I Like The Hot Rods Myself.

Frankie Dodge Fall 1989 - Sept. 27, 2007

Rest in heavenly peace, my sweet angel baby.

East Village September 2007.

Right about now is my 15th anniversary with New York City. Cheers.


Tompkins Square Hummer.

11th Street Bummer.

Bombardment Of The Senses Part III

My Aubrey Butte post comes up sixth in a search. And now it seems I can link to the WSJ even though I don't have a subscription. I hear Murdoch's going to make it free soon anyway.

Bombardment Of The Senses Part II

I would like to have Joan over for Coronas and taco salad. What would she make of my neighborhood, my building? Would it be enough for her that it is a not-cheap and somewhat coveted locale? Do the words "a great deal...for Manhattan" mean anything to Joan? Could her sense-bombardment cease long enough for her to utter her objections?

The super's assistant, Jacob, who lives in the basement boiler-suite, does the lobby decor at my place. Next to the elevator is "Paisley Ass Crack":




There is no shortage of art, cheesy or otherwise, that makes use of the female form. However, what sets Paisley Ass Crack apart is the ass crack, and the fact that it is paisley. Namely, the ass crack is indisputably the focus and the star of the composition as a whole, and it seems to be an exceptionally lengthy, capacious crack. It could be a spare purse. And, it is paisley. So: why so capacious, why so front and center, and why so paisley are the prominent questions for me there.

To me, Paisley Ass Crack represents the point of compromise between Jacob's design tendencies and what my neighbors and I can bear to glimpse several times a day. Because after several months no one has taken down Paisley Ass Crack. Everything else is gone, including the four foot square Siemens poster featuring a telecommuting family under that cheesy double-vision coating. Now the family eats breakfast. Move your head, now Dad is busy making money and Mom sees kid off to school.

And last December, I came home drunk late one night and tore down the hard-shelled relief-map of Santa's head that had been affixed to the outer door with duct tape. Jacob caught me and protested, claiming to have paid money for it. Right. It had come from the trash just like Paisley Ass Crack, but unlike the crack, it was going to go back there.

Maybe Jacob and Joan could share their interior design experiences.

Hi, City Sqwirl!

It's spelled sqwirl.

Aubrey Butte: Rule-Loving Clothesline Haters.

I have not an online subscription nor the inclination to scan. Here is a summary:

Susie has epiphany one day: Why not let the baking Arizona sun dry my clothes instead of that energy-eating box in the basement? Gosh, I'm a genius!

Watch out for Joan though. She lives in Susie's exclusive Aubrey Butte subdivision. "At first I thought, oh no, her dryer's broken!" Later the grim reality became clear. Such activity "cannot possibly make people think this is a nice neighborhood." Furthermore, clotheslines "bombard the senses." (Joan is an interior designer.)

(What would happen to Joan's senses or people's impressions of her neighborhood if her road were suddenly paved in pressed rat? Don't be silly, only my block is paved in pressed rat.)

So now they are fighting over it. And Susie might have to move. Oh, she signed the no-clothesline agreement and all when she moved in, but she didn't foresee it becoming an issue. Until that really hot day when she saw the Downy commercial.

Front page gossip, Wall St. Journal.

Triplets.

Gruyère.
Piave.
Chavignol.

Happy Birthday & CD Release, Ivan Lenin!

I wish I could keep up with Russian slang. It's so koolna, you have no idea. Neither do I, really. But my Russian is not only rusty, it dates to dorky Soviet-era textbooks. Sigh.

So I'll just say to my komrad Ivan Lenin: С днём рождения, дуд!

TONIGHT:

The Manson Family Singers...Country That Kills!

We'll be playing a 30 minute set at Ivan Lenin's CD Release (& Birthday) Party!

Thursday, September 13, 9 pm
Lava Gina
116 Ave C (betw. 7th & 8th Sts)
No cover

Also performing:
Zheka Koshmar & Koo Koo Formation
DJ Shorman
Ivan Lenin & His Communist Redneck Hip Hop Orchestra

And Removing The Box Is Not On The Table?

Senior Citizen Field Trip.

Hairball Dwarfs Nail Polish Bottle.

More like a hairloaf.
















Produced by Ichabod.

It's Now Really Hard For Me To Resist Running My Hand Under The Partition In The Restroom.

Thanks, Larry Craig. I may be getting arrested soon.

Incarcerated Can Dance.

Prisoners dance to Electric Dreams.

And "Thriller":

Guess Malan's Logo.

Everyone's talking (i.e. media trying to create a buzz) about ne'er-do-well Project Runway Season 1 winner Jay McCarroll's lack of doing anything with his newly bestowed life in fashion.

In spite of, or perhaps because of, the lack of such pressure for Season 3's Malan "it looks like tree bark" Breton, Malan has opened a little shop right across the street from me, to no fanfare.





He is a small-business-owner-neighbor, is all. I introduced myself. He had the same smile he did on the show, like he was trying to get the last of a chewable antacid down whilst he was so lucky to be talking to me in a Madonna accent.






Perhaps a grand-opening is on the way. He's had the painters-'n-decorators in lately. I know how you feel, Malan! This is his new painted security gate:

















What is it? And how does it represent Malan? Who wants to crash the grand opening with me?

Abusive Relationship Ends.

It's over. I'm writing my auto-reply now.

Cloud Or Steam?

Blind Bluesmen.

Blind Sonny Terry
Blind Willie McTell
Blind Willie Johnson
Blind Boy Fuller
Blind Boys of Alabama
Blind Clyde Church
Blind Roosevelt Graves


















Blind Lemon Jefferson


















Blind Blake

Evite Hates Spanish Speakers.