Sunday, April 29, 2007


Photo: MC Brown

Saturday, April 28, 2007


Being that this news broke on a Saturday morning, it won't blow up real big until Monday. Then it's gonna be HUGE! I heard it on the way to work this morning just before I hit Rt. 52 and headed down into Ellenville. I had a client meeting and rough work day ahead. My shoulder was killing me. I split a bunch of wood just before that last snow and.....long story short I was downing percocets and beer every night and slooshing through the days best I could. I had to work Saturday to get paid. The roof on the church is costing almost 10k...not that I'm asking for money. I would never think of doing that.....which brings me to what I wanted to talk about which is the Condi Rice high level aide- whatshisname who fessed up about ordering up "some gals" to give him a massage. My shoulder hurts just writing this. Then it comes out that said State Dept. aide ordered out from the so called DC Madame. "No sex insued." he insists and i guess we take it from here. Oh, and the guy resigned for "personal reasons".
Being a man who has had a gal or two over to the condo (and is in great need of a massage) I don't see how anything has really gone askew. Do we expect our State Dept. officials to act like priests? Or is it that the gals came from this particular escort agency that obviously caters to the priviledged set in DC. Or is it that the guy blathered it on TV? So many questions. And then there's Condi. Does she come over to the Condo for a massage? The no sex kind. Or does she even know what this guy's up to? And why are the no sex kind of massage girls working at a whorehouse? It's so confusing.
This shit should take us through the week unless something BIGGER happens. As for me I'm finishing up on this Stone Ridge job and turkey season opens on Tues. Sure, my shoulder hurts but the 12 ga sits against the other one. I'm going turkey hunting, helping Al Blanchard get the church roof done (10K...I'm just saying.), Schlepping my tools and ladders home, and gearing up for GNJohn's house down the road, and just maybe I'll have a couple gals over to the condo to work the kinks out of this shoulder.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007


Roofer- Al Blanchard


Fabricator- Brent Hertzog

Tuesday, April 24, 2007


Photo: R. Kern


Fabricator- Rich Memmelaar

Wednesday, April 18, 2007


Forget war, genocide, famine, drought, global warming, HIV, bird flu, or the odd asteroid it's all going to end in less that four years due to none of the above. And where to i get this information you ask? Why Democracy Now of course. And because of my source i tend to believe it. That's right the end is near. I feel a strange sense of relief hearing this. And what's bringing about this untimely end to life on planet earth? Cell phones. Man, I knew it all along. Those obnoxious, obtrusive, blinking, and squawking ear appendages are killing us. But it's not how you think. Sure, they may be giving you cancer too, but that's not the half of it. What scientists believe cell phones are doing is confusing the bees. Huh?
According to Dr. Albert Einstein if bees were to vanish, life itself would dry up and die in less than four years. Already up to 70% of the bees on the east coast are missing. Who knows how they measure this stuff but 70% of anything is a lot. Cell phone radiation may be fucking the bees up so much they can't get back to the hive. Lost and confused the bee stops pollenating and in nothing flat propagation ceases. Sterility ensues. Female plants bud but there are no seeds. I know of only one plant where this is considered a plus....and you can't live off it. Not for long. You at least need a beer and a slice of pizza.
What can we do? The answer is obvious. Stomp that cell and start hording honey. Tick-fucking-tock.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007


After the bloodbath at Va. Tech. I've been thinking seriously of how to address the apparition of a gunman methodically bearing down on unarmed innocents, unloading, reloading and unloading again. How can we protect our students and faculty against this? I'm sorry to say that the only efficient way to protect against an individual with a firearm is to counter in kind. Someone in class should be packing. I feel Academia has to come to grips with its inherant anti-gun liberalism and arm a qualified group of students in a program not unlike the NTSB's Sky Marshall program. These strapped students, with concealed weapons permits, would get generous scholarship programs just like athletes. Returning Iraq vets or any paroled prison program grad student would be perfect for Class Marshall duty. That is until one of them flips and takes out Ethics class. I'm still working out the bugs in my program.
I think this is just the tip of the iceberg. In the meantime I recomend that if you have a gun, carry it at all times until we get this sorted out.

