Paul McCartney at Yankee Stadium; Setlist and Video for 7/16/11

So I haven't posted in approximately forever, but you'll get over it. As I sometimes do, I am throwing up the setlist for another concert before I go to bed. Tonight's show was fantastic and I may blog about it later, but for now, here's what was played:

PAUL McCARTNEY
YANKEE STADIUM, NEW YORK CITY
JULY 16, 2011

SET:
Magical Mystery Tour
Jet
All My Loving
Junior's Farm
Drive My Car
Sing The Changes
The Night Before
Let Me Roll It (w/"Foxey Lady" coda, written by Jimi Hendrix)
Paperback Writer
The Long and Winding Road
1985
Let 'Em In
Maybe I'm Amazed
I'm Looking Through You
I Will
Blackbird
Here Today
Dance Tonight
Mrs. Vanderbilt
Eleanor Rigby
Something (written by George Harrison)
Band On The Run
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
Back in the U.S.S.R.
I've Got A Feeling
A Day In The Life w/Give Peace a Chance
Let It Be
Live and Let Die
Hey Jude

Encore I:
Lady Madonna
I Saw Her Standing There (featuring Billy Joel)
Get Back

Encore II:
Yesterday
Helter Skelter
Golden Slumbers
Carry That Weight
The End

All songs composed by John Lennon & Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney, or Paul & Linda McCartney, except "Sing the Changes" (McCartney/Youth), "Give Peace a Chance" (John Lennon), and where noted.

These aren't my seats (I wish) but here's some HD video:

Video shared by YouTube user BillyJoelVideos.

Open Notes to Persons in and around a Park Slope Coffee Shop

Preface: This is the third installment in my Open Notes series, where I talk to people around me but on my blog because I lack the guts/interest/pickup lines necessary to actually converse with other people.

"Art of Unknown Origin Stolen for Blog"; Anonymous, Oil on Canvas, 1997

This evening, after a particularly erratic day of substitute teaching in Manhattan, I returned to lovely Brooklyn and strolled over to a distinctive coffee joint in the quaint yet eminently mockable neighborhood of Park Slope.  People here are known for being liberal, wealthy(ish), and trendy, and most residents struggle to hide their often overwhelming whiteness.  My neighborhood is no slouch, but this part of town is most certainly out of my price bracket.  Thus, while it may be a perfectly pleasant place to reside, it's easier and more self-assuring to ruthlessly rend it asunder with smug keystrokes while chuckling about how intellectually superior and more worldly I am.

To my roommate: Spot me a few bucks?  Cool.

To the chipper barista girl: You're adorable, but I really do think that your hat falls under the "trying too hard" category.  It probably looked stylish on the wooden rack at the second-hand store next to the other second-hand store where that better second-hand store used to be, but you don't need a hat indoors.  However, I have a long history of falling for waitresses and female bar staff, so I'm going to let it slide.

To Customer #7: Whoever told you that beard looked good was lying through their java-stained teeth.  When you trim the edges every morning for that perfectly symmetrical look, do you use a ruler?  A protractor, maybe?  Also, this morning routine must give you ample time to consider your beard at length.  Apparently, you still think it's worth it.

To the freeloading suit who walked in, sat down, went to work on his laptop, and didn't buy anything:  Don't worry about it. Wi-fi should be free. Hey, I'm sure you voted for universal public health care, too.

To literally four other customers who have entered since I started:  Please explain to me the appeal of offbeat hats and poor facial hair decisions.  Please.  I'm so lost.

To Customer #15:  You are cute.  Please look at me again now that I'm sitting up straight.

To Customer #15's boyfriend:  I will fight you right in the face.

To Rota Fortunae:  Why do girls go out with clowns like him?  What is it?  I see more girls hanging off the shoulder of slouchy, half-awake, vacant looking dudes who kind of just stand there consuming oxygen.  What are you contributing to the relationship, guy?  You look like the kind of person who hopes McDonald's makes home deliveries.  It's very perplexing.

To Wikipedia:  Whoa. "Rota Fortunae"?  Thanks, Wikipedia! I sound so cultured and smart.

