HOLYLGM

SWEET TALKING THE DOG OFF THE MEAT WAGON

2010-01-27T08:48:00.001-05:00

This blog has a lot of old art work and pictures of WSSP.

THE END

2007-10-18T16:12:00.000-04:00

Mike Osterhout and Al Blanchard

Photo:GNJohn

R.I.P. FRIENDLY

2007-10-13T07:02:00.001-04:00

MARTYNKA IN MASK

2007-10-11T08:37:00.001-04:00

Photo: R. Kern

GNJOHN MAIN FRAME

2007-10-10T15:45:00.000-04:00

THE EXECUTIONER'S EYES

2007-10-09T18:38:00.000-04:00

Forty years ago Argentine revolutionary Dr. Ernesto "Che" Guevera was killed by the Bolivian military with the blessings of the CIA. He had been one of the rock star three, along with Camillo and Fidel riding triumphantly into Havana in '59, and later fought in the Congo and Bolivia, spreading "revolutionary chic" globally. In Havana he's omnipresent, emblazoned everywhere from billboards to keychains. In boutiques from Paris to NYC his famous mug is plastered across skimpy $50 t shirts worn by perky titted models, completely co-opted by capitalist pop-culture- still in style after all these years.
Last year I stopped at Milawyer's house in West Virginia on my way to Mexico City. In the bathroom was a big glossy book on Che. When I asked who was reading it, Milawyer pointed at his young son Mr. P. Seems P had become obsessed with Che. He didn't know much about Cuba or revolution, but after a few trips to the can he was an expert on Dr. G. What kid wouldn't find Che cool?
When I lectured at ISA in Havana all the students told a story of Fidel and Che playing golf after the revolution at the American golf club that even Batista was barred at (having African lineage) and vowing to turn it into an art school. ISA now sits on those links. Because Che died young he will always be remembered as that beret wearing, good looking dude. Because he remained a revolutionary, and did not become a politician like Fidel, he will always be romanticized.
The reality of Che's life may never be known. It is so steeped in myth and politically driven propaganda (on both sides), a true biography may be impossible. But there is one fact that sheds a little light on the life and death of Che. The Bolivian who pulled the trigger and put a bullet in Ernesto Guvera's body is still alive and recently had cataract surgery....... at a clinic established by Cuban doctors. That old man owes his sight to the man he killed. Vive revolution!

WSSP- FINISHED STONE

2007-10-04T17:18:00.001-04:00

SELF PORTRAIT 07

2007-10-04T17:10:00.000-04:00

KILL YER IDOLS

2007-10-02T06:19:00.000-04:00

A couple of days ago I recieved a phone call from some girl who wanted to sell me Showtime ( and a few other channels) for 7 bucks a month for the next two months. I was caught off guard and bit. What the hell. I wasn't going anywere. So last night I'm watching Sundance and there's this movie Kill Your Idols on. It juxtaposed NO NY old timers like Lydia Lunch, Jim Thirwell, Arto Lindsay and Sonic Youth with 2002 flavors of the year Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs, Black Dice, and other Brooklyn scenester bands. Lets see how they come off.
I had worked all day on a roof, my hands were cramped up like claws and the chicken and black had beans I had for supper had begun working some sort of gaseous horror in my system. I wore a ratty bathrobe and red polyester running pants. My long white beard was matted and stained with cajun chicken sauce. The shack was dirty and the fire was crackling in the stove. I laid the leftovers on the porch for the cats and as Thurston Moore pontificated like a college professor, and the chick from the YYYs giggled obnoxiously from behind her bangs, I nostalgically wandered back to those halcyon EV days in the early 80's.
I moved to NYC form SF as an art dealing conceptualist in 1983. Lydia , Jim, Thurston and their respective bands, as well as others like DNA, Mars, and Suicide were already darlings of the Village Voice, Soho News downtown scene. Pat Place, James Chance, Mr. and Mrs. Hell's son Richard owned the place. I had bought the NO NY album back in SF and dug it for it's anyone can do this shit attitude and gritty sexiness. Within a rather short time on the scene I had met most of this group and over the years I would play Richard Kern's FINGERED (featuring Jim and Lydia) in my gallery, build shelves for Kim and Thurston and Arto, and many times usher a drunk Thirwell out the door of Max. Fish. It took me until 1986 before I started my own band. Never singing a note, I was now I was a lead singer in a NYC band. How hard could it be?
As it turns out starting a rock band was one of the easiest things I ever accomplished. I grew my hair long (out of style at the time), donned my pointy toed boots, and an old tuxedo, grabbed the microphone and within a couple of months was opening for Meatloaf at the Palladium. So when I see Lydia moaning over how "soft" and "spoiled" the '02 bands are I think back to the day and realize just how wonderfully stupid, prententious and ridiculous every musical era is. Of course the newbies seem like fluff compared to these elder hipsters. But how stupid was Lydia in '78? If we survive we are granted sage status and looked on as being way more interesting than we ever were in reality. Let me tell you kids- we were all lame in our day. The only difference between the geezers and the youth is the media gobbles 'em up these days. If the YYY chick has any brains at all she'll be putting her cash in real estate and thinking about having kids. Honey, this ride isn't gonna last. Now I have to get back on that roof. Cool huh?

