Archive for May, 2009

all good things must come to an end

Monday, May 18th, 2009

Remember this awesome Dewars ad on the building across the street from me:

death of a dream

death of a dream

Well, no sooner had I finally snapped a photo of it than someone (presumably the owners of the garage on the other side of the wall) painted over this amazing piece of art so that it now looks like this:

the nothing

the nothing

They didn’t repaint the entire wall. They just specifically painted over the coolest part of the wall. In gray. Gray that doesn’t match the other gray (which I suppose would be impossible with the weathering effect of… um… weather). Why the paint job/censorship? Methinks someone objected to the message of the ad, as the artistic quality cannot be in question. They probably objected to the very laissez faire attitude I found so heartening. This is New York after all, where you’ve got to fight for your right to party (and by “party” I mean “sustain a tolerable existence”), so you can’t afford to be doing/being/saying nothing and you sure as hell can’t avoid criticism.

Excuse me, sir, but I take issue with your conduct.

"Excuse me, sir, but I take issue with your conduct."

I will have to follow up with the owners of the garage to understand the motivation behind the painting’s removal. Maybe someone is a recovering alcoholic. Maybe they’re more Jim Beam drinkers. Or Evan Williams. Or maybe they’re just pricks.

dead dog found on beach

Thursday, May 14th, 2009
eyes without a face (or eyes for that matter)

eyes without a face (or eyes for that matter)

Reports are pouring in about a new Montauk monster. I was excited last year when the original MM (OMM) showed up, as I am usually excited by the term “monster” (who isn’t?). I even sojourned to Montauk itself this February, not so much to see or hopefully see the MM, more out of an inborn instinct to travel to the very tip of things:

Montauk is the tip of the lower pennisula on the far right

Montauk is the tip of the lower pennisula on the far right. Brooklyn is in the lower left.

Montauk was very cool (and cold, as it was February) and very lovely. Devo and I spent an extended Presidentine’s Day weekend at Daunt’s Albatross, which was quaint if backbreaking, and took in a pancake breakfast at the fire station and walked the pristine beaches and forests. We watched a solitary seal lay curved to the sky on a solitary rock until the lapping waves of a stiff wind and rising tide rudely tossed him into the sea and overwhelmed his perch. We saw and a dried-up-and-split-into-pieces carcass of what appeared to be a long-legged starfish (or, you know, a monster). But we saw none of this:

OMM

OMMMG

But still, the very notion of a monster, and one so conveniently located, had me hooked. I’ve long been a fan of Bigfoot/Yeti/Sasquatch, the Loch Nech Monster (got to like it when they put “monster” right in the name), Ogopogo, Chupacabra, the Hairy Half-man from Hinkley, dragons, ghosts, aliens, three-card monty and the smile on a dog’s face, so I still carry an affinity for MM, even as it was been explained to me by strangers over coincidental beers that Montauk isn’t far from an animal testing facility and, in all likelihood, MM is just a water-logged pug with it’s face peeled back like a hoodie. So when my friend Lesley said she was selling handmade clay animal heads and would make them by request, I didn’t hesitate to request a bust of the Montauk Monster:

so full of life

so full of life

a twinkle in the eye

a twinkle in the eye

Very cool. I can totally see “Monty” hanging out with Glomer:

But during the design phase of the MM bust, I saw an image, an angle on the beast, that changed everything:

full frontal

full frontal

Sure, I had been told that MM was just a dog with a ruined face, but now it was clear what I had taken for a turtle beak was just a side view of snout-bone. It’s that angle that had people hooked. Hell, if it had a turtle beak, then anything was possible:

Gojira!

Gojira!

But instead, it’s just some dog gone to pot. Which is the same case with this new photo. Anyone with a casual knowledge of what animal skulls look like (which is maybe less than I imagine, but there are museums full of this stuff) should note the snout-bone jutting from these “monsters” faces. A good axiom for Montauk-monster-hunting: “The snout points it out!”

I think the real question is why are Long Islanders throwing so many dogs into the ocean?

it’s waining, it’s pouring, the old man is whoring

Friday, May 8th, 2009

I went to the 92YTribeca last night for “Wainy Days Live,” a sort of variety show hosted by David Wain, the guy who did all the stuff (Stella, The State, Wet Hot American Summer, et al [sorry, I've been looking for an excuse to use "et al" for a while]). Wain has his own web series, “Wainy Days,” and the fourth season (whatever that means in web terms) just started, and the evening was a celebration of that fact, jack.

New York City?!

New York City?!