To the insufferable mouthpiece behind me:  Keep talking.  I find it fascinating that you could "know" so much about so many things and yet state everything in the simplest terms possible. Call me crazy, but does it occur to you that most political issues and social science-related events are just a little bit more on the complex side? Listening to you explain it all--with scoffs to spare--is nauseating.  The groans!  The sighs!  If eye rolling made a sound, I'm pretty sure that I just heard it.  Were you planning on giving a chance to either of the ladies accompanying you?  They may want to speak at some point.  I know that you think that you're intelligent and sophisticated and miles ahead of the other lemmings you are forced to associate with, but there's a reason that some individuals become famous talk show hosts or essay writers while others sit in coffee shops pontificating.  You suck.

To the girl blogging two tables away: I have no idea what you're writing about, but I will preemptively propose a truce.

To whoever wrote this "How to Piss Off a Park Slope Resident" viral blog post:  Good show!

To the bro who almost walked in with his acoustic guitar:  No! Get out!! NO ONE LIKES YOU!! WHATEVER ARTIST YOU ASPIRE TO BE LIKE SUCKS, TOO!  Sorry about the caps.  Typed too hard again.

To management: Please play something other than Adele.  It's been like an hour and forty five minutes.  C'mon.

To the Mac user next to me:  You have literally nine applications running and you're flipping through them seamlessly; meanwhile, I attempted to open iTunes and my laptop reacted like I jammed a butter knife into the USB port.  This is stupid.  PCs are stupid.  Any computer I ever buy is stupid.

To my snarkier readers:  Not stupid by association.  Just stupid.

To the lower-middle-class, blue-collar local making a modest wage who came in and ordered a... nah, just kidding. He's not allowed to live here.

To the cafe business at large:  Why is decaf iced coffee impossible to find?  No one has it and I don't understand that.  If I wanted a decaf hot coffee, I would have made it at home. Decaf iced coffee isn't even hard to stock--just double brew a pot and refrigerate it.  It stays good for days!  There's no excuse, service industry.  Step it up.

Short Hits for The BEST NIGHT EVER

Woo!

Generally speaking, I only use all caps when I'm being sarcastic. Or if I type really hard.

In this case, it's sarcasm because I live in a tourist destination and I'm staying in watching late night standup on Comedy Central.  No, see all of my friends are busy.  Really.  REALLY!  Sorry, typed too hard.

This seemed like an appropriate time to fire off a post.  The following items could probably be full entries but I don't have the attention span to flesh them out. Here we go.

- Last week I was looking up peer-reviewed research articles in the library (why, yes, ladies... I am single, how did you...?) and typed in the terms "student teaching" and "classroom discourse" for my project.  I click on the most promising article, and the first two categories for this article are, I kid you not, 1) "student teaching", and 2) "social isolation".  Yup.  Sounds about right.

- Just ran to the bodega to buy some root beer (it's how I roll) and paid in spare change (mostly dimes) and realized (not for the first time) that (in addition to using parentheses) I love paying in change.  It really does feel like you got your stuff for free.

- To be a student teacher in NYC, you have to schlep on over to Downtown Brooklyn and get fingerprinted.  This is so they can weed out the weirdo candidates that are criminals or bad finger-painters or lack hands.  After the privilege of having your fingers sqashed onto a scanner, one by one, you then get slammed with a $115 fee.  Yes, a buck fifteen, but sadly not a buck fifteen. $115.  Yet, if I had committed some dumb crime like, say, jaywalking with intent to launder, I would get fingerprinted for free.  Not okay, New York.  Not okay.

- Apropos of nothing, the comedian in the 11:00 timeslot (wow, it's that late already) tried to make a joke about how Mexican girls are always pregnant, and the crowd shut him down.  Really.  Audible boos and groans.  Then he makes a joke about how the audience wants to play "The Real World is Not Real" game, and adds a few more dime-a-dozen stereotypes, and still they don't take the bait with a sympathy laugh.  It was almost inspiring, but then he told a joke about midgets and the audience ate it up.  So much for that.

My whip.

