Marc Spitz's Poseur

Mark Spitz has a new book out which prompted the Village voice to do an interview.

It is relevant to my interests because I enjoyed We Got the Neutron Bomb and I, too, made a go of it as a music critic type (albeit mostly in the metal ghetto) in New York in the early '90s. It in part tells a nostalgic story of a vanishing New York that I, as well as the likes of Alex in NYC and many friends of mine, also lament and share.

Anyone else interested in this book?

And I would totally go to this if I hadn't already picked up a shift that night:

http://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/s720x720/295667_467453463322167_613596443_n.jpg

the g00glebooks excerpts are boring - childhood and college days admittedly - and he's a tool in that interview. but hey, good luck with it

http://www.theawl.com/2013/02/the-best-new-york-stories-from-marc-spitzs-poseur-mapped

zzzzzzz

The night of the party for his first book, held in the Tiki Lounge basement area, Spitz eventually retired to the Library bar with the Strokes' Julian Casablancas. While there, they closed down the bar with "a couple of hipster girls," whom they brought back to Spitz's apartment. No funny business though, at least according to the memoir. Just enough coke to see them through to dawn. (Earlier in the night Sevigny, who had a cameo in the book, had dropped by the party with Tara Subkoff.)

I'm about a third of the way into it ... and keep waiting for it to "start," so to speak.

I picked this up (for like three bucks on Amazon) but if the stories of a lost Lower East Side is about doing blow with Chloe Sevigny, then I won't be able to relate to it.

Like, I remember when San Loco only had ONE location... And it was across the street on Second Avenue... Though maybe those memoirs aren't as sexy as blow with Chloe.

He should do a graphic novel series with Neil Strauss.

GAAHH! I give up. I've made it five chapters in, but I'm sorry -- I JUST DO NOT GIVE A FUCK!!! Cripes. With all due respect to Mr. Spitz, why he thinks anyone would care about this thanklessly name-droppy, self-mythologizing tripe is BEYOND me. I feel bad saying this -- especially as a fellow ersatz music journo and obsessive geek -- but good lord, man, get OVER yourself. I mean, being that I write a stupid blog rife with my own memories of downtown NYC and its accompanying music scene and all that, I should probably shut the fuck up about it, but at least I'm not being audacious enough to charge anyone for reading my self-indulgent claptrap. Maybe the book gets better beyond the point where I'm at, but between the whinging about his wannabe bohemian lifestyle at the Chelsea Hotel and moaning about being ensconced at Bennington in Vermont and :::barf::: discovering Nirvana for the first time. I mean, I'm done. I'm out. Sorry.

Hahaha! I am pretty sure it will suffer a similar fate when I get to it.