Monday, April 16, 2007


Sunday, April 15, 2007


Tiny Bubbles composer, and Island goodwill ambassador Don Ho died yesterday in Hawaii. Although not a member of the LGM, the Ho's words were sung many times at LGM services. We will miss him. As I said in the Down River blog I ran into Alyson Grey at Mel Chin's opening the other night. Alyson and I always have good conversations. She's very giving in her comments. She told me how I'd always inspired her and Alex over the years, and asked how the church was coming? I told her how I wanted to provide the services of baptism, marriage and funeral for the community. She then told me of her and Alex's COSM and how they do monthly events. "Would you like to speak one evening?" she asked, adding the caveat that all participants must speak from the heart. She knew my cynicism all too well.
In my defense let me say my cynicism always comes from the heart. The act of burning a dollar for entry to a LGM service may seem on the surface silly or trite, but behind the uneasy laughter lys a serious protest. Dirty diaper baptisms or roasting send-up memorials dripping with sarcasm may, at first, look something less than sincere, but au contrare. We at the church take the theology of humor and poking fun deadly seriously. You will not get the simpy minister nod and fake smile at the front door. You will get a service that is as honest and heartfelt as any of the competeing major belief systems. As LGM patron saint Don Ho would say "Tiny Bubbles.....tiny bubbles......" You know the rest. R.I.P. HO.

Saturday, April 14, 2007


Photo:Marianna Rothen


Once in a great while I leave the mountain and head down river for a night on the town. Last night's occasion was my friend Mel Chin's (see House of Chin -Christmo.blogspot.com) opening at a Frederike Taylor Gallery on W22nd St. One of the best things about going to town is I can always name drop the next day. Let's see what minor cultural icons crossed my path?
First there was Gary Pini, ex of Profile records and the Brit version of war of the robots. He came in with artist Brigitte Engler and her husband PAPER mag publisher David Hershkovitz. Also in tow was filmmaker Tessa Hughes-Freeland. Her husband Chuckles McCormick was home watching their kid (my fishing buddy) Tristan. There was no booze at the opening so we just stood around and stayed sober. Then in came painters Alex and Alyson Grey. We caught up and Alyson showed me a picture of their daughter actress (Snowday) Zena Grey. Gary left. Mel talked about his work and eventually we all left to go the the dealer's house for some finger food.
On the wall was a really nice Sol Lewit drawing from 1972. Sol died last week and NPR obitted him as Sal Levitt. After that I drove everyone downtown and dropped David off at home to relieve the babysitter, continuing to Max. Fish with Brigitte and Tessa. The owner Ulli sat in the front booth with Orelia (Charlie Chaplin's granddaughter and her sister). I told Ulli how the Fish will always be my corner bar. She reminded me how I added the dot and dropped the c from Max Fisch. I hope when NPR obits me they mention that.
Eventually the ladies drifted home and I went over to Lit on 2nd. Ave. where Chuckles was starting his late shift as greeter and....? Chuck's brother Brice came in as did Revolt and some faceless youth. I got drunk on freebies and reminesced with Brice over his father Henri who knew Sartre and once served my drug addled band and I expresso on a silver platter at 6am in their Westport Ct. home. Brice told me how a developer bought the property and tore it down. It was built by the guy who designed the bufflalo head nickle. Just before closing there was a flurry of activity. Chuck went into host mode, opening the back VIP room and posting a bouncer at the door for members of the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs and Coxtown? or Coxwell? or The Cox.....I have no idea who they were, but Chuck assured me the were BIG! There was no one left in the bar for the bouncer to keep out. I'd met the skinny kid with the funny haircut from the YYYs before. He seems nice.

At 4am I drove to Chuck's and slept in Tristan's bed. Tristan and his buddy Michael were waiting to go to soccer practice when I got up. Tristan showed me pictures of him with a dove on his head and his bedroom for a Benneton photog who's doing a book on kids and their bedrooms. Tessa screened her latest film for me and gave me two of Chuck's pain killers. God bless her. On the way to the car this morning I didn't see anyone famous. Now I'm home.

