In the Northernmost part of Greenpoint, just about as far up as you can go in Brooklyn without falling in Newtown Creek and drifting across the sludge-channel to Queens, there is an ever-changing graffiti mural on the corner of Clay and McGuinness, on the walls of the Power Brake Service shop. We’ve seen employees on site while artists are laying it down, and even saw an NYPD cruiser stop by for a short chat with a tagger before rolling along without so much as a finger-wagging, so we reckon the building owner either approves of the paint job, or at least isn’t bothered by it.

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Popularity: 2% [?]

I love it when things slip off the rails a little, just enough to let you see the smoking gears behind the face of a public machine. It’s part of what I love about the city — people get hot, they get tired, they speak their freaking minds and then EVERYONE knows what’s really going on.

Apparently the computer that powers a billboard at the Port Authority Bus Terminal just sat right down on the subway steps and cracked a beer open about a month ago. Me and David saw this billboard last night at 8th and 42nd just showing the biggest error message in the world in one of the world’s busiest intersection — it’s the digital equivalent of rocking into the office in sweatpants and a yellowing wife-beater.

I didn’t take these photos, but I saw this last night. And gauging by the dates on teh photos on Flickr, this billboard’s been phoning it in for over a month:

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Popularity: 5% [?]

Here’s some Happy Fourth wishes from my old college friend Meredith Bragg, part of the creative force behind the Defenders of Stan:

Hope your holidays are full of booze and explosives — safe enough that nobody gets too injured, but not so safe you don’t get a good story out of it …

Popularity: 3% [?]

Luna Moth

Originally uploaded by mm.northwoods Busy Grampa Grandson having a blast.

I told my first story onstage at the Bitter End for The Moth on Monday — after several months of writing, editing, and hoping, I finally got called. And even though it went fine, especially for my first attempt, I’d built it up in my mind so much that the result was pretty disappointing.

Tall pedestals are unstable, and when whatever’s on them falls off, it’s always a little painful.

I’ve carried this movie in my mind’s eye for months that doesn’t really have a story arc or anything — just a montage of visuals. It’s me, bathed in brilliant (and flattering) light, surrounded by darkness and the love of hundreds of strangers. While my lips move in the film, my voice is drowned out by a constant stream of applause and laughter. It cuts to different angles of me, sipping water, pacing the stage, interacting with the crowd in a way that is both jovial and edgy.

The camera never shows the view from the actual stage, of blinding light and people looking up from the edge of the stage, listening politely when I want them to laugh.

I gave the story my best, but man, I was nervous. People laughed, they clapped, they laughed in places I didn’t expect and stayed quiet in places I thought they’d laugh. But that’s how it goes, I’m told.

Eliza tells me that you’ve got to get the first few out of the way, then you can worry about getting good. And she’s right. I feel like I got in my first fight, shot my first deer, drove on the highway for the first time. It’s a long way from driver’s ed to the Daytona 500.

I have a hard time taking compliments from people — its a combination of paranoid politeness (the natural result of going around saying stuff to be nice, you never believe other folks), and insulating one’s self from criticism. Believe the good, you’ve gotta believe the bad. And after reading as many blog comments calling me an idiot or my ideas stupid, I’ve gotten a little numb to stranger’s input.

Eliza, in her wisdom, calls bullshit on that. She says “a stranger doesn’t need to talk to you to be polite. Respect their opinion — by not accepting it you are sort of saying ‘you’re either stupid or a liar.’”

That works for me. I’m determined to get really, really good at this, and it’ll be a while yet. But hopefully I’ll get called next week …

Popularity: 6% [?]

It’s a tough time for Captain America. Advances in military technology have made a jacked-up dude with discus skills all but obsolete on the battlefield, the current U.S. administration is one that ol’ Steve Rogers might not be too stoked to shill for, and his rumored cameo in the Louis Leterrier / Ed Norton Incredible Hulk film was cut. And he was also assassinated last year, which will put anyone out of sorts. So until the upcoming Avengers movie gives Cap something worthwhile to do, we’re just going to assume that he’s sitting around his apartment in his robe and Al Gore post-2004 election beard, swigging the fire water and staring longingly at a picture of the Red Skull in front of the TV.

