Whassup: A Year Ain't Nothin' But a Number Edition

BookCourt's books need some post-Sandy love (via onlytheblogknowsbrooklyn.com)

Haha, what? New Year's Resolutions, what? No, haha, I never-- No, I don't make -- never said I wouldn't -- *weeps and shoves face full of processed meat and alcohol* Hooray! Let's all celebrate that time of year when we can throw off the yoke of oppressive good intentions! Screw New Year's resolutions, let's all go drink too much. Welcome to Whassup: A Year Ain't Nothin' But a Number Edition:

* Saturday, Jan. 12: Sandy Read-a-Thon, BookCourt: So much literary talent oozes through the brownstone-lined streets of Brooklyn that there is literally someone narrativizing what you are doing AT ALL TIMES. They are watching you from the coffee shop windows. All those authors -- well, many of them -- turn their word talents to the post-Sandy recovery with a marathon, ALL DAY reading. Check out some Emma Straub. Have a little Jonathan Ames. And more. 10:30am-9pm.

* Sunday, Jan. 13: WFMU Sandy Benefit: The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion (my personal favorite musical incendiary device) headlines a live-music benefit in support of NJ indy radio station, WFMU, which suffered the storm's wrath along with much of the rest of Jersey City. 7:30 pm, $20.

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Whassup: Brand Fucking New Year Edition

via scrawnywod.com

The most important question this time of year is not "What are your resolutions?" (because those are bullshit), but "How long is it appropriate to keep saying 'Happy New Year'?" I don't have an answer for you. I do know that the time to make jokes about the Mayan apocalypse is definitely over. (But making META-jokes about apocalypse jokes? Never gets old!) Anyway, whatever, happy new year. Enjoy the briefly long lines at the elliptical machine! Welcome to Whassup: Brand Fucking New Year Edition: 

* Wednesday, Jan. 2-Saturday, Jan. 12: Nightmares, Brick Theater (Williamsburg): Get yourself some creative, hilarious and potentially terrifying independent theater at "Nightmares," which takes inspiration from the tales of Lord Byron and Mary Shelley, along with the painting by Henry Fusel with the same title. It's ok, you can go see Les Mis the next day to feel more normal. 8pm or 3pm, $18. 

* Friday, Jan. 4: 50 First Jokes, Bell House: Sometimes, I like shows with the simplest concepts best. This is one of them: it's 50 comedians, each telling his or her first joke of the new year. Some favorites among the 50 include Brooke Van Poppelen, John F. O'Donnell (host), and Matt Koff. Personally, I'd kind of like to see everyone do a knock-knock joke. (Probably won't happen.) 8pm, $10.

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Whassup: Resolutions Schmevolutions Edition

via xaxor.com

Is everyone prepared to pretend they're going to lose weight for three weeks!? It's almost New Year's, and with the added benefit of a bogus end-of-the-world, even we cynical New Yorkers should be brimming with optimism and a sense of possibility. Now, go out and kill that alien feeling with massive amounts of depressants (champagne). Welcome to Whassup: Resolutions Schmevolutions Edition:

* Thursday, Dec. 27: Dar Williams, Bell House: You don't have to go all the way up to Barclays to see big names in the 'hood. Not if you like big folk names. Here's some Dar Williams for you. 8:30pm, $25.

* Thursday, Dec. 27: BK Raga Massive Jam, Tea Lounge: The thing about NY is that there's always music and musicians to discover that you haven't heard before. And some of the smallest shows actually have the most talent. So, give a listen to Brooklyn Raga Massive, which collects local Indian classical musicians and encourages them to apply the free-form jam concept to the music of the subcontinent. Come on now, we've all at least kinda liked a Bollywood film. 8:30pm-11:30pm, FREE.

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Whassup: The End is Meh Edition

via joyreactor.com

So, has everyone thought of the funny thing they are going to tweet about the apocalypse? That truly is the challenge of our times. But let me ask you this: if the Mayan Apocalypse does happen, what will that do to Santa Claus? Will he also be destroyed, or will he travel the smoldering Earth three days after Armageddon, jumping down blackened chimneys into empty homes? Ok, that was a little dark. So, let's just hope that either all our mythologies are fake, or that they cancel each other out in non-depressing ways. In the meantime, it's entirely possible for you to enact an end-of-days inside your liver. Welcome to Whassup: The End is Meh Edition.

* Thursday, Dec. 20: Poe Songs, Union Hall: It's a little "Nightmare Before Christmas," and I kind of like that: an Edgar Allen Poe song-a-thon on Christmas week. Think of it as a Halloween-ish antidote to all those sugary-sweet holiday songs that have been polluting every single retail institution since Black Friday (at least). If you don't know it, the Bushwick Book Club is a cool Brooklyn thing: they invite BK songwriters (apparently, there are a few) to pen tunes inspired by certain literary figure. This month, it's Poe. Come see how many things you can rhyme with "Nevermore."  7:30pm, $7.

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Why You Need to go to tomorrow night's No Office Holiday Party

 

You probably need to go to the No Office Holiday Party tomorrow, and I'm telling you this for your own good. Whoever you are, there's a reason you should be at this event with your hosts: FiPS, Brokelyn, Brooklyn Based, and the Skint. Choose whichever of the following reason most applies, and get your ass down to Littlefield on Thursday at 8pm (for $8), and let the holiday cheer heal you: 

1. You Work in a Lame Office: Maybe you work for a big corporation, and your annual "holiday party" consists of sitting in front of a massive screen for the two-minute hate. That's no fun. Come to the No Office Holiday Party, in which a real, live human being named Wyatt Cenac will say funny and interesting things into your ears. Specifically, he will read your very own worst work stories. He is a sleepy-eyed comedian formerly of The Daily Show, not a corporate chieftain on a screen. That's a win.

2. You Work in a Sober Office: Perhaps you assiduously stay clear of the booze at your office party because you don't want to drunkenly tell your boss how you spend all day on Facebook and think his daughter is almost as hot as his wife. That is wise of you. However, that's a lot of pent-up holiday drunkenness you got there. What are you gonna do, get sloshed at home on Christmas Eve and accidentally tell your sister she was adopted? No good. Get your whiskey-on-the-rocks off instead of the No Office Holiday Party, where Littlefield's professional booze slingers will keep your whistle all kinds of wet. Plus, there will be cheap, spiked punch. Ain't no drunk like a cheaply-purchased drunk. 

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