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ITS THE GLAMOUR DRINKS THAT GET YOU INTO TROUBLE
Sunday / 22 July '01
No fewer than 47 twist ties later, i have set up my new machine. Dang, you know? It's so great to be on a PC again. With a CRT monitor. Such a nice variety from the G3 Mac laptop, which i somehow still feel faintly fond of despite the absence of a delete key and the ever presence of that bomb icon.
And, God Bless Homesite! New machine makes the fact that i am home doing some work today less sad.
Here is how today has progressed, [if you care] First: hit the Polish diner for borscht before 10 am. Secondly, attempt to eat second breakfast, this time at Oznots, where we quickly gave up and left for better service and casual environs. Had Salad and waffles at The Read, then scored major fashionable gear at the thrift store on bedford, then made our way south to Diner for a bloody mary when Dave and Erika came to town, en route to scotland/paris.
Homygod: Go see Hedwig and the Angry Inch. It's like sooooo great unless you aren't into rock musical movies, or rather even if you're not into rock musicals, actually.
Probably soon I'll post photos. Oh and there's more. There's the ticket I got, from the friendly officer in Union Square, for sqeezing through the subway grid with rob because my card was empty and it was late at night and DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES THE MTA HAS RIPPED ME OFF? Lots. Officer said I can plea for reduction of the ticket, which doesn't help one feel less dumb for getting caught doing something like that. You're not supposed to be getting busted for things when you're in your thirties, are you? However, (thanks to clarsen) i do have a photo of officer McMan to show you, which makes it kind of worth it. Yeesssss i promise soon very very soon: photos. For now, back to work.
IT'S NOT LIKE I'M FREAKING OUT ABOUT IT
Thursday / 19 July '01
I keep waking up at 5 am, 4 am, 3 am. It worked out Sunday morning because i figured out, after a pot of coffee, how to get on the roof of the building and at 6am crawled up there to wait and watch the implosion of the gas tanks [red's got good time lapse photog]. we had a good view, and it felt like community, looking around at neighboring roofs, seeing other brooklynites up there, at this early hour, with binoculars or just cups of coffee and sometimes lawn chairs. When the implosion happened, the pigeons around here kind of freaked out.
i might come back here later, to post some recycled (albeit new to you) photos. yea. i think i might do that. have you ever, with a cat sitting in your lap sleeping, been able to get up from your position at your computer, walk into your bathroom, sit on toilet and pee, flush etc, and return to your computer, all while not waking up kitty in your lap? I can do that. it's all about the stretchy skirt. working from home hones all kinds of skills.
4 mega pixels, the new year's digital resolution [nytimes article].
IT'S NOT LIKE RENTS AREN'T SKY HIGH
Tuesday / 17 July '01
Many mornings, exiting my (sublet) apartment building, I see these small, clear plastic things on my stoop. They have colorful plastic tips in red, blue or yellow.
Yesterday: four small, plastic things, all red tipped.
I usually kick them aside, then try to figure out what they are as I walk to wherever I am going...
Yesterday I picked one up, turned it over, examined it. It looks clean. Its not bloody or anything. I see them all over, now that I'm paying attention. Since moving here, I have been sure they are needle encasements, for syringes. Junky garbage. I have been so sure they are needle packaging, yet there was something wrong with that picture, because I never see needles themselves. I never see syringes. Rarely see drug baggies. Just these plastic parts. They strangely fascinate me, they represent the neighborhood's nighttime alter-ego.
Coming home last night, I saw my neighbor kicking a few off his front stoop, too. I asked him what they were. He said "crack vials".
Hm. ohhh... now I see. They are, aren't they? They look so hygenic. They look so sciency. Laboratory equipment. Futuristic. They're really small. Crack must be really small.
I live in what most call "a really good neighborhood". I mean, there are lots of kids on my block. Nice, newly renovated brownstones on my block. Some schools nearby. Rents are exhorbitant in this neighborhood. Rents are downtown prices in this neighborhood. The best restaurant in Brooklyn -- the two best restaurants, in all of Brooklyn and maybe even Manhattan -- are a 5 minute walk from my block. It's strange to imagine someone choosing my stoop to do their smoking crack thing in the middle of the night.
I know why though. In a renovated industrial neighborhood where most people live in loft-like former factories, mine is one of the few blocks where the buildings even have stoops upon which to sit. My building's stoop is partially shaded by the only tree on the block.
Still, it's hard to image this dark, nighttime-activity of this block. Because by day, The Kids Rule the Street, maneuvering on their Razor scooters. Their jumpropes. Their kickballs and their singing. Their crying, their ice cream eating activities. This block is a 3-times-per-day stop for the ice cream truck THE KOOL MAN, and his saccharine, jangling, tangy, jack-in-the-box amplified, vaguely sinister musical theme.
My neighbor, one of the fathers of the kids, says he's going to kick them to kingdom come when he sees them, the crack dealers. Kick them 'till they won't come back, he says. Hm.
Here comes the KOOL MAN now.
WAITING TO BE DISCOVERED
Saturday / 14 July '01
Two cameras. Two angles. One cab ride: clarsen, rob, holder: heading back to brooklyn after the fake genarts show where i was hit by a pie, in my polyester dress, by some punk who yelled REVOLUTION; where robbie's painting was stolen; and where we shook hands with Hillary. Swank not Clinton.
When you lose your camera, people lend you their images, or even their cameras. Photo by clarsen, at Botanica.
Defrosting the refrigerator.
Listening to nothing but Prefuse73.
Attendance to the Hiro Yamagata show at Ace Gallery on Hudson St., in NYC, is required. By all y'all (thanks david g, for the link)
+ + +
[click image for big version] Briget Jones reader on the L platform late at night after the Tortoise show, which we didn't even enjoy very much.
[click image for big version] Reader of Liz Smith on the L train.
[click image for big version] At some Conde Nast gig... Mrs. Doubtfire?
I got some thing from some folks...
+ the BFG
+ Krissy's Blog is good
+ Luke Holder