Archive for June, 2005

See Food

Thursday, June 30th, 2005

You are Mr. Pink
Into the Bay
Silver Mermaids

A little mention Monday on Boing Boing launched tens of thousands of eager viewers — did someone say “nudity?” — over to Flickr in search of pictures of mermaids mermaids more more mermaids. A lot of them landed at Chez Peppr over there. I’m chained to the desk in a paperstorm today, so let’s let pictures do the talking: my Flickr stream is full of mermaids and their attendant mermen, in (and out of) full regalia, for your browsing pleasure. Wacky and busty and lots of incidental skin, but for the most part safe for work.

This was our second Boing Boing tag in June, after their link to my pictures of the underwear-only video game party in Williamsburg. Works for me. I’ll have what I’m having.

The Unanswered Questions

Wednesday, June 29th, 2005

Two Cities, Red Buoy

I’m late putting up questions for Lady Crumpet in the Little Interview game — which should be no surprise, since I was late asking the em-tacular Emdot to write me my five questions, and then — yep, you’re way ahead of me — I was also late answering them. Sometimes I am very consistent. That’s all right, I still contain multitudes.

So without further ado, here we go. Here are five questions for the estimable Ms. Crumpet, who will answer them on her blog and then invite others to play.

1.) The omnipresent superhero question, passed down from generations on high. You are a superhero. What are your three powers? What is your costume? What is your theme song?

2.) Where were you last year as June slipped into July? This can be either a geographic place or an emotional place. If it’s the same as this year, go back another year or two until you find something different. Where will you be next year, this season?

3.) You live a lively life with books. Pick any two characters from two different films, of any era or style, and have them meet in a novel, either a novel already written or one in your head. Who are they? Where are they? What do they do? Is it love, hate, indifference? What’s the style?

4.) Walt Whitman said many things. One of them is “Every moment of light and dark is a miracle.” Give us a dark and a light, or one moment that is both.

5.) Vacation time, and a good long one. You’ve got time to kick back and do that project you’ve always wanted to get to. Expenses are covered reasonably but not to excess. What is it you want to do, and where do you want to do it? Mountains, tundra, desert, beach?

Have at ‘em. I look forward to reading your answers.

E se io volessi la Luna

Tuesday, June 28th, 2005

Atlantic Solstice Moonlight

The title line of this post is either a quote or a paraphrase from the Camus play Caligula, which I read long back in Italian and didn’t entirely understand. It’s a difficult and interesting piece, less an act of drama than a venue for thought to speak for a time.

The emperor Caligula is famous, depending on your taste in history and arts, either as the leading man in one of the grossest movies ever to have a cast of stars, or for being a bloody and insane head of state in a time when that sort of thing was all right with the citizenry (ahem), or for being about as perfect a symbolic patsy as anyone could wish for the corrupting warp of greed and power. And that horse thing as well.

In the Camus, Caligula imagines that the moon is his lover (well, yes, fine, I’ve done that too and what of it, though mine was with a stronger sense of metaphor I suspect), and sends his man Helicon to bring her to his quarters. It’s the point at which his greed and his delusions outstrip his power, and as he plummets toward his ultimate encounter with the last page of Act IV, it is a moment he recalls. By demanding the impossible, rather than the simply awful or twisted or cruel, he crosses into failure. When he fails, his certainty collapses, and he falls along with it.

“If I’d had the moon, if love were enough, all would be changed,” he says. “But where can I quench this thirst? What heart, what god would be as deep and pure for me as a great lake? Neither this world nor the other world has a place for me. Yet I know, and you know, that all I needed was for the impossible to be.”

The picture above is from the night of June 21st, the night of the summer solstice. It’s a 1.6-second exposure from a tripod on Atlantic Avenue, just next to the Key Food, looking out over Clinton Hill below. It’s the first nightscape I’ve ever taken.

“I won’t have the moon. Never, never, never! But how painful it is to know that and to have to go through to the bitter end!”