- Next comedian made fun of a Honda Civic.  Maybe he was making fun of himself for not being able to afford one?  I don't get it.  I really like my first car.

- There might be worse feelings than checking your phone on a Friday night and seeing no texts and no missed calls, but I'm not sure what those feelings are.

Check out this Dylan guy.  Real up and comer.

- I enjoy having very specific music tastes and distastes.  For example, I'm generally pretty ambivalent about classical music, but I really, really like Tchaikovsky, and I really don't like Vivaldi at all.  A jazz example: Totally dig hard bop but I can't get into fusion.  I like early Chicago, mid-period Steely Dan, Motown around 1965, and one Pink Floyd song (ten points if you guess which one).  Especially unique--I like Bob Dylan's latest stuff way, way better than his famous stuff (except "Just Like A Woman"--which is awesome).

"Sorry that my carrots are limp."

- There have been so many previews for "No Strings Attached" that I feel like I've seen 30-40 minutes of the film.  It's this year's "Dinner for Schmucks" or "Due Date" in that it is so overexposed already, there can't be anything left in the film worth seeing.  Not that I was going to see it anyway.  This is too bad, because I find Ludacris to be a legitimately funny actor. Or at least a funny dude.

- Great joke that's worth repeating:
Q:  What happens when you play a country song backwards?
A:  He gets his dog back, his truck back, and his girl back.

Wow, I just live-blogged a night on the couch.  So proud.  Goodnight, more popular people.

An Open Letter to the Boston Red Sox

Dear Socks,

Thank you for beating the Yankees today.  However strong your desire to relish this victory may be, I must implore you to stay the course and remain focused.

I live in New York City now.  I have been called an "asshole" and a guy with "a lot of balls" on the sidewalk as recently as last week for daring to wear a Red Sox hat and stand quietly [Note: the difference between "big balls" and "a lot of balls" is substantial].  I even got made fun of by a Mets fan once--which is crap.  On the whole, the city's disdain for the Red Sox is best described as a smug apathy.  You like the Red Sox?  Good luck with that.  However, the antagonism is ratcheted up quite a bit when the Sox are in town to play the Yanks.

As a Sox fan for my entire life (I vaguely remember Dave Henderson in 1990 and I definitely saw Mo Vaughn play in Pawtucket), I beg you to make a good showing in the Bronx this weekend.  Tonight was a great start, but at a bare minimum, please don't lose the next three games.  You need to at least win one more.  It is very hard to be a transplant and face the public after your hometown archrivals dismantle your team (like they did this time last year).

Just saying "Yeah, well... 2004" doesn't cut it anymore.  The Yankees are the defending champions and I have to take the heat if you dudes can't split this series.  I'm six stops away from Yankee Stadium and I don't want to be cussed out in Spanish when I'm just running out for a donut.

Love always,
Me

Limited or No Connectivity, Part IV

As I continue to blog about my lack of internet access (irony!!), my dependance on Starbucks is reaching frightening new levels.  I've been on the lookout for other free wifi outlets that I can use in the evenings, but most places also have at least one drawback.  McDonald's doesn't offer electric outlets, Bryant Park isn't sunny at 10:30pm, the closest independent coffee shop closes at 7, and people call the cops when you stand outside of their window and mooch internet.

Tonight, I passed a bar that advertised free wifi and drink specials.  I'm seriously considering it.  Sure, I'd be the sketchy looking dude rocking a 7-year-old laptop at a bar by himself, but this is New York City.  There are 8 million people here and I can afford to put off quite a few of them.

A Fond Farewell to the W Train!

Um... actually I don't have much to say here.  You were simply all kinds of adequate that one time that I took you.  I suppose I will miss the disappointment of seeing you rounding the corner and not being a Q train, N train, or even an R.  You ran to my school and to... well, nowhere else that I ever needed to go.  Sure, you could get me to Times Square, but so could the 1, 2, 3, A, C, E, N, R, Q, S, and 7.  I've actually even walked to 42nd Street and beyond from West 3rd Street (several times), so it's hard to say that you were worth the $2.25.  While the N and Q often got the new rail cars, the cars on your local W runs often looked like poorly-lit crime scenes. When I found out that your service was being cut, I couldn't believe it--though only because it proved that the MTA actually does do things sometimes.  I figured that they just deliberated a lot.

