NSFW

Left: Kate Moss in Interview; Right: Sarah Palin in The New Yorker

I am reading the latest issue of Interview and listening to New Order's Technique LP (Factory, 1989) while intermittently looking in on the Kansas-South Florida game progressing like molasses in January on ESPN. I ate a cheesesteak from BB Sandwich Bar (120 W. 3rd Street), which famously only serves this particular cheesesteak, which is a very particular cheesesteak indeed, if you are well-acquainted with the traditional Philadelphia iteration. The BB take is served on a kaiser roll rather than a hoagie roll, with white American cheese in lieu of cheez whiz (trad.) or provolone (best for taste, I'm told), rib eye steak vs. the usual indeterminate meat, a ketchup-vinegar-red pepper relish (no analog), and marinated onions (no difference). The sandwich is kind of a reorientation -- it's a cheesesteak, but it definitely doesn't fit into the extant continuum; it's sweet, with the onions and relish foregrounded, as opposed to the typically dominate cheese-meat-bread troika that governs the paterfamilias. Recommended. $5.

I have a new shelf stereo system, a refurbished Sony something-or-other I bought at a factory outlet in Delaware. As I am unable to extend the NYU network using my Airport Express, the stereo is hardwired to my laptop; my CDs are all languishing in storage, probably for at least the next year or two. Lately, apart from the New Order, I've been listening to Lou Reed's Berlin, Sonic Youth (EVOL, Sister, Daydream Nation, and Sonic Nurse), My Bloody Valentine, The Dutchess and the Duke (it's becoming more and more difficult to justify why I don't think this is the absolute best album of 2008 so far), and Television's Marquee Moon. There's a strong guitar theme running through these selections, veering from virtuosity to sheer distortion, and I can't help but wonder if that's owing to the relative sonic strengths and weaknesses of my setup. Additionally, there's a subtle New York meme at work, but I'm not willing to read anything into this, especially since I find that living in Greenwich Village is a lot like living on South Street - the romance is gone, although from 6 to 10 most nights (weather permitting), the guy playing rudimentary sax with wanky filigrees for change nine stories below tries to bring it back.