WSSP- IN PROGRESS

2007-09-28T17:10:00.001-04:00

BEFORE

2007-09-28T17:07:00.001-04:00

BEFORE

2007-09-28T17:05:00.001-04:00

LGM-AFTER

2007-09-28T17:02:00.000-04:00

BEFORE

2007-09-28T16:59:00.000-04:00

STONE RIDGE PROJECT- AFTER

2007-09-28T16:37:00.000-04:00

DENNISTON FARM FOUNDATION ROOF JOB

2007-09-26T16:29:00.001-04:00

WSSP PLOT MAP

2007-09-26T16:27:00.001-04:00

100K

2007-09-25T18:22:00.001-04:00

HOUSE FOR SALE- 192 MIDWAY ROAD WHITE SULFER SPRINGS, NY

2007-09-25T17:38:00.000-04:00

I've been trying for some time to figure out just how to contexualize my latest carpentry/real estate project WSSP, as something more than just a money maker. Today I figured it out and this is no small part due to my early tuteledge as an artist by SF artists Howard Fried and David Ireland. Howard was my teacher at SFAI and David was my advisor out in the community. These two men with very different approaches to the art making process, led me into the land of mature artistic work. Pieces like Fried's Red Sea and All My Dirty Blue Cothes, as well as Ireland's 500 Capp St. and 65 Capp St. informed my early Missionary work, and later churches and houses. But as much as I was bewildered and impressed by Howard, it was David who would influence me throughout my career....and continues to do so.
Like I said, I've been kicking the slats of my cage trying to squeeze WSSP into the art box. It was way too much work (and fun) just to be a house flip. Then I had it. This house is for sale starting NOW! At this point I have a new 200 amp electic service, a structurally sound shell, new laid field stone foundation, old exposed clapboard, and excavated site with a spring well and soon to be engineered septic system- a beautiful blank slate, ready for updated plumbing, heating and electrical systems. The price is $100,000- today. Plus I'll hire on to do whatever you want.
Now as i continue to put my own money into WSSP it will obviously increase in price. I will continue to work throughout the winter, restoring the farmhouse, updating the systems, making them efficient and how I would want them. The 1/2 acre lot is strategically located and you cannot see another house from the property. The recently resurfaced road is quiet and there is a year round brook just across the road . If I didn't already love the spot I live, I would move there in a heartbeat.
So how is this art? Need I remind you I bought a cow, adopted a boy, started a rock band and church, got my hunting guide's license, smuggled bull sperm into Cuba, had a whorehouse and tattooed 12 people...? It will reveal itself. Have no doubt. DI always said go with your talents. For years I denied my carpentry ability had any artistic value. Work was work and art was art. I'm still trying to resolve the two. WSSP is one step closer. Thanks DI.

JENA 6 OJ 2

2007-09-23T19:24:00.000-04:00

As you can see by the photo below I've been otherwise occupied at WSS to do much protesting. Otherwise I'd have been in Jena, La. this week, on the bus with the Rev. Al and the rest. No Justice. No Peace. I hear ya MF. But then, after all the hubbub died down and the hoards left Dixie,, Michael Bell had to do another long weekend in jail. A juvenille court, on Friday, denied Mr. Bell bail. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. But that was all I heard. No media outlet went deeper. I'm sure Amy Goodman will catch me up on Monday morning. While she's at it I hope she touches on OJ. Armed robbery? Kidnapping? And is OJ in jail? Don't think so. Hasn't the issue always been how the American justice system fucks with the black man? If Michael Bell and OJ are both black men shouldn't they be treated equally poorly? A poor kid does 10 months and counting. A rich, twisted celeb. skates. Infamy gets you a bye black or white.
Race is definitely the issue in Jena, but a wider issue across the board is money. I remember when Democracy Now broke the Jena story and you could tell immediately just how fucked these kids and their families were. The DA wouldn't even let the families in the court room as they railroaded their sons. They were the working poor, without access to decent lawyers, who could've made this all go away with some community service. Had the tables been turned the white boys would've walked. Had the tables been turned and a beaten up black kid (who incidentally walked out the hospital that day and went to a school function that evening), the perpetrators would've been portrayed as the school boys they were. Not even gross trauma would've been justification for these sentences.
I have a Cut the Juice Loose T shirt that I got back in the day and just recently started wearing again. I figured enough time had passed since the Ron Goldman and Nicole horror. OJ had layed low enough to become a sad pop culture reference. It was in bad taste- but cool bad taste. Now OJ's fucking back and slimier than ever. I can't bring myself to wear the T shirt anymore. Michael Bell is still in jail and OJ's playing golf. NO justice. NO peace.