So therefore, dear W train, as you noisily approach that light at the end of the tunnel [Ed. note: Sorry, I couldn't help myself], I will leave you with a positive to take back with you to the rail yards.  While you were certainly among the unsexiest of subway lines, you were not the late night G train--and you'll always have that.

An Open Letter to Cash-Only Bodegas

Really?

Are you serious?  Look, the last time I had cash was probably by accident, and it certainly wasn't because I left my apartment that morning thinking, "Damn, I could really go for a bottle of juice or a quick snack--not now, but sometime around 4:15 this afternoon."  You might have that kind of foresight, but I certainly do not.  Then again, if you did, you'd have probably seen the year 2010 coming and you'd have gotten a charge card system.

As for you, "Seven-Dollar-Minimum-Purchase Bodegas on the Corner of Thompson and West 3rd", it's about time you knew your role.  If you don't want my money, fine.  There are other bodegas on the same block that will happily accept my business.  Stop acting like you're the only game in town.  I'm not spending $7 when all I want is a Clif Bar, so why you fronting?

I'd prefer to pick one bodega and be a loyal customer.  I like to support the little guy, and CVS and I have a beef at the moment.  Just embrace the fact that a good 30-45% of your sales are impulsive, and help us blow our hard-earned cash at your establishment even when we don't have hard-earned cash.

An Open Letter to the Diminutative Fellow Who Berated A Library Employee After Cutting Me In Line.

Dear Short Stack,

Although we only spent about two minutes in each others' presence today, I wanted to drop you a line and let you know how much you suck.

A Very Recentist List of One English Ed Grad Student's Fears (but not mine, certainly).

Level 1
- Being late for class
- Teaching the day after a Boston team bites it against an NYC team.
- Running out of Clif Bars
- Houston Street bicyclists

Level 2
- Forgetting to set the alarm
- Showing up to class unprepared
- Crossing the street the day after the Yankees win the World Series
- Not having a devastatingly witty response for Nigerian email scammers

Level 3
- Not being able to shake the feeling that I forgot to set the alarm
- The Lincoln Tunnel
- Taking the Ashmont Red Line instead of the Braintree Red Line, only to wake up and find out it was all a dream... as I miss the late night 1 train at 116th Street.
- Being called a phony as I teach The Catcher in the Rye

Level 4
- Being called a phony as I teach The Very Hungry Caterpillar
- Being placed at a Staten Island student teaching site
- Nigerian email scammers riding bicycles on Houston Street
- Whales

Level 5
- Men's rooms in Brooklyn
- The subway level of the Port Authority Bus Terminal
- The G train
- Dying alone

Level 6
- Having to drive through Connecticut even one more time.

Tangled Up In Green

It's windy in New York City. After putting it off for weeks, I decided today that I finally needed to get a scarf. As I haven't begun classes or student teaching for the semester yet, I found myself with some free time and decided that this was the day for such a shopping adventure. Insert cryptic, foreshadowing hook here.

I wanted to find something plain, inexpensive, and not douche-y, so right away I knew that Greenwich Village was out. My decision felt justified when the first dude I saw on the sidewalk stepped in front of me with cartoonishly rigid posture and a whiff of arrogance. This young man was rocking Bob Dylan sunglasses and an olive green, WWI-era military jacket, complete with a Gunnery Seargent Marine insignia on his sleeve. He must have thought it complemented his skinny jeans. I debated asking him what unit he served with but he'd have to take out his earbuds to hear me, and he was probably listening to a podcast of this morning's news from Iraq because he is so supportive of his country and all that. I would never want to interrupt this hero as he returned to whatever base in the Village he was stationed at. Also, he seemed like he was in a hurry to get to Qdoba.

I walked up Fifth Avenue on the off chance I could afford something there, but I only can take so many doormen and bellhops eyeing me suspiciously before I have to leave. I strolled over to Sixth Avenue instead to see what Chelsea had in store. Pun.