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Popularity: 17% [?]

“Hey, are you gay?” the man asked, grinning wide enough to give his gums a sunburn. I’m not, but it was a fair enough question — I was walking through the East Village in a white linen jacket on the Friday before the Pride parade.

“Uh, no, not yet,” I responded. He wore an large navy blazer over a spectacularly filthy t-shirt. Scabs adorned the corners of his smile. He held an overstuffed shopping bag in his arms, cradling it like an infant.

“Want to give it a chance?” he asked, stepping closer.

“What, now? With you?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I’ve got all these condoms here,” he said, and tipped the shopping bag towards me. It was bulging, brimming, boiling over with condoms in every color of the rainbow. “We could …”

I cut him off. “Look, dude, we’re not gonna go off and use all those condoms together. Even if I was curious, I just don’t have that kind of time. As it stands, it’s been 32 years and I think I’m all set as a straight guy.”

“Hey, okay!” he said, real chipper, and rolled on down the street to find someone else to share his enormous latex bounty.

This photo was taken in my kitchen — my roommate started celebrating Pride a little early this weekend, and left a display for me. I wish I could have gone to the parade with him, but this little diorama sums it up nicely.

Popularity: 18% [?]

By the mid-’80s, there were two types of kids: kids who got hurt by imitating pro wrestling in the yard, and kids who hurt other kids by imitating pro wrestlers in the back yard. No matter how hard it is to pull off a Camel Clutch without injuring someone in real life, imitating the Kalamari Wrestler’s even tougher — he’s got eight arms and a giant bulbous head.

There’s not a lot else to say about this trailer for Japan’s Kalamari Wrestler, except what everyone already knows — as a people, the Japanese are out of their freaking minds. Every last one of ‘em:

Found via Popularity: 33% [?]

The Coney Island Mermaid Parade is the sweet and freaky collision of drag, burlesque, special effects and little girls’ birthday parties. It’s a cavalcade of glitter, grease-paint and family-friendly toplessness, a celebration of summer and fun and art sweeter and trippier than Spongebob Squarepants singing for a Flaming Lips session at a gay pride parade.

The loudspeaker in the parade staging area said it best:

If you are the parent of a small child, you should know that there may be exposed body parts that could damage your children. If anyone walks by with those body parts exposed, please make sure to cover your children’s eyes.

Words can’t say what the pictures can — here’s a collection of photos David and I took at the 2008 Mermaid Parade this Saturday:

More after the jump:

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Popularity: 68% [?]

A couple weeks ago, we ran a big fat blog post about a bunch of people sparring in Union Square. They were practicing mixed martial arts (MMA), and letting pretty much anyone get in the ring who wanted to fight.

In writing the post, I tried to focus on the vibe in the air, how cool it was to witness the thing happening — as well as describe some of the utterly ridiculous videos David shot. The post got a ton of traffic (for us), and a corresponding ton of utterly retarded comments that totally missed the point.

David’s videos were pretty choice — and we intentionally focused on the ridiculous side of the thing to attract more attention. The blogosphere’s principal exports are bullshit and outrage, and its chief currency is attention. I’m not a journalist, I’m a storyteller, and I don’t mind altering the telling of an event to make it work better as a story. The thing about stories is, when you tell one story, you’re not telling another one.

All that aside, here’s some really spectacular photos of the Union Square Spartans by Anya Roz that really capture the dignified ballet of the thing, all the grace, training and prowess — and of course, tons and tons of rock-hard man-candy:

More photos and some video after the jump …

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Popularity: 71% [?]

Speaking of otherworldly creatures, check out these Golden Age Mexican lobby cards:

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Popularity: 82% [?]