Something Fishy

Monday, June 27th, 2005

The Mermaid ThrongPeaches N Cream

This summer thing sure is taking up a lot of time — which I take to mean that I’m doing it right.

Beating the 95° heat yesterday was a priority, and the Good Ship Ventura obligingly sailed on, and on, and on, for a long afternoon surrounded by water. Saturday the annual Coney Island Mermaid Parade was all the sound and fury a body might need down on Surf Avenue and the Boardwalk. Above is a glowing Peaches N Cream, one of New York’s burlesque regulars, and a shot of the passing madded crowd. And at the Mermaid Parade, the crowd is half the fun.

More mermaid pictures swim along my Flickr photo stream. My mind has been a whirl lately, what with the future brewing up ahead. I’ve been thinking about the difference between jumping and leaping. I do a lot of one, not enough of the other. It’s a little tricky to explain, but we’ll get there sooner or later.

Present Under Glass

Wednesday, June 22nd, 2005

DILO: Jennifer Glass

I forget whether it was Black Flag or Aristotle who said that anything that doesn’t change is evil — or perhaps it was both, or neither. However it turns out, Henry Rollins gets my vote.

For the most part people are steady beasts; I guess that’s why we value change. We may revel in our set ways, but we know at heart that too much rut leaves no choice of roads and locks us in to the foolish consistency of the Bureaucrat, the Dirty Tool, the Venal Moron President. Just by way of example, of course. Outside of fashionable hips, when has “narrow” ever been fielded as a compliment?

At the 2004 SXSW music conference a guitar-pickin’ friend pointed us to Jennifer Glass and her showcase at the Pecan Street Ale House, which doesn’t get a link because despite the name it caters to mass-market bad beer — better to call it the Pecan Street Sucky Suds Bar, then we’d know what to expect. Jennifer was a startling beauty who was making her early steps into legit music. She did a pretty enough set; she had a nice sturdy voice and an easy manner on stage.

When her name came up on The Gigometer I was curious to see where intervening time had led her. The music industry on most levels is both kind and violent to beautiful women; there is always someone there to offer the gentle mentoring helping hand, and every dog expects his day, if you know what I mean. Sometimes this works out, and usually it does not.

Last night at Rockwood Music Hall, by now hands-down New York’s best small venue (it even has a nice bathroom), Jennifer was simply spectacular. Her music is the knowing adult pop that lurks behind radio, and in duo format — I didn’t catch the name of her guitar player, who licks and squawks and noises off in a kind of airbrushed Dave Tronzo way — she was completely formed and ridiculously able. All that, and she can manhandle a harmonica like a pro.

There are no weapons of mass destruction at Rockwood Music Hall. You’ll have to find some other excuse to mobilize for an evening out. Jennifer Glass would be a good one.

Tinker, Soldier, Taylor Mead

Tuesday, June 21st, 2005

Ann Vriend at Kavehaz

Toward the end of May we were hanging out at d.b.a. (as one will) with Ann Vriend, watching the night get late.

Ann is a friend from this year’s SXSW music conference, where we met on a riverboat barge. To keep the symmetry right we’re going sailing on a different boat soon enough, but there in d.b.a. — as the night gets late, you mind — we’re talking about art and commerce and music, as one will, and looking at Lexi’s portfolio photos, and exploring the limits of Kulmbacher’s tendentious and rewarding eisbok, EKU 28. There will be a tomorrow, but at the moment it seems remote.

Vriend has a flirty, supple voice, and she mixes the fragile vocal sweetness of one Jones (Rickie Lee) with the husky hominess of another (Norah). She closes with a delightful ramble called “The Only Living Girl in New York,” which may not precisely match the Simon and Garfunkel Boy counterpart but certainly gives it a run for spirit. – from my MusicDish SXSW columns

Poet, actor, Warhol co-conspirator and underground sharpie Taylor Mead is an on-again regular at the bar, and he’s down by the door. Taylor has a lot of moods, many of which involve some yelling. This wears pretty well when you’re 80 years old, which Taylor is. Becalmed perhaps by the growing satisfied buzz of William A. Kirkley’s festival-circuit film Excavating Taylor Mead, he’s relaxed and friendly tonight, and I swear he nearly twinkles. There’s an undeniable respectability conferred when someone makes a documentary about you. He has the air of someone who might start handing out knighthoods any second now.