My first stop was Old Navy. This store has been a standby for me for years, namely because the prices are excellent, the clothes last me a while, and I honestly prefer plainer clothing. If nothing else, solid colors highlight my traffic-stopping good looks. I never found the regular scarf section, but there were a few hanging on the clearance rack and I grabbed one for 99 cents.

That's right. 99 cents. And it was green. Not like a muted green or a forest green or any of that. Green green. Kermit the Frog green. Crayola Crayon green. I immediately liked it for that reason, and the price, but I knew that it would not work for more professional occasions. Still, for less than a dollar, I picked it up if just for the rest of my walk. This was a very intelligent decision.

Having never once even considered the finer points of scarf shopping, I still figured that this would be a quick trip. I was hoping for something gray or white or black--really basic stuff. Shouldn't be hard to find, right?

Well, it was. I struck out at more stores than my friend did when he was trying to land a summer job (Small-Target-Audience zing!). I tried many stores haphazardly as I walked by them, including:

• American Eagle: Seemingly hadn't heard of scarves
• Filene's Basement: Offered designer named scarves at reduced prices (like only $59!). Also was on the 3rd floor (?)
• Urban Outfitters: Would I like to try a shawl instead?
  
• T.J. Maxx: Forced me to realize that scarves might not be unisex. Naive ignorance leads to fear of buying a girl's scarf and getting laughed at.
• Dude on the corner: Did not offer colors that pale Irish kids could pull off without looking even more pasty.
  
• Urban Outfitters #2: Very nice scarves for upwards of $28, which is apparently a great price, I am told.
• American Apparel: There were scarves in the window, so I checked. I was walking by it anyway. Of course there wasn't anything I would or could wear. Yes, I am ashamed of myself for even trying.

So what did I learn today? First, scarves are apparently not just a piece of fabric, like I had previously thought. Even thought they look the exactly same, scarves must have some secret magical quality that allows them to be fashionable where a strip of wool would not be, thereby jacking up the price. Second, scarves are a hot accessory item that should compliment your outfit (they are, after all, #97 on Stuff White People Like). Silly me for thinking that they were just protective winter gear. Finally, I have absolutely no idea how to pick out a man's scarf, if such things exist. Of the four or five all day that I saw that could decidedly be called manly, none were even remotely in my budget. I might be a cheapskate but I just can't part with thirty plus dollars over a periodically useful rectangular strip of cloth.

I might just stick with my green crayon scarf.

Celeb Spotting

Today I hurried around the corner and brushed past a lady in a white jacket. I turned around and, low and behold, it was Emma Thompson. Well, I thought, I've been seen in public with a celebrity today.

As I met up with the students that I was meeting up with at the meet-up point where we were going to meet up, the students that I met up with asked if I had seen Kate Winslet, too. I look back around the corner and who should be walking away? Kate Winslet. In order to not get made fun of, I needed an excuse for missing so obvious a movie star. So, I said that I didn't recognize her with clothes on. That worked.

Living in New York City is fun.

Top 5 Writers Who've Lived on Bleecker Street

1) Herman Melville

2) Thomas Paine

3) James Fenimore Cooper

4) Allen Ginsberg

5) Me

Can I Interest You In Throwing This Away For Me?

In New York City, people are always standing on the sidewalk trying to get you to take flyers that you don't want advertising services that you want even less. Today in the span of about fourteen seconds, I was handed a postcard about a yoga class (by a very attractive, smiling blonde), a flyer for a paper writing service, and a poker chip worth $25 so I can bet on my grades online. Seriously.

So naturally, I'm thinking... if I play my cards right, I could be working on my flexibility with the very attractive smiling blonde girl while unemployed English majors write my papers and simultaneously tank my grades so that I can make bank.

High Class, After Class

Thursday night, a few of the other fresh-faced graduate students followed the Res Life folks down Mercer Street to something called "Fashion's Night Out". Now, I am completely oblivious to all things stylish and cool, but apparently New York City's (and, therefore, the world's) finest designers open their showrooms (boutiques? stores? shops?) to the public and throw a party. I was lured into tagging along by the promise of free stuff.

