much in one sitting. Your teeth might fall out.
One of the things that sucks about living in New York City is grocery shopping. Not only is it expensive, but chances are you don’t have a car, so whatever you can afford to buy has to be lugged in a cab, on the subway or up the street to your apartment. That right there is reason enough to get take-out every night of the week.
Another reason is that shopping for groceries is generally not fun in New York City. The aisles are too small, everybody is on a cell phone, absent-mindedly groping the produce, and the shopping music is loud and annoying. In some stores they just play commercials at rock concert volume, hoping to entice you to buy some processed food treat that you might otherwise have passed up.
The one exception to this rule is St. Mark’s Market in the East Village. That place embodies everything cool you’ve ever heard about New York. How is it cool, you ask? Let me count the ways. First, it’s open 24 hours. If you think that may seem like a given for any store in Manhattan, try going to the Met after 9pm. Second, even though it’s pretty small, you can get almost anything there. They have a fresh sushi bar, a sandwich counter, and all kinds of weird candy and drinks imported from Asia.
But the best thing about this market is the music. According to the guy at check-out, they all take turns bumping their iPods over the house system. On past visits I’ve heard everything from Talking Heads and Public Enemy to John Coltrane and Tuvan throat singers. It is bad ass. People actually take their headphones off when they come into the store and sometimes you’ll catch hot girls singing to themselves over in the canned goods aisle.
One of the things I like hearing best in the store is a long instrumental jam. I’ll walk in sometimes in the middle of the night during some epic Can track, and I’ll spend the next 15 minutes just looking at the labels of esoteric snack foods while I nod my head. Before I know it, I’m playing a drum solo on the cans of dried wasabi peas.
It is because of this that I’m giving St. Mark’s Market a shout out. I don’t know if anybody from the store ever checks out this site, but if they do, I’ve got a recommendation for them. Listen up employees: you should play some music from the Philadelphia band Public Record. They play a unique blend of music that, in their words, ranges “from early-disco to shoegaze; Afro-beat to Scottish Postcard pop; and northern soul to Factory Records funk.” Their compelling instrumental jams bounce from trance-like summertime rhythms to sweaty, third world funk with an easy grace.
It’s the perfect soundtrack for ordering a hot reuben or squeezing some melons with that girl you just met in aisle two.
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