I nod hello, which is as far as things usually get, and Taylor gives me a roving, theoretical look. On the TV above our heads some late channel is playing Carrie, and on screen Sissy Spacek is just getting to the bug-eyed creepy blood-spattered good part. He gestures at the movie.

“Do you remember,” he asks, “at the end?”

“Totally,” I tell him. He’s not sure how old I’d be, whether this is a real memory or one that came in via reruns on cable. “I saw it when it first came out,” I tell him. “Big De Palma fan. It was so scary that some girl sitting next to me in the theatre screamed and grabbed hold of me when, you know, that.”

“Out of the ground,” he agrees.

“Grabs her. Scared the shit out of me.”

Piper Laurie is being skewered by telekinetically driven knives. We sit for a while, watching Carrie on TV, and the night gets late.

Recent articles on Taylor Mead:

Five Easy Pieces

Friday, June 17th, 2005

Thinking of You

The em-pirical Emdot did a fun blogmemething a week or so ago, in which she answered five questions from a friend and then offered to turn the interview table on a few proud bloggy volunteers. I ponied up to take my five, only a day or so after her cutoff deadline, and I may be late late late but the questions she concocted were great fun to answer. Asks La Em:

1.) The ubiquitous superhero question. You are a superhero. What are your three powers? What is your costume? What is your theme song?

As it happens, I am a superhero. But sshhh, don’t tell. Secret identity. You know the gig.

  • Hermione Granger Time-Turning Adobe Cloning Awesomeness: This simple silver charm, when it comes in contact with my super-powered skin, creates a duplicate Linus and returns him to sunrise of that day to catch up on all those things no one ever has time to do (but really should, in this best of all possible worlds). Come nightfall we merge and join up memories and experiences. So AlterLinus can wait on those lines, take care of all that paperwork, organize the closets, go to the gym, play computer games for the rest of the afternoon and then nip out catch some great local music and a burlesque while Linus One is out busting crime rings, containing supervillains, and trying to keep up the front at the Day Job.
  • Jungian Archetypal Penetrating Gaze: Supervillains aren’t really bad — well, a few, and you know who you are. They’re just unhappy. The JAPG reveals that they are simply externalizing their rejection of a society which denies them satisfaction as individuals, and through a few rigorous sessions of analysis and therapy helps them to moderate their needs and urges. It’s also good against the sort of religious people whose idea of God is telling you what to do. Off-hours, the JAPG is a handy accessory over a good beer to remind those special girls that yes, I am the guy they’ve been looking for all those years.
  • Neo/Max Payne Bullet Time Arm-Wavy Goodness: You know that slo-mo dodging thing Neo and the agents can do in the Matrix movies, which was immediately snapped up by the Rockstar Games Max Payne computer game as “bullet time”? Every superhero worth his pinstripes needs a defensive ability, and that one is just cool.

Did he say “pinstripes”? My legs are a little on the stubby side for Spandex, so instead I’m going for the dashing shirtsleeve old-fashioned English look. High-waisted trousers, gray pinstripe (black pinstripe for night work) with light pleating and sturdy pockets; a vest-and-cummerbund ensemble, satin for those night jobs and parties, and whimsical paisleys for day work. The vest is where I store the utility belt stuff and the various super-gadgets we all need to get through our super-days. Square-toed comfortable leather boots — if there’s one thing out of Texas that makes sense it’s boots with suits, string ties a close second. Comlink cufflinks, and a sturdy bowler to ward off evil super villain mind-control attacks. In cold weather or for special occasions, I might make a quick dogleg along these lines. NO not the kilt, the guy on the right. Although I might look pretty good in a kilt.