That free stuff, it turned out, was booze.

Oh, sweet mother of all that good and pure, free booze. I mean wow. Between you and me, I'm poor. Oh sure, I worked very hard all the time last year and allocated a good amount of that money toward savings, with an eye to the future (which is now the now). That means nothing, however. If you live in NYC and you don't have $700 in cash on you for a quiet Thursday night out, you're poor. So you can imagine my delight when that which I wanted most--an adult beverage--was being handed to me by a tuxedoed gentleman, absolutely gratis, just for showing up.

Champagne, wine, beer... all of it was mine for the having, simply to thank me for browsing the collections of fine designer wear that I could neither afford nor pull off in public. While I felt a bit dressed down in my Old Navy jeans and Reebok sneakers (to my credit, I was wearing a white collared dress shirt, but that was a coincidence), I made the most of rubbing elbows with the likes of Marc Jacobs, Vera Wang, and Josh Hartnett (apparently, he enjoys clothes). This makes me a celebrity by association, and thus I have a line of men's tighty-whities coming out soon.

Despite the cordiality of the affair, I still very much felt like a part of the nameless, faceless throng that would show up at Jay Gatsby's parties. I didn't know the names of half of the designers whose parties I was attending, and I only showed up due to curiosity and the promise of cabernet savignon and Heineken. Still, free booze takes the edge off of guilt, and soon I was chatting up the girl working the door. She didn't say so, but I could tell she was really impressed with my opinions about William Faulkner and the No Child Left Behind Act.

I would like to thank all of the designers (who are coincidentally my neighbors) for inviting us in and serving us wonderful spirits even though we clearly came off like the freeloading twenty-somethings that we are. I promise that if I could have bought something, I would have. I can't promise I would ever wear it, though. I would need a lot more free booze for that to happen.

A NYC Bouncer Calls 'Em As He Sees 'Em; or, "What I Learned on W 13th St This Weekend"

A sobbing girl sits barefoot on the curb, picking glass out of her foot while a friend tries to compress the blood with her hands and a spare shawl.
Bouncer's Take: [Does nothing.]

After an argument involving said girl, Cocky Drunk Guy is tackled and roundly beaten to a pulp by Chivalrous Drunk Guy. After rearranging the other guy's face, terrified pedestrians unanimously consider Chivalrous Drunk Guy to be the winner. Even the cop was impressed.
Bouncer's Take: [Does nothing.]

I attempt to enter the bar.
Bouncer's Take: "Sorry, no shorts. We can't have that here."

Dancing In The Aisles

Today at the Trader Joe's on 14th Street, Phil Collins's "Easy Lover" was playing over the intercom. I caught no fewer than four people singing along, not including myself. The whole store seemed to be moving along with the good vibes flowing from the sound system.

Now, I'm not entirely sure why this was happening. I don't know if everyone shopping around me came of age in the 1980s, or if there was a Genesis fan convention later that day, or even if Philip Bailey's background vocals simply cut through the monotony and gave deeper meaning to picking out the right batch of bananas. What I do know is this: for one moment, we were all united. And, I suspect, anything was possible. We could have ended world hunger, vaccinated America's elderly against the flu, and built houses for the homeless... all before lunchtime! Instead, we chose to rock out while getting great deals on organic foods.

Sooner or later a generation will fix all that's wrong in today's world, and Phil Collins will be providing the soundtrack. I'd imagine that this turning point in society will be marked by the drum fill in "In The Air Tonight". Oh Lord.

And with this negligible entry, I have officially brought this blog to my new home in New York City.

Letter from the Editor

Hello y'all,

This is Washington Square in New York City.


I will be there all day tomorrow, and as I ponder the massively intimidating immediate future, you can expect the next blog post to be in a few days or so. Grad school decisions in our glorious economy (been a have-not since 1986, yo!) take on an added twist, making the merely unnerving process of selecting a school into a horrifyingly major decision. I want to go back to preschool.

Be well and enjoy the weekend,
DF