I live a couple blocks away from the Brooklyn base of the Williamsburg Bridge. Walking over it never gets old. Whenever I have friends visiting from out of town, I always take them on a walk over into the Lower East Side. It’s completely free and the views are so classic, so stimulating. I love how the graffiti on the bridge grows like barnacles, flourishing, dying and getting painted right over. The light’s always perfect from one angle or another, and I always see something that just blows my mind into a million crinkly pieces.
Danielle and Ezra are two of my favorite friends, and when they were here this weekend the bridge delivered. I got this shot on my iPhone — something about the blurriness of the low-budget image sensor really adds to the beauty for me.
I’m thrilled that my good friend and co-blogger D.Billy has artwork in a very cool new book! He hates promoting himself, so I’m going to have to do this for him, like it or not. The book itself looks really cool, and I’m proud of him for getting into the thing.
“Proud,” though, it connotes a certain condescension. Frankly, I’m happy and just a little jealous, minus the destructive aspect of jealousy. I’m hapealous. But whatever. Here’s the book and a blurb:
In such a digitally dominant world, Gestalten’s new book, Tangible: High Touch Visuals, is a reminder of the pleasure of the physical. Tangible is the third in a series of books starting with Hidden Track: How Visual Culture Is Going Places (2005) and Tactile: High Touch Visuals (2007) and explores the trend towards designers creating dioramas, sculptures and other physical environments.
I was pleasantly surprised by the reactions to Jeff’s previous post about my artstuffs — a belated thanks to everyone who reblogged or contacted me for more info — so I thought I’d share a few pics from my most recent outing.
My friend Jim O’Grady is a Moth GrandSLAM contest winner — a great storyteller and a great guy. He’s been a reporter for the New York Times, and works for some mysterious think tank that he says is “physically located on Wall Street, but in no way associated with finance.”
The thing about these story shows is that they let anybody onstage, which gives the show its spirit and beauty. It keeps it from being the province of writers and actors and “who do you know” and lets the voice of the people come through. It also allows people to weep onstage and do some lame standup comedy from time to time. It’s always a crap shoot, and the surprises are the best part.
Jim’s reliably awesome — he has his nights when he kills, sure. But even when he’s not at his best, he’s still really really good, and whenever he gets picked to come to the stage the audience is in for a treat.
Here he is at a Moth StorySLAM this summer, on the theme of “Respect.”
Musically, our culture has achieved singularity. Every song ever recorded is dripping off the tip of the Internet’s long tail and into the ears of anyone with headphones and an iTunes account. Bands like the Black Lips and Interpol do solid service to sounds past, and Girl Talk mashes old songs together to make something new. While New York’s Francis and the Lights has one foot rooted solidly in Prince’s synth-heavy ’80s output, the other foot is rhythmically shimmying its way straight into the future.
I’ve mentioned them here before, several times, with good reason. They’re one of the best live bands I’ve ever seen, in New York or anywhere else.
This video for “The Top,” from the new mini-album “A Modern Promise” just made me scream. It’s shot on 35mm, pops in a giant new Quicktime window. Compared to Youtube videos, this is Batman in IMAX, except funky. Click the dancing Francis after the jump to see for yourself: Read the rest of this entry »
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.
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:
This is my roommate at his most classic — wearing a necktie (which is obscured in the photo), smoking a cigarette and hanging out in the kitchen in his underpants. He asked to remain nameless for this post. Fair enough.
He may be one of the best roommates I’ve ever had. Neither of us is home very much, so we don’t get in each others’ hair. We’re both messy, though he shows more signs of effort than I do. He told me once
Look. I live in Williamsburg and I’m an interior designer. That’s gay enough, I don’t need to be all fastidious on top of it.
Near as I can tell, we’re laissez-faire about everything. I don’t sweat it when he eats my food, he doesn’t sweat it when I eat his, as far as I know. His boyfriend comes over a lot, but I really like my roommate’s boyfriend … I love having coffee with the two of them in the kitchen after a big night out, checking in here and there. We are less roommates/significant others than friendly truckers sharing a familiar truckstop.
My roommate’s older sister is one of the best friends I have like, on this earth. we share a squalid sense of humor and a love for wild tales of rotten behavior … and my rooommate, he’s right there in the mix.
He shared his own bedroom with me last summer when we housed a couple in our 2-bedroom place. You heard it. Four grown people, two bedrooms, a Brooklyn August. It sucked, but it could have been so, so much worse. He knew I was job hunting, knew I was looking for a crib, and calmly made the offer.
That cuts a lot of ice with me.
So here he is, making that face he always makes, one part mischief and one part sarcasm and a whole lot of awesome trouble about to bust out.