An impromptu taco night had delayed our arrival (though we got there on time) and the place was super packed. We did manage to score some seats in the way back, like the back of this second but connected room so it looks like you’re watching from down the hall but you can still see the people so it’s okay. And you’re sitting. Standing is a young man’s game.

wanna go back in time

wanna go *back* in time

David Wain is a funny motherfucker and a great host. Paul Rudd did some stuff. Michaels Showalter and Black joined David on-stage for some browbeating and a sketch about extra farts. And there was a performance of the original “Wainy Days” episode/script, written by a 12-year-old Wain. It was provocative with an exploding erection impregnation rolling into a Roe v. Wade punchline. That kid was some sort of prodigy. And we watched the premier episode of the fourth “season”:

Well, the MyDamnChannel video doesn’t seem to be loading very expediently, so here’s a few other Wainy Days episodes for a taste of the madness:

the nineteenth hole

Wednesday, May 6th, 2009
daily affirmation

daily affirmation

I drink a lot of whisky, and when I do, I like to drink Dewars (though finances often dictate a visit with Mr. Evan Williams), so discovering this amazingly cool ad for Dewars painted on the side of a building across the street from my apartment felt like some kind of blessing of my move to New York (to contrast the screaming panic generated by the economic collapse that happened two days after I arrived). And not only do I drink Dewars, but the advice extoled by the ad fit so perfectly with my general disposition, with the Los Angeles existence from which I had just departed. This was exemplified by my LA friend, Tommy, who, in fact, introduced me to Dewars, specifically the drink Dewars and soda, which was, as he claimed, exceptionally refreshing. The kind of drink one might have in the club house after a round of golf (and while I don’t golf, I can appreciate the idea). Tommy is a lot of things (guitar god, enabler, hockey phenom, hedonist, uncle) but above all things, the guy is mellow. And after leaving that LA mellowness and heading into the heart of braggadocio, it’s nice to have another mellow Tommy in my life.

New York helps those with someone to help them and leaves the rest to rot

Wednesday, May 6th, 2009
bottom of the mustard, third from the top, on the left

bottom of the mustard, third from the top, on the left

On my morning walk along the Red Hook waterfront today, I was a bit alarmed to see a large bird standing dumbly on the walkway before me. In my morning stupor I actually took it to be a bald eagle due to coloration and size, but then I realized it was a seagull that just appeared considerably more massive than usual due to the open wing hanging simply along its right size, dragging on the ground. Oh, shit, I thought, this bird is fucked.

not looking good

not looking good

I had that sick feeling that you get when you see a dog get hit by car. I didn’t have my cell phone on me as I wanted to maintain the serenity of my morning walk to the water (though it was less about being disturbed by calls than about ditching the clock, which functions as my watch). So I kept walking to the end of the peninsula behind Fairway and turned to gaze out at the harbor, looking at the Statue of Liberty head-on (Red Hook is the only place in New York where she’ll look you in the eye). It’s very calming to listen to the lapping of the waves and watch the slow progress of the boats and see the distant industry ringing the harbor. There were also half a dozen black, loon-like ducks feeding just down the rocks from me. And there was that other bird…

trying to see eye to eye

trying to see eye to eye

I looked back the way I’d come and no longer saw the seagull. Maybe the injury wasn’t so debilitating. But there were a string of planters and pylons between the two of us now. And, sure, enough, first I spotted a guy coming my way, then I saw the seagull hobbling into view. How the hell had he gotten so messed up. Botched landing? Botched take-off? Hooligans? Dog attack? Brittle bones due to pollution? Lack of pre-flight stretching? On my way back down the walkway, I mumbled, I’ll call somebody, gull, as I walked past and off to Fairway.

After I unloaded the groceries, I found New York Animal Care & Control on the web. A recorded message told me to either call another number or call city services at 311. I wasn’t sure that NYACC was really the one to help, as they seemed more of an animal adoption agency, so I called 311. After a number of recorded messages (swine flu, alternate-side parking restrictions, subway info) I got through to an operator and explained, sort of sheepishly, that, well, there was a seagull with a broken wing and, I don’t know, do you guys do anything about that? The woman, in the lovely lilt of a Caribbean accent, repeated what I had told her and then said, hold on, yes, there was someone who could help. Then she connected me to… New York Animal Care & Control. After ten or fifteen minutes on hold, someone answered and I, again, explained the situation. Hmm, he said, we really only handle dogs and cats. But he gave me another number to call. And who is this? I asked as I wrote the number down. The Department of Environmental Conservation. Now we’re getting somewhere.