EAST WALL WSSP

2007-09-23T19:20:00.000-04:00

ALAN GREENSPAN'S BIG DICK

2007-09-20T16:00:00.000-04:00

My old man knows all about money and interest rates and the prime and sub-prime ad, nauseum. I know very little. An early in life poor credit rating that I, over the years, worked into a non-existent credit rating, helped me to stay out of the frey. No one outside of family and a very small number of friends would bank on me. In spite of this I acquired real estate and with it- debt. Then I whittled away at that debt and acquired more real estate. Now I have a dwindling bank account, some soon to be saleable real estate in a very soft market , but hardly any debt. Car- paid. Less than three years left on house mortgage. So my question to you Mr. Greenspan- How big is it?
A solid week of AG's omnipresent Groucho big nose and glasses face and even bigger ego is leaving me with only that one question. He answered everything else. He told Jim Lehrer he could smell reefer at fifty yards and John Stewert that Andrea Mitchell really dug backdoor action, then gave that trademark perverse giggle of his. I figure the guy's gotta be hung like a circus pony. Finally the old man and I had something in common to talk about. I asked why the marklets reacted to Mr. G so? The old man said that the market was basically irrational and that most days it just layed in wait for anything to set it off. He wasn't interested in speculating on length, but said he figured the ex Fed. chair for a girth man. "Like a baby's arm." he said.
John Stewart asked why the market wasn't really "Free". and why work was penalized not rewarded? Greenspan told him that no one had figured out how to change or predict human nature and that he and his buddies were working on it. I kept trying to catch a glimpse of trouser crotch but I think he's like Elvis was with TV- no shot below the waist. In the end you can't help but like the old geezer. Maybe someday we'll share a bone. He swears up and down he was reading in the other room while his bandmates were blowing some gauge. I believe that about as much as I do that lowering the prime half a percentage point is going to have any effect on my life, or that all he does is write long hand in the bath tub. For all his confidence Alan has got to be hung.

DENNISTON FORD BRIDGE

2007-09-15T14:07:00.001-04:00

Model- Carrie

SHED ROOF WSSP

2007-09-15T13:57:00.001-04:00

Roofer-Bird

STONE WORK WSSP

2007-09-02T14:58:00.000-04:00

BUFFING THE MOTORHOME

2007-09-02T12:33:00.000-04:00

In other words, stuffing the puppet, playing the one man band, gassing the rabbit, shaking hands with the President, washing the beam, smelling the unicorn, punishing the baby, making fun of the seamen, cutting Sunday School, scratching the chimney, jacking the house, chopping wood, laying stone and snugging up the microlam......

RAY, AKA MADONNA BOOTS, AKA BOOTS

2007-08-28T07:21:00.000-04:00

DF POOL PARTY

2007-08-26T08:49:00.000-04:00

UNCLE BILL,AKA WILLIE WUMP WUMP, AKA WUMP, AKA BOGIE, AKA JUNIE BOGART, WITH BRIGITTE @ DENNISTON FOUNDATION PARTY 2007

2007-08-25T21:46:00.000-04:00

HATE THY NEIGHBOR

2007-08-24T20:35:00.000-04:00

All I have to do is to sit on my screened in porch and look 16" to my right to the chainlink fence to be reminded of why I hate my neighbor. The fence is legendary and I won't get into the many years of acrimony that brought about its construction. I want to talk about neighbors and how I hate them.

I don't hate Spics, or Niggers, or Chinks, or Kykes, or Homos, or even Iraqis and North Koreans. But I do hate my neighbors. I hate 'em in Glen Wild and I hate 'em in White Sulfer Springs. In Glen Wild they are mindless knucklehead Sicilians from Queens who ride their ATVs in the middle of the night and put up fences for spite. In White Sulfer Springs its a rich local whose property surrounds me. Yellow caution ribbons and spray painted NO TRESPASSSING are his weapons of choice. As for me I dig ditches, move rock and jack houses. I save these old fucking hillbilly shacks and historical churches, on postage stamp lots, from certain death.....by the sweat of my fucking brow. And what is my reward? A neighbor in Glen Wild told me years ago- "You know you won't be rewarded for this in this lifetime." Amen.

But before I get too depressed let me just say I love my neighbors as well. I have Carlito and GN John, and Kara, and Larry and Brigitte, Paul, Julie, Jessica, and baby ?, and Al, and Slick, and Junie, and Milawyer and H, and Willie and a shitload of other good ones. Problem is the ones that border me are assholes. And maybe that's a good thing. They keep me on my toes. Like my old friend the late Ray Gilkey once said to a neighbor who was encroaching. Ray slapped his .45 hanging on his belt and said, "You want a range war? I'll give you a range war!" Who knows. I may move next to you someday. If there's a wreck of a house out your window give me a call. I'm sure we'll get along.