Song? I was trying to work in some early REM, say Carnival of Sorts (Box Cars) or Perfect Circle or Catapult — “Not everyone can carry the weight of the world … but Linus The Bold isn’t just anyone,” that sort of thing — but really, this was decided the moment I heard the question. It’s the theme from Mighty Mouse. “Here I come to save the day!” Yep.

2.) A friend from faraway is coming to visit. Name three things you must show this person so that they fully understand the greatness of where you live and why.

These are the best questions ever. New York City is all things to all people, so what I want to show my visiting friend is my personal brightly-lit shape of it. I’m assuming, like when they give you R-S-T-L-N-E on Wheel of Fortune, that visits to the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty (that always comes out “statute” on the first go, always) don’t count here, and instead we’re moving right into texture and grace notes. The links here will bring you to my photo sets on Flickr, for those who like visual aids.

  • Coney Island: We’re going to ride the Cyclone; you think you’ve been on cool roller coasters before, but there’s nothing like this one, especially from either the front or the back. We’ll do a re-ride for a buck off. We’re going to eat Nathan’s hot dogs and crinkle-cut fries and marvel at how good they taste when they’re right off Surf Avenue. We’ll walk the boardwalk and gaze up at the Parachute Drop; we’ll ride the Wonder Wheel twice, once in late afternoon looking out at New York harbor, and once by dark hung in the galaxy of city lights. We’ll go on the spook house ride, which is very dopey but I love spook house rides. We’ll go to the Freak Show and afterward I’ll introduce you to a couple of the freaks if people I know are working that day. Maybe the itinerant Area 51 guy will be in town with his “alien bones” exhibit, which costs only fifty cents to get ripped off for fifty cents. We’ll take inevitable pictures of the run-down facade of the vacant Coney Island Museum building. We’ll go look for Totonno’s Pizza, where I’ve never been because (a) I’m not down there very often, and (b) I always forget to look up where it is before I go. And when we’re done with all of that, we’ll sleep like stones.
  • The Ventura and New York Harbor: There is nothing as central to my summers as the Good Ship Ventura, a charter boat out of North Cove downtown. These sailing trips through our remarkable harbor, and occasionally up the East River or the Hudson, are oasis and sweat lodge and watery soul rehab balled into one. Whole vacations in a single afternoon, sometimes stretching into messy drinky night revels. As is only proper. Maybe Captain Pat will take us into the Erie Basin, so we can look at the sunken lightship there.
  • A Night at the Burlesque: And what would a visit to my New York be without a weekend night-into-morning burlesque show at the Slipper Room, ideally a giddy sloppy one with the whole cast of characters: Miss Saturn and Scotty the Blue Bunny of course, and also Julie Atlas Muz, Harvest Moon, Creamy Stevens, Little Brooklyn, Miss Delirium Tremens, and all the rest? If the timing is good, you may even meet the shrill dregs of the evil Dr. Donut.

3.) You get one month off from work fully paid, but the catch is that you are required to travel the entire time. Where do you go?

Only a month? Whistle stop out to the West Coast first, and we make our initial stop in Seattle for some of that yes-it’s-a-tourist-thing-but-man-is-it-fun seafood on the pier, the kind where they dump that whole pot of crabs potatoes fish chunks and shellfish onto your table and give you a fork and a mallet. A quick zip through the Pike Place Market (mandatory consult at the donut stand just in from the pig, and then half an hour or so at the fish-throwers), a Frappucino at the original Starbucks, and a beer at one of the Elysian Brewing brewpubs. Portland for a day, but our destination really is a return trip to the Tall Trees Grove in the Redwood National Park, and after the hike down and the sweaty climb out a stop for coffee and the best. pie. in. America. at the Palm Diner in Orick, just across from the turnoff road to the trees. I’m not kidding about that pie.