I called the DEC. The phone was answered within a few rings, which seemed like a good sign. I explained the injured gull situation again and, yes, the guy said they did assist birds. They were only two people in the city who would tend to injured birds, he informed me, and they did it on a voluntary basis. That’s commendable, I thought. Then he explained that, what usually happened was the person calling to report the injured bird would actually go pick up the bird and transport it to one of the two volunteers. You want me to pick up the seagull? I asked. Well, no, that is a really big bird, he admitted. These people were usually dealing with sparrows or the like. Well, I don’t know who is going to let me carry a seagull on a bus or the subway. No, no, it’s usually done in a car, the guy admitted. Granted, I have access to a car, but during the day my girlfriend uses it to drive to work way up in Westchester. So am I just supposed to leave it to die? I asked. Well, no, people bring in big birds all the time. Somebody brought in a swan. Somebody else brought in a red-tailed hawk. Guess those birds are just much prettier, I said. No response. So the city doesn’t have anybody to come and help? I asked. No, he said. Well, I just think that’s kind of bullshit. I’m just a phone operator, he said. So the city doesn’t do anything? Well, that would require an ambulance, he said. Well, it could just be a car, I offered. A car is an ambulance, he countered. And then we’d also have to train the responders on how to handle an injured bird. But instead you expect the public to handle the injured bird? I demanded. I’m just a phone operator, he repeated. And I’m just going to go to the next call. Thanks. Click.

Sorry, gul. I’ll check in on you when the car gets home tonight. And I’ve completed my seagull-handling course.

All I know is that in L.A., they’ll come move a skunk for you. WTF, NYC?

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posterchild for=fail

Wednesday, May 6th, 2009
so long, suckers

so long, suckers

First, my farewell email to the LA Times was excerpted in an LA Times article about farewell emails several months after I was laid off by the company. I made some “Superman II” references and likened Tribune/LA Times owner Sam Zell to an older version of Non, the mute Kryptonian with the bum heat vision. It was nice to get my name in the paper again, but the article had a sort of undercurrent of “gee, I’m not sure these kinds of farewell emails are a good idea.”

fire bad

fire bad

Now, after relocating to New York and not finding work for several months and then deciding to volunteer some time at a non-profit bookstore that raises funds for homeless people with HIV/AIDS, I got a note from the volunteer coordinator that NPR was looking to do a video blog story about unemployed volunteers. I figured NPR was cool and, hey, you know, I might as well try to wring some kind of publicity out of my volunteering, so I volunteered to do the interview. I volunteer at the bookstore because it’s a charitable thing to do, plus the bookstore frequently hosts cool literary events featuring writers such as Jonathan Lethem and David Shields. And it’s a book store, and, well, I like books. Volunteering seemed like staying at least tangentially involved in the literary world. So after talking to one of the NPR producers for the NPR, the video crew — who turned out to just be Columbia journalism students — came and interviewed me during my shift. Here is the hatchet job.

cartoonish

cartoonish

I have worked in reality TV, and I have worked in journalism, so I know a certain amount of cherry picking goes into compiling and article or video. You put your trust in the producers/writer/editor’s hands. And these guys squished me like a baby bumble bee. I come off looking like some scoundrel who is dicking around the good people of the non-profit world, leaving them hanging at a moment’s notice. What the video didn’t include is that the bookstore’s volunteer program asks volunteers to agree to a three-month commitment. I have been volunteering there for about two and a half months, so if I did get a job at Barnes & Noble (a line that was basically fed to me by the interviewer and then taken out of context) in the next few weeks, I would have fulfilled my commitment. And there was another unused line where I said that if I did get a job, I would continue to volunteer, though I would probably have to rearrange my schedule (I currently volunteer on Tuesdays, but would probably have to shift to the weekends). Then, on top of that, there’s the part where the volunteer coordinator complains about us unemployed volunteers and how she doesn’t want to spend “five hours” training someone who will then only use that skill for “three hours.” Okay: one, of all the things I have been trained to do at the bookstore, none have taken more than five minutes to learn; two, the volunteer coordinator has never taught me any of these things anyway; and, three, a volunteer shift is four hours, so what is this using the skill for only three hours thing? The math doesn’t add up. Are blogs not subject to fact-checking? I thought this was NPR, not Fox 11.

off you go

off you go

Okay, so be crucified in the video itself was rough handling. But then this “Renee” woman gets in a few shots in the comments section under the video blog. She explains that, as a person who works in the non-profit world, it makes sense to her that “these folks [me] are not being welcomed as true volunteers.” “True volunteers.” I am an imposter. A poseur. A burden.

No good deed is left unpunished.

ouch

ouch

picture this

Wednesday, May 6th, 2009
one of those days

one of those days

know how

Wednesday, May 6th, 2009
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