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Say hello to the band Crazy James, or at least part of Crazy James. This talented band of young adults fluctuates between two to fifteen depending on the song and venue. They were part of a three-act bill organize by Road Recovery, which helps young people find their way through music, that performed this past Saturday at The Living Room. Also taking the stage were Sage, a multi-media poet and satirist who has a new podcast called Marriage Doesn't Suck, and Tiggers, a.k.a. – Michael Tighe of The A.M. and former guitarist for the late Jeff Buckley (RIP).
Time Out of Mind (excerpt)
By Sage
The grass is plastic
The doughnuts are non-dairy
The ice cream is melting
The fireworks are fading
The idiots are driving
The grill is non-smoking
The red ants are raging
The pizza is piercing.
The house is not home
The house is not home
The airplanes are grounded
The Christians are congealing
The Jello mould is melting
The minute maid is mindless
The mess is directed
The maestro is masturbating
The sidewalk is teething
(click “Words” on Sage's website to read entire poem)
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Doubt the validity of Charles Darwin’s theories of evolution and natural selection? Come to New York City where you can see evolution and survival of the fittest happen right before your very eyes. This tree, for instance, has developed the amazing ability to eat metal signs, thus making up for the nutritional shortcomings of the three square feet of dog-pee-saturated dirt it stands in.
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What are they all standing there for? Are they waiting for the alien arrival like in Close Encounters of the Third Kind? The Second Coming? 2010 World Cup tickets to go on sale? Actually, they’re not waiting for anything, but watching Fiona Apple sing and play extraordinary songs and vent on stage at the SummerStage in Central Park.
Please, Please, Please
by Fiona Apple
Please, please, please
No more melodies
They lack impact, they're petty
They've been made up already
Please please please
No more maladies
I'm so tired of crying
You'd think I was a siren
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ARC WELDING SAFETY (7.26.06) |
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When you're arc welding together a new fire escape and sparks are flying around and exploding off the molding below you, it’s always important to practice good arc welding safety. "For body protection a pair of fire retardant long sleeved coveralls without cuffs is a good choice (tshirts, not so much)…A welding helmet or hand shield with filter plate and cover plate is mandatory for eye protection from the harmful rays of the arc (wearing it on top of your head severely reduces its effectiveness)…A flame-proof skull cap to protect the hair and head is recommended (using your helmet as a skull cap does work but, again, to the detriment does not serve your eyes."*
*Safety text, minus parenthetical comments, taken from the National Ag Safety Database.
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According to biographies of Fiorello La Guardia, NYC’s mayor from 1934-1945, he was a champion of immigrants and the poor. He was also a Republican. Things were different back then. The biographies also portray him as a caring, life-long public servant who read comic strips over the radio during a citywide newspaper strike in 1945. Yet, this statue on La Guardia Place by artist Neal Estern makes him look pretty damn mean, bringing to mind something you might see adorning the streets a Fascist country – strange, considering La Guardia was a vocal opponent of Hitler and Nazism.
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Winding its way through redwood groves in the hills above Berkeley, California is the Redwood Valley Railway. In operation since 1952, the 1/5-scale steam locomotive takes its cargo of thrilled (like the guy in the hat halfway back), amused or indifferent passengers of all ages on a fifteen minute choo-choo ride for 2 bucks a head, kids under two are free. The size of the whole thing is based on “the width of the average adult fanny multiplied by two," so two adults can sit next to each other. Of course, that size measurement came from the 1950s. The railway may have to widen their cars soon if the average American girth continues to balloon.
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SAN FRANCISCO MORNING (7.21.06) |
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San Francisco and its skyline were a tad bit different back in 1920 when George Sterling wrote this famous “diddy” about the city. Yet, the poem still hits its mark today. Sterling, who chummed around with the likes of Ambrose Pierce and Jack London when he wasn’t busy having extra-maritial affairs, was San Francisco’s unofficial Poet Laureate from 1915 to 1926, when he committed suicide by downing a vial of cyanide.
The Cool, Grey City of Love (San Francisco)
Tho I die on a distant strand,
And they give me a grave in that land,
Yet carry me back to my own city!
Carry me back to her grace and pity!
For I think I could not rest
Afar from her mighty breast.
She is fairer than others are
Whom they sing the beauty of.
Her heart is a song and a star--
My cool, grey city of love.
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 He didn’t get the “memo,” and it’s been 11 years since the freakin’ “memo” was delivered. It was "posted" in the 1995 movie, “Clueless.” In the scene, a group of guys with their pants hanging precariously from their thighs – just like the guy on the subway in this photo – walk by the main character, Cher, played by Alicia Silverstone.
Cher: So okay, I don't want to be a traitor to my generation and all but I don't get how guys dress today. I mean, come on, it looks like they just fell out of bed and put on some baggy pants…and we're supposed to swoon? I don't think so!
But the guy in this pic was certain he looked cooler than cool, guaranteed.
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You know that mornings at the Blue Ribbon Bakery must smell like a dream – if you could smell a dream - with the redolence of fresh bread from their 140-year-old brick oven overwhelming the air. How the bakery came to be is actually a pretty interesting little story. But, come dusk, it’s all about refining their bread slicing techniques.
Warm Bread by CJ Stevens
So often I think
of a woman who
is many years dead.