VIEW FROM SPRING WELL

2007-08-23T18:38:00.000-04:00

CARRIE POOL

2007-08-20T06:51:00.001-04:00

Photo:MO

KITCHEN SWITCH

2007-08-19T09:19:00.001-04:00

Photo:MC Brown

BOAT GIRL

2007-08-18T08:00:00.000-04:00

Photo:Marianna Rothen

KGIRL

2007-08-17T16:14:00.000-04:00

Photo: R.Kern

EXCAVATOR

2007-08-17T16:03:00.000-04:00

Operator:Carlos Rivas

ONE GOOD IDEA

2007-08-08T21:34:00.001-04:00

ERASED OSTERHOUT

2007-08-08T20:40:00.000-04:00

I've always been a student of history. From Mrs. Whitmore's American history class is high school, to history of Northern Eurpeon painting in art school, to Old Testament class in seminary to my own personal history regurgitation in blog form, chronological truth fascinates me. But as everyone knows history is written by the winners and truth is many times the first casualty. It's like that pass it around telephone game . Before you know it the girl that was kissing Jimmy next to the locker just got popped for pulling tricks and smoking crack under the bleachers. Swear to God!
As most (if not all of you) know I've worked as an artist for many years and for a good part of my so-called career I've retreated from the showing aspect. In fact the last time i had a show of any consequence was in 1986 at The New Museum. The space shuttle blew up a couple of days before the opening. It's now 20 years later, and the day the substitute teacher rocketed back into space I drove into the city to meet with Jason Rulnick concerning the possibility of showing my work. JR was a student at The Old School for Social Sculpture in 1999 and now he has his own gallery in Chelsea. I made the call and he agreed to meet.
He was mainly interested in my pornographic newspaper collages I had been doing for almost 30 years. I brought them, and as an afterthought threw in a piece I had done called "ONE GOOD IDEA". This was the distillation of a work called "GOOD IDEAS". Basically it was something I think every artist comes across. You have an idea for a piece and then you think- that's something so and so would do. NOT I. So i had a bunch of these ideas and then I decided to settle on one good one. There was an artist back in the day who was known for "appropriating" other artist's work in exact detail. His name is Mike Bidlo. I knew Mike, so I asked if he had ever done Rauschenberg's erased Dekooning? He said he hadn't and agreed to do it for me to complete my "ONE GOOD IDEA." Done and done.
Today I showed this piece to Mr. Rulnick and he pulled out a catalog of Mike Bidlo's ERASED DEKOONINGS. The opening essay by the guy who published the catalog talks about Bidlo crediting an artist Jane Kapowski? giving Bidlo the idea and how genius the whole Bidlo head and this series is. What the.....? No mention of Osterhout.

Like I say I dig history. To revise it would be sour grapes. The meeting with JR went so so. I have no juice. He wanted me to be a part of some group show of SFAI alum. I tried to contain my enthusiasm. Maybe Bidlo just forgot who gave him that idea. Maybe some day he'll do an Osterhout, in exact detail, brush stroke for brush stroke and it will look like a Dekooning, erased by Raushenberg, replicated by Bidlo, and conceived by Osterhout.

GIRL IN HAT

2007-08-07T07:08:00.000-04:00

MILAWYER'S PLEASURE LAKE PLACE

2007-08-06T13:16:00.001-04:00

WSSP INTERIOR

2007-08-06T13:11:00.000-04:00

1942 KENSKILL TRAILER

2007-08-06T10:44:00.000-04:00

262.jpeg

2007-08-03T20:44:00.001-04:00

Photo:Marianna Rothen

POLAROID

2007-08-02T07:41:00.001-04:00

DEER SKIN RUG

2007-08-02T07:34:00.001-04:00

THE OLD MAN

2007-08-02T07:21:00.000-04:00

WSSP (update)

2007-08-01T10:37:00.001-04:00

HOLY WATER

2007-08-01T10:30:00.001-04:00

MARTA '77

2007-08-01T07:33:00.000-04:00

SIDING RIP

2007-07-18T13:23:00.000-04:00

DENNISTON FOUNDATION KITCHEN

2007-07-17T07:15:00.001-04:00

Model-Carrie
Photo:MO

COLLAGE PHOTO SHOOT

2007-07-16T18:45:00.000-04:00

Director-Marianna Rothen
Model-Carrie
Photo-MO

GIRL IN WIG

2007-07-09T17:37:00.001-04:00

Photo:Mariana Rothen

WHITE SULFER SPRINGS PROJECT

2007-07-08T15:38:00.000-04:00

Back kitchen demo

STONE RIDGE PROJECT

2007-07-07T16:25:00.001-04:00

Final

S.P.E.R.M.

2007-07-06T16:06:00.000-04:00

In this long hot summer of 2007 the scales of justice are slipping through the sweaty fingers of that blindfolded babe up on the marble pedestal. First it was the June 11th ordered release of Genarlow Wilson, a now 19 year old young black man who has been in prison for 2 out of a 10 year sentence for having consensual sex with his 15 year old girlfriend at 17. A Georgia judge ordered him released in June citing a "grave miscarriage of justice.", only to be thwarted by the state attorney general. So there he sits..... in jail.
Then there was the judicial/pop-culture/celebutante trial and encarceration and release and re-encarceration of Paris Hilton. The culture vultures lapped it up. Think what you will of Paris, the system failed miserably, making the whole mess a mockery of justice, family, journalism and sociopathic narsicism in general.
But as much as I feel for Genarlow and Paris, the case that has brought the scales crashing to the floor is the recent Scooter Libby sentence commutation by W. This one makes me physically ill. You can bet your bottom dollar he will eventually be pardoned. Justice just went down the crapper.