Maybe a night in Arcata — that movie theatre is adorable and I didn’t have time to see a feature there last time — but the next heading now is San Luis Obispo, for all the obvious reasons. Just a day there is just enough to get my feet wet, but rules are rules, and come morning it’s time to trickle down the Coast bound for LAX, sooner or later, and from there it’s off further West.

I’m having a hankering for Hawaii, but this doesn’t feel like the time, so it’s straight to New Zealand. I’ve never been there or Oz, but we’ll spend a few days to mark out an index for future visits — this is all on the company expense account, right? That was what we agreed? Sri Lanka is next, to visit my brother Ethan and his new wife, Aussie Jane. We’re probably halfway through the month, by now.

If trekking counts as “travel” then I’ll head for Nepal. My night in Kathmandu, at the Century Lodge on Jhochhen Tole of course (a.k.a. Freak Street, even if the Thamel is cooler these days), will be spent remembering the last time I was there back in 1991. I did the Langtang/Helambu trek back then, so this time I’ll go for Annapurna. That pretty much burns up my month right there, and what a glorious one it was. On the way back we snatch a day in Darjeeling, where we eat momos and drink salted buttered tea.

4.) What are three things that would surprise people to learn about you?

  • In high school I was an acoustic folkie flower child. Tie-dye and pendants, hair down to my waist, Judy Collins and Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell and Arlo Guthrie and everything. I’ve had long hair a couple of times, but the butt-length pony tail was dramatic and made for extremely long showers.
  • In 1980 I hitchhiked something like 12,000 miles: the big summer trip went New York to L.A. via the hippy-dippy-at-the-time Upper Peninsula of Michigan (where I spent a week in Eskinaba), L.A. up the coast (insert joint-inhaling sound here) to Vancouver, across Oregon to an abrupt encounter with the Idaho Highway Patrol, down to Battle Mountain, Nevada (which has the town initials, B.M., carved into the nearby hills — an unfortunate choice — and which is where I first encountered the dread southern smegma-like White Gravy) and then back to NYC. There were sidetrips up to Boston and down to New Orleans, out to Amherst, and others.
  • The first album I ever bought on my own was Linda Ronstadt’s Prisoner in Disguise, and I’ve been a Linda fan ever since. I know. We’re not going to discuss it here.

5.) Time Travel time. Do you pedal backwards to a bygone day or shoot forward into the future?

The future is what we make of it — I’m going there later anyway, so why rush? Yes, it would be cool to see the spaceships and all (or the post-apocalypse, if we don’t smarten up quick), but it won’t be any of mine if we go that far ahead. No, put me back bygone instead, where I can watch something beautiful or tragic. I’ll marvel at how we made it past those messy early steps, and at how much better the food is in the present when you get right down to it.

Keeping the Meme: If you want your own interview with your very own personalized questions, let me know by comment or email and I’ll compose your session, which you are welcome to answer at far less length than I’ve done. (I get OC that way, sometimes.) Offer stands until midnight Saturday June 25, unless I change my mind, in which case it will stand until I change my mind.

Hot Hot Heat

Tuesday, June 14th, 2005

Sweet

The National Weather Service issues a heat advisory today in New York. This, for those of you not familiar with how we do things in New York, means that it is hot.

(telephone rings)

National Weather Service: Hi, is this New York?
New York: What.
NWS: This is the National Weather Service. Did we wake you up?
New York: No, we were getting up anyway.
NWS: Well, rise and shine! Merry greet the day! Early bird gets the worm!
New York: What is it.
NWS: Listen, we have news. You need to jot this down. Do you have a pen?
New York: Hold on. All right. Gotta pen.
NWS: Here goes. Ready? OK. As your National Weather Service, we’d like to advise you that it’s hot. Hello? Hello?