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Today’s Photo of the Day is a little different, obviously. It’s not a slice of life from the last 24 hours. However, on page 56 of the August issue of SPIN magazine (on newsstands now - check it out!) are three slices of life taken June 1, 2006 at an event here in NYC. It was a fundraising event for Road Recovery – a non-profit that works to keep recovering, underage addicts off drugs through music – hosted by “renowned author Tiffanie DeBartolo.” Road Recovery supporter Charles Grodin spoke and said funny things. People laughed. Crazy James performed. People were moved. Money was raised. It was a good thing.
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A LYRCA-LOVING ENDURANCE JUNKIE (7.17.06) |
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Imagine your town’s most congested roadway. Multiply that congestion by a factor between two and one hundred (depending on town size). Then imagine that artery being shut down all morning so 3200 Lycra-loving endurance junkies can ride their bikes up and down it and fantasize that they are racing the cars on the other side. Honestly, it’s amazing that the Nautica New York City Triathlon convinces the city to shut down one half of the Henry Hudson Parkway each year, but they do. Yesterday’s race started with pros like this guy and everyone else swimming .9-mile swim in the Hudson River dodging debris and PCBs. Then it was onto the Henry Hudson Parkway for 24 miles of cycling before a final 6.2-mile run around New York City’s crown jewel of greenery, Central Park. If your interested in what happened in the race, Inside Triathlon magazine will have a report and photos - by yours truly - posted later today.
(Note to Kyle: Yes, the burned out background in this picture is technically a photo faux pas, but here I liked the otherwordly-ness it added to the whole scene. lol.)
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The poster on the wall describes how to aid someone who is choking. Meanwhile, the guy in the blue shirt looked to be demonstrating the best way to choke someone. Hypothesis: the two men just came from work where the Mr. Blue Shirt had wanted to strangle that idiot intern who had dumped a Slurpee on Mr. Blue Shirt's laptop.
The following is a wonderfully strange little poem that involves choking by Kent Johnson:
I
was having dinner with Francis Picabia, Kurt Schwitters, and the Count
of Lautreamont. Some other minor poets of the pre-war years were there.
Lautreamont was dead, of course, and his boiled body was being served
in thin slices stuffed into baguettes the shape of milkweed pods.
Everything was going famously, Picabia was making Vvvvv sounds, holding
the severed wheel of his crashed Belogna; Ball was flapping his
papier-mache wings at top velocity; and Man Ray’s three girlfriends,
with their pointed, penitent hoods, were drinking absinthe and
whispering mysteriously near the lime tree. Then it happened that
Breton gave his ten year old, bowl-cutted son, Aragon, a slice of the
Count’s perfectly shaped derriere.
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Lesson in Bad Marketing #1:
How to convey what may just be a very good massage as unsavory, unclean and downright disturbing.
Use a neon sign. Give that neon sign garish colors. Assemble poorly chosen words in a poorly chosen sequence, such as, “OPEN BODY RUB.” Include two human-ish, stick figures apparently strangling or doing God knows what to each other. And, for the coup de grâce, place it all over a low stairwell that descends into a murky, institutional hallway.
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GIGANTIC MAD LIB (7.12.06) |
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Give me a verb. Give me a noun. Give me an exclamation! Give me a gigantic Mad Libs! This particular one is located in the window of a design firm called The Apartment and was installed by illegalart.org. It reads:
I ______ because ______ makes me ______ and ______.
In case it’s too small to read, one passerby wrote in: I dance because music makes me move and groove. Another added: I am happy because a certain person makes me move and groove. How would you fill in the blanks?
The pink box on the left side of the photo reads:
We think you’re lovely.
We think you’re inspiring.
We think Lionel Richie said it best.
The lyrics to Lionel’s song “Hello“ follow.
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DIZZY & HENRY RELAX (7.11.06) |
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Meet Henry and Dizzy, two crazy mongrels sniffing their way through Manhattan. Dizzy (seated on the right) calls himself a “Jersey” terrier, because, as he is quick and proud to point out, his original hood was CLAWS in Closter, New Jersey. Henry doesn’t know what to call himself, but he does know he’s originally from New Mexico and met up with Dizzy in Boulder, Colorado after a brief stint at the Humane Society of Boulder Valley.
After a hard day of trying to mark every vertical structure in the big city, these two like to relax and debate politics outside of Vin Noir, a small, French-flaired wine bar at 228 Mott, between Prince and Spring.
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ITALIA! ITALIA! (7.10.04) |
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I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful —
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
— excerpted from Sylvia Plath’s poem, Mirror.
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CYCLIST MEMORIAL (7.6.06) |
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He fell turning right onto Houston Street from LaGuardia Place the Monday before last. The metal construction plate – improperly placed on the road and lacking the required skid-resistant surface – was wet from the recent rain and slick as ice. He’d bought his bike just a few weeks earlier to ride to work and shed some pounds. It must have been over almost before the 23-year-old, promising filmmaker could register that it’d begun.
Watch the trailer for Derek Lake’s short film, Sans Pertinence.
The very unpleasant details of the accident...
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A diamond-tipped chop saw like this one can rock out at over 11,500 revolutions per minute (Leatherface would drool with
envy – assuming he can drool). And, the orchestral sounds of a chop saw ripping through a steel pipe just outside your bedroom window at 7:23 AM are particularly melodious.
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Happy 4th of July
Lyrics to:
“The Star-Spangled Banner” by Francis Scott Key
"4th of July” by X
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Baby Clydesdales weigh from between 110-180 pounds when they're born, and can gain up to four pounds a day during their first few months of life. This one lives near Whitefish, Montana. Clydesdales were originally bred from Scottish farm horses over 200 years ago, and can ultimately weigh as much as a Volkswagon Beetle and eat 50 pounds of hay a day.
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