So in response I have formed one more organization- S.P.E.R.M. (Society for the Preservation of Equal Rights for Members). Basically if you are a member of society you are automatically a member of SPERM. I'm sure Milawyer will handle all the details but in the meantime I'm checking prices for t-shirts and bumper stickers. It would be nice if we could call for the disolution of this corrupt government. But I think that's illegal. And I'm way to busy to be locked up right now. FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHTS! FREE GENARLOW! LOCK UP LIBBY!

CRANING THE BENTS

2007-07-05T13:02:00.000-04:00

BY THE TIME I GOT TO BETHEL WOODS

2007-07-02T11:41:00.000-04:00

This past Saturday evening I saw Bob Dylan perform at Bethel Woods (just over the rise from the original WOODSTOCK SITE). In many ways finding myself on that hillside multiple times in my life defines who I am. Here's the trip:

August 1969- I read in the local paper that a group of promoters called Woodstock Ventures is about to put on the concert to beat all concerts in the Town of Wallkill. The list of bands is a veritable who's who of the musical times. When Wallkill doesn't pan out the promoters move The Aquarian Exposition to Bethel in Sullivan County. I'm 16 years old. My 14 year old brother Bird and I save up our $18 for a three day ticket. There's no way we are going to miss this.
The old man pulls the 1967 Pontiac station wagon over the side of the road and dumps Bird and I in a sea of Hippies making their way to Max Yasgur's Dairy farm. We walk and hitch rides on car hoods piled with kids a few years older than us. We each carried a sleeping bag and 5 dollars. When it gets dark I send Bird for hotdogs. He doesn't return for 2 hours. I've lost my brother amongst 400,000 people. It rains. Bird finally returns, stepping on me by mistake. When the rain gets too much we seek shelter. Birds puffs on his first joint in an old hay loft filled with young heads. The next morning we hitchhike back to Wolf Lake and see that it's history. We have to return. I pick up my girlfriend and we go back Sunday. It rains again. Bird and I walk to Pleasure lake as Jimi takes the stage.

August 1989- The bass player of my band Purple Geezus, Rob Kennedy, calls my Lower East Side apt and tells me that there's a spontaneous gathering haappening at the Woodstock site. I'm on. We pile his amp., bass and a case of beer into my 1970 Cadillac and head north.
When we arrive, after driving through a rainstorm, the clouds part to a gleaming full moon. There's campers and pickups parked all over the hill. A makeshift plywood stage is set up in the natural grassy bowl and local bands are "playing Woodstock" It fucking rocks!
RK and I make our way down the hill and we notice it's getting darker. We look up into the sky to see a full lunar eclipse. We leave the bass and schlep the beer down to the stage. When the moon comes out again we vow to meet at the 40th.

August 1999- In the middle of July I spend the morning trimming tree branches with my then wife Melanie. She holds the ladder as I climb up a a brand new, fully extended, 32 foot extention ladder, with a running chainsaw. My plan is to cut a large Ash branch that's threatening the front of our house.
When i cut the heavily leaved right side of the branch, the side that the ladder is perched on springs up, leaving the ladder to stand, momentarily, defying gravity.
A week later i find myself, in a full molded plastic cast, leaning on a cane, with two broken vertabre.......,., at Woodstock again. Because of my full white beard and cane I get a lot of thumbs up and questions about 1969. I feel like a crippled up geezer. This time I have press credentials from Paper magazine and when I write my column I can't help but be nostalgic for '69 and at the same time my elder hipster status. Woodstock is no longer hip.

August 2004- I drive up to Yasgurs farm just for old time's sake. A couple of Green Party members bought the old farm house and provide an annual alternative to the now Gerry owned, corporate flavored, original field. In the past these gatherings have had a bit of the old chaos so lacking at the future Bethel Woods. But this year they are selling $30 dollar tickets for Country Joe and some other dinosaur bands. Fuck that!
I turn the car around and spy a sign for Hector's Bar- BANDS. FREE! There's stage, a sound system, a whole bunch of hardcore homeless looking heads and their teenage kids and assorted pets. I inquire with the sound man about performing policy? He says to talk to Sally Sunshine. On my way to find Ms. Sunshine a half naked older woman , swigging from a bottle and gyrating to a car radio, on said car's roof, looks at me with menace. When I smile back she screams-"WHAT? WANT IT LOUDER? I CAN MAKE IT LOUDER!" And she does. And goes back to gyrating and swigging. Later that day I take the stage with a drummer and a bass player, who I'm meeting for the first time, strap on my fender, light a joint and blast through three of my songs. I'm playing Woodstock.