Double Exposure

Wednesday, June 8th, 2005

Red 017 in the Zone

First off, in case you were wondering, today’s entry is pretty much a transparent excuse to run a picture of everyone’s favorite bikini videogamer, Kristin Sloan, competitor #017 in the LVHRD Foundation underwear-only arcade game tournament I wrote about yesterday. There’s something gently impossible about the image, as if a blinking “This Never Happens” sign were about to appear and remonstrate the gullible. Years of experience suggest, after all, that this is simply not the sort of girl who plays video games. Let alone in that outfit. And yet, like a burning bush, there she is.

Surely it is a sign of the apocalypse.

Happy to report a couple of Pepper sightings today:

  • The Happy Corp., partner sponsor and perhaps owner of the LVHRD poobah executive level, quotes us a bit on the skivvies splendor of Monday night: I love it that they refer to me as a Member, which is perfectly true and I’m happy to be one, but it’s a bit hilarious in context. Their photos of the event should be rocking.
  • The web site for public radio’s Marketplace show snatched up a bit of a bluegrass picture I shot in Freddy’s Back Room in April, featuring one side of banjo-man-around-town Andrew Cartoun at a show with Carrie Rodriguez and the Michael Daves Bluegrass Mob. I sometimes listen to Marketplace and may even have heard their story on Merlefest and its economic impact on some communities; happy to supply the visuals, one way or another. Even if it is for radio. This is especially cool because my Flickr-friend Emdot just had a picture of hers placed with the same program a few weeks ago, so now we get to point and giggle together. And that simply does not suck.

I look at that last paragraph and I see link-link-link-link-linkety-link-link. Oh well. You know what to do.

Check Your Pants at the Door

Tuesday, June 7th, 2005

The LVHRD Underwear Video Game Contest

Barcade is one of the brash new beer bars popping up in the City. If 24 quality tap beers and a hand-drawn cask ale are not enough to lure the thirsty Williamsburg hipsters, the big boomy room also has a wall-to-wall glee run of old arcade video games, from Berzerker and Frogger and Ms. Pac-man all the way to Tempest, which is the only one I ever really mastered. (I’m a pinball guy, and I was good at it; video games, lacking both a TILT control to learn and finesse and the moving real-world parts to make the TILT skill relevant, never moved me.)

Last night the mysterious LVHRD Foundation brought the business to rainy Barcade with GMHRD, an Arcade Game tourney fashioned on ancient Greek sporting principles. That’s an Arcade Game tourney played in underwear (LVHRD underwear is sold at the door in case you forgot yours, which can happen in Williamsburg). When I get there the serious friendly girl at the door invites me to take off my pants. “No, I’m not competing,” I explain. Turns out lack of trousers is mandatory, and since I’ve got a couple of fine pins down there I shrug and decant for the evening. Or is that “depant” …?

The LVHRD subtext is all about Geeking for Glory; the last event I caught was the Science v. Beauty quiz show, where research types from better local universities were matched against startling one-named girls from some trendy agency in a battle of skills and wits (guess which team aced the liquors in the blindfolded smell test: “that,” declared one of the models, “is Bombay Sapphire gin” — she missed the brand, but clearly had the price range down to an, er, science).

Tonight the nerd in us all is nourished. The competition heats play out in the centers of attention, and knots of boxered and pantied friends drift off to side-competitions at Galaga and whatnot. One guy takes out nearly all the Level Two gun towers in Star Wars, and as he plunges into the trench for his attack run his friends whistle, frolic, and cheer. You know how you always wished you could get public acclaim for some stupid thing you’re good at that no one else wants to hear about? It’s that kind of night.

We smile, chat, drink, take pictures, admire the trim minions who worship at the Church of Buns of Steel. Butts like that are made, not born. We count our blessings. But finding a place to put your wallet is a hassle.

  • More pictures in a Flickr photo set, memorializing the march of the undergarments. My phone service is being switched at home, so Net access will be tricky for the next week to ten days (actually the phone company is late at this point, but it will happen sooner or later).