Thursday, April 12, 2007


Like a good car mechanic or a Dr. who won't inadvertantly kill you, a good accountant is someone you definitely want to have on your side as you plow through life. I discovered mine a few years back, in a tiny little office complete with dusty computers, piled papers, sports photos and a woodstove cranked to meltdown. He'd asked how much i wanted to get back when I handed him my W-2. "All of it." I joked. He didn't get the joke. "OK." he replied and went about getting it all back for me. I liked this guy. Then for quite a few years I didn't make any money. Taxes were the least of my problems. But this year the tide has turned and I came up with some work and some money. Today i went to see Jabba.
I saw the keys in the door so slowly opened it. Jabba was half the size of the office. He sat sweating behind his paper piled desk. "You know your keys are in the door?" I asked as he peered over his bifocals. He nodded. Then I remembered this was his routine. Keys in the door? Office opened. He was with a client. "Sorry. Can you do my taxes?" I asked, half way in the door. "Who are you?" I reminded him I was one of his clients. "Oh yeah. The guy at the church. Where you been?" I told him of my sour finances and lack of need of an accountant. He nodded. "You're an artist. Whaddaya think of that painting? My son did it." He pointed at a bad painting of a race horse. I looked at it and tried not to grimmace. "How old's your son?" I asked the bean cruncher. "Three." he answered. "He's a genius." I told him. "How's noon tomorrow?" he asked, pulling out his calendar. "Perfect." I said and left.
So this year instead of completing the EZ form in thick pencil on the 15th, my CPA is going to get everything in order and submit the forms and proper payment. I even bought an IRA and only claimed Paris and Nicole as dependents. For once in my life I feel like a solid citizen. I know some of my money will be used to keep the war going, but Jabba assures me we'll get that back next year. I trust him. Maybe I'll buy one of his kid's painting. Is that tax deductable?


Monday, April 09, 2007


That old cowboy hat wearing cadavar Don Imus is in trouble for letting his true colors show last week on his radio show. As one of my friend's kids used to say "Donald Duck- funny. Mickey Mouse- not funny." I feel the same way about so called shock jocks. Howard Stern- funny. Don Imus - not funny. It's like South Park vs Family Guy. There's no contest.
Imus' faux-paw was his take on the UT vs Rutgers girls hoops match. Noticing the more urbane styling of the Rutgers girls team, Imus quipped that the UT girls were "cute" and the Rutgers girls looked like "...nappy headed 'hos." Then some other disembodied voice mentioned it was like a Spike Lee movie "between the jiggaboos and the wannabes." I must've missed that one. Is this a direct reaction to the banning of the N word? Is the vocabulary of these white men so lacking as to cause a meltdown in their tiny pea brains, when searching for an off the cuff racist comment?
Now that the weekend has passed every one from NOW to Al Sharpton is up in arms over Imus. It's not only racist. It's sexist. Tattoos do not make the 'ho. And nappy? What the fuck! Why not tar baby Uncle Imus? All this is as predictable as it is sad. But what gets me is there are no white male voices of outrage to be heard. Imus has juice and many politicians use his show as a platform. Where's the FCC? This is hate speech. I say fine NBC, shut down Imus and send him off to Sanitation with Naomi Campbell to do community service. See how that balding, syphilitic, worm infested cracker likes it. Now play ball ladies.

Sunday, April 08, 2007


Saturday, April 07, 2007


Forget health care, the 40 hour work week, day care and workers comp. Now days certain companys are providing in-office counseling with a corporate chaplin. Between surfing the web, reorganizing the action figures on your desk and checking your email, you may have a crisis of faith. In the old days you would have to wait until Sunday morning, slide into the pew, pick up the hymnal and raise your voice..."...once was lost..." If you can't wait there's always the suicide prevention hotline. But that number (like those calming porn sites) is blocked at work. Of course this would effect your production. How can you in good conscience finish that quarterly report when everything seems so meaningless? Lets see who's at the watercooler. Maybe just a little nap in the broom closet.
Well, corporate America has seen your distraction. But it seems that it's only the Christian workers who are visable and provided the smiling, and nodding functionary. Do the Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, Wicca and Moslem workers have no need of spiritual counseling at coffee break? How do you say class action law suit? Don't get me wrong. I'm all for Walmart hiring ministers and priests to keep the workers on an even keel. Afterall, these guys don't get paid much and have plenty of time on their hands. (I mean the Revs.) But what about the Rabbis, Imans, Shamans and Witch Doctors who could use a little pocket change? There's no shortage of disgruntled workers with itchy trigger fingers. They can't all be Christians.
So on this Holy Saturday where, legend has it, Jesus Christ spent the night in a cave, laid out on a flat rock, covered in the shroud of Turin, waiting for morning to go in search of all the colored eggs his disciples had helped the Easter bunny hide during the night.....let us bow our heads in prayer for all those godless jobsites. On Monday morning, after rolling away that stone, I have to face a floor sanding athiest, an agnostic plumber, two Mormon painters and the very devout tile guy. I wonder if the client will go for an extra. I've been to Seminary you know. Some spirtual healing may be in order. Then we have to do a dump run. Amen.

Friday, April 06, 2007


Blame it on Global Warming!