July 2007- Slick, Jimmy, Horst, Mary Lou, The Profit, Madonna, Bruce and myself take two cars to Bethel Woods to see Bob Dylan play. This is the first time I've been to the new Gerry venue and also the first time I've seen Dylan. Seems like a perfect match. I'm a little over a month shy of my 55th birthday, balding, starting a pot belly, half crippled up with a neck injury. Everyone else in our group is young and goodlooking. Unlike 1999 I no long feel like a geezer. Just look at my peeps. I'm the crazy, heavily tattooed old head with the pretty youth. Groovy.
Dylan rocked. The beer and wine were cold. I torched one. Then I looked around me and the field was covered with what Horst calls NDs- Non Descripts. It was true. It could've been a high school graduation in Iowa. Everyone looked, young and old, kinda boring and well fed. But that's just my snobbery. Our blanket was cool.
As the sun set we all got a buzz on. I had infiltated security with a half pint of vodka hidden in a bottle of Holy Water. But when I pulled it out Slick looked at me sternly. Jimmy was on the 'shrooms and Madonna and Mary Lou had been downing the white wine pretty good. The rest of us where going with the plastic Budweissers. Without naming names lets just say that some of us like our booze more than others. So when Slick put the kybash on the vodka I played along....for the moment.
For once the rain held off. But as we headed for the car the skies opened up and everyone headed for cover. I had by now retrieved my 1/4 pint of vodka and offered it to the huddled group under the overhang. Slick's disapproval of passing the bottle now escalated. And before I knew it the holy water bottle splashed onto the pavement, knocked from my feeble grasp by of all people- SLICK. I was taken aback- to say the least. Everyone looked at their shoes. I felt like my father had just reamed me out over not cleaning up my room or losing Bird back at The Aquarian Exposition. Hey who's the adult here?

GAUDI

2007-06-28T17:58:00.000-04:00

CHURCH OUTHOUSE DEMO

2007-06-22T22:06:00.001-04:00

Demo by Bird

2007-06-22T22:03:00.000-04:00

2007-06-22T22:00:00.000-04:00

JIMMY WHO?

2007-06-20T08:30:00.000-04:00

Once a year The Brothers gather at Junie Bogart's place at Paradise Pond after a long day on the links. I don't golf and neither does Bird, so we join the party as the sun dips into the calm water. The Brothers are a loosely knit group that dates back to our high school days in the mid sixties. 40 years of stories are tossed around in between knife throws and beers. Milawyer is there, as is his West Virginia ex law partner Kazerino. We are all pretty good liars, but most of the stories don't even have to be embellished. There was the time the boat got stolen and 14 people packed in it for a 70 mph ride down the ski slope. Then there was the day Les More and Unki Harold trucked a pig to the slaughter house and the pig fell out of the truck. By the time they got the busted up porker to the butcher he wouldn't even cut it up. There wasn't one piece of unbruised bacon left on the poor beast. And who can forget the time Crowbar got bit by a black snake and fell into the white water gorge and lost all his clothes.......Wait a minute. I never heard this one before.
I look up from my drink and immediately know why this tale sounds unfamiliar. The raspy giggle of the narrator belongs to none other than Jimmy Who? JW and I worked our first job together as roofers and in the many years since he has never falled to put a smile on my face. Like I say, we are all pretty good liars but Jimmy Who? stands head and shoulders above all Brothers in spinning a yarn. But back to the snake.
"We were canoeing down the Neversink gorge and Crowbar was walking along one of those narrow ledges where the river's only six feet wide and solid white water. O'Reilly was behind him when all of a sudden a monster black snake that had been sunning on one of those rocks bit Crowbar in the neck. He fell in the rapids with the snake attached to his neck. O'Reilly just stood there dumbfounded. Les More and I were down stream. We had split the canoe on a rock earlier in the day and lost all our food and beer. Then we see Crowbar, buck naked flapping his arms and screaming with a fucking snake attached to his neck......" At this point Jimmy Who? starts to giggle and snort drawing everyone in the room into the tale. "By the time we got Crowbar out he was almost dead. But you know Crowbar, he was always so stoned it was hard to tell. Then we broke in a hunting camp down river. There was two refridgerators. One was filled with food and the other was packed with beer. We drank all but the last line of beer and moved it to the front of the fridge, so it looked like it wasn't touched. Crowbar found some clothes and we hiked out. Come on. Let's throw some knives." I can't wait 'til next year.

PARIS INVITE

2007-06-14T08:19:00.000-04:00

DAY 2

2007-06-13T08:24:00.000-04:00

GNJOHN'S TIMBERS

2007-06-11T14:01:00.000-04:00

LESLEY SPRINGS

2007-06-09T19:09:00.000-04:00

Any fan of the 80's NYC rock band Purple Geezus will remember the song- 57105. It was inspired by my prison pen pal LS who was 5'7" 105 lbs. After pouring my heart out to Lesley's response to my personal's ad, I realized that Lesley was not who she said she was. For one thing Florida State Pen. had no women inmates. That's why i wrote the song. I felt violated.
But that was years ago. I'm OK now. What I'm not OK with is the shabby treatment the American public and media is giving Paris Hilton. I don't know how many of my dozen or so readers have ever been in jail but let me tell you it's no picnic. I spent one night in Sevierville, Tenn. jail and it changed my life. You try staying in a locked room, attended to by men with guns and see how you like it. After a very short time it becomes rather annoying. You want to go out for a walk, or watch some tube, or maybe have a cappuchino down at the diner.... Sure you can do your time, but nobody WANTS to. Now take a spoiled "whore" (and I mean that in a good way) like PH and 24 in LA County and she's ready to flip. In the words of the Sheriff "The young lady has some very serious problems." So give her the Low Jack. What's the big deal? But NO! The media wants it's pound of socialite flesh. What if PH was your daughter or niece?
All jokes aside. What the bullshit Hollywood justice system is doing to one of its own is criminal. Make it a joke, but Paris is the one in the clink, while you sip on your bellini. I feel for the girl. She's a fucking comic genius on the order of Andy Kaufman mixed with Fatty Arbuckle and Claudet Colbert. Every day for the past week I've been sending letters to her cell. Now she's in lock down, on suicide watch. My advice to all of you is lay off the girl. Don't worry honey Daddy's coming.

WHITE SULFER SPRINGS

2007-06-06T15:17:00.000-04:00

County Auction shack

WASHING THE CHURCH

2007-06-05T16:12:00.001-04:00

#9818783

2007-06-04T18:32:00.000-04:00

I'm watching TV Guide Channel coverage of Paris Hilton's recent incarceration. One reporter is outside the jail giving us minute to minute updates of PH in lock up. "Today Paris had turkey and baloney for lunch." A friend tells us she's stepping up and doing a "Martha Stewart." Dig it. My girl can do her time like the righteous bee-otch she is. All you nay sayers and dickweeds who clapped at the MTV awards can kiss my cracker ass. PH is paying for your sins. How can you turn on her like that? You have created America's favorite psycho -nacissistic spokesmodel and now you want to lock her up 23 hours a day for 23 days? Are you fucking serious? How can you be so catty?
I've let the cats in the house to watch the TV Guide Channel special "Paris in Prison". Lindsay Lohan immediately sprays on the chair and Mussolini screams and climbs up the wall as Madonna Boots paces back and forth in front of the TV. This may be a mistake. Paris Hitler and Nicole are now the most civilized, well behaved cats in the room. Lights on- 6am. Breakfast- 7am. Pepper steak tonight for dinner. Paris' mug shot is "hot". In the cell: read, write and arts and crafts. Shower? TV time- one hour. The cats are transfixed.
The asshole pundits seem to think this will be good for Paris. "PH wants to be a role model." they sneer. I try to explain to the cats my obsession with PH and how I think she's misunderstood and sometimes find myself wanting to cuddle her and tell her....Lindsey Lohan bites a chunk out of Nicole and Mussolini takes a crap in the corner. Paris is sitting behind bars and these cats are out of control. I can only stand one hour of TV Guide. OJ's still playing golf. Spring PH! Stop the MADNESS!

DOLLAR BURNING DESK

2007-06-03T20:09:00.000-04:00

TRISTAN

2007-05-31T11:28:00.001-04:00

MUSINGS OF THE CAT MAN

2007-05-31T11:03:00.000-04:00

Turkey season ends today. It has been a good one. I shot a double and a jake for the smoker. I also guided Art and Brent, who both got birds. The weather stayed dry and judging from the number of jakes and this year's hatch, next year should be stellar. On the down side I missed a coyote and my neck is still killing me. Next week I'll start working on GNJohn's job in ernest. He plans to cut his barn in half and move it onto a pad, across the road from where it now sits. Because he has sold his house to a bunch of artists who are turning it into a foundation, the barn will become his new house. Like the Stone Ridge job, it should take about 9 months. Vacation is over. Three new cats have shown up here at the church- Mussolini, Madonna Boots and Lindsey Lohan. Paris Hitler and Nicole are taking it in stride. This past weekend my fishing buddy Tristan showed up and we caught a bunch of Sunnys off the dock at Wolf Lake. Does anybody know if we're still at war?

GNJOHN'S BARN

2007-05-29T17:45:00.000-04:00

Day one of job to cut barn in half and move across road.

BRENT

2007-05-27T08:14:00.001-04:00

17 lb. Tom shot by Brent Hertzog on Madison Hill Farm

LGM MEMORIAL DAY DOLLAR BURN

2007-05-23T10:43:00.000-04:00

Following in the time honored tradition of Memorial Day yard sales, the Church of the LGM is holding a burn a dollar, take home some crap, giveaway. We have old woodstoves, window panes, assorted rusty tools, snow shoes, rubber boots, expired sedatives, tables, chairs and assorted neat stuff too varied to mention. Just follow the smell of burning money on Monday- Memorial Day to 143 Old Glen Wild rd. Glen Wild, NY and burn a buck. Limit one item per congregant.

FINISHED ROOF

2007-05-22T16:08:00.000-04:00

Roofer: Al Blanchard

DEATH ON THE FARM

2007-05-14T17:00:00.000-04:00

Artie and I had just returned from our first turkey sorte and were about to go in for coffee, when I turned and looked across the road. There in the front paddock lay two big bloody carcasses. MY GOD! The emus were dead. For those who don't know an emu is a big goofy bird, that stands five foot or more at the head. They have powerful legs and when encroached upon by geese they run like runway models in high heels and a head full of crank. I could watch those birds for hours zigging and zagging across the field. And now they were gone. Coyotes had killed the emus.
I called Carlito and told him the bad news. None of it made sense. In the spring there's plenty of much easier game for coyotes to tackle. All the critters are giving birth. Deer are dropping fawns. Turkeys are having chicks. Mice are everywhere. What would drive a coyote pack to take on these two big birds? And it had to be a pack. I'd witnessed single coyotes come upon those birds only to turn and run, tail between their legs when the emus faced them. But a pack is a different story. Two or more coyotes can take down a full grown deer. Yet, that is usually in the depth of winter. In Spring? No way.
I've seen two coyotes within the past week, while turkey hunting, but neither was close enough for a shot. It's also not coyote season. But now all bets are off. If they are packed up and running these ridges they can menace anyone. Hikers, hunters, Carlito's little boy....can all be in danger. We may have to hunt them at night, or call in a trapper. Mother nature can be very cruel. In the words of that TV announcer- "Why do you think they call them animals?"

ART

2007-05-14T12:30:00.000-04:00

WITH JACK AND I

2007-05-13T19:18:00.000-04:00

"You OK, grandpa?" The words are sweet and compassionate, and come from the mouth of the skinny fashion model holding my hair back, as i retch into the bowl. Of course I don't answer, being too busy having my gut tighten and my balls sweat to muster a response. How did "gramps" get himself in this position? Two words- Jack Daniels.

Just like when i was a kid if i could bring a birthday gift to a party, that I could also play with......all the better. The occasion was Slick's birthday held at Mary Louise and Horst's place in Williamsburg. I stopped at the liquor store on the way down the mountain, picking up a 5th of JD. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

The party was in full swing when that tall guy from the movie KIDS came in. He looked more fucked up than I (and is the only famous guy I can namedrop). I had taken over polaroid duty and Horst and I were both pouring heavy . All of the sudden it hit me. Jack had me by the throat and was not about to release his grip. I should have known better. I'm usually smarter than this. TOO LATE.

From here on in it gets sketchy. I remember Mary Louise leading me to bed. I remember feeling like I was going to die. I remember birds tweeting.

In the morning (afternoon) I struggled to my feet and was about to step out of the room when I thought I should peek out first, to see who was in the room. And so I pulled the curtain to one side....

I froze. Instead of a set of stairs an 8 foot drop lay just the other side of the curtain. How the hell did i get up here? The i thought that if i hadn't peered out first, or had to puke again in the night, I would have just stumbled out of the room.....to my death, hit me hard. My head was splitting. Eventually I discovered a small door to the right of the curtain and a narrow catwalk leading to a set of stairs. Even if i had found the door I doubt if I could've navigated the plank. In a way Jack had saved my life by rendering me comatose.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not suggesting that you get blind drunk on JD nor make a fool of yourself with the youth. But, just in case you do, always peek out the door before exiting the guest room. That first step can be a doozy. Grandpa out.

NEW CHAIR

2007-05-10T14:01:00.000-04:00

TROUBLE IN PARADISE

2007-05-08T11:33:00.000-04:00

The church roof is almost done. By the end of the day the copper flashing will be complete and the ladders taken down. This is only the third roof in 140 years on this church. Keep a roof on this building and it will last another 140 years...easy. It's been 12 years since i bought this place, so there's a tremendous sense of relief in having this job over. Of course there's much to be done but now it's dry and protected. LGM bless Al Blanchard.

Now to the bad news. My neck and shoulder and left arm are killing me, no small part due to a karate chop recieved to my throat on Sunday. Let me backtrack a bit.

After walking out of Walmart in new "Gobbler" boots Art insisted on getting more beer and charcoal to smoke the five trout he had caught earlier in the day. I drove to the Trading Post and told Art to behave. "This my town, Art." I scolded. Art nodded and followed me into the store. I lost him in 10 seconds, did my shopping and went back to the car. No Art. I waited. And waited. And....Finally I went back in the store. Still no Art. Only one place he could be- Dutch's bar. The bartender greeted me like I was Jesus Christ and Santa Claus rolled into one. "Thank God! I thought you had left him." I had hid my pills but Art had his own. After two beers and a game of pool I distracted him enough to usher him back to the car.
On the way home Art ticked off possible places to hunt the next day. We would be trespassing in all of them. "I'm sorry Artie." I told him "My tresspassing days are over. I want to be calm and relaxed. Calm is my new thing." Art scowled. "Mikey...you're not turning gay on me are you?"
"Yes Art. I am. I'm gay as shit these days."
"You ever had a man ram his tongue down your throat? I ever tell you how when i was a kid my cousin raped me......?"
"TMI ART!" I cut him off from his confession. "I'm off the clock."
"Cmon Revernd..." he whined. Then things got bad.

Back at the picnic table Art alternated between singing Gloria Gaynor tunes, listing his orders of protection from the wife and babbling incoherently. Then without warning or provocation he chopped me in the throat. That's right, my neck went into spasms. If I had been packing I'd be cutting up more than a turkey today. I saw red. Standing up I found myself scolding a cowering, drunk, clueless old man. "ART I DON'T CARE WHAT DEMONS YOU CARRY AROUND. IF YOU EVER.....I MEAN EVER..... LAY A HAND ON ME AGAIN I'LL......." Artie apologized, not even realizing what he had done. Then he went in my guest room and passed out. When he woke up all he remembered was me yelling at him "...for something."

My horoscope said that just when you think you have your ducks in a row....be careful. Like Art's brother Gary admonished me. "Mike, in the Spring you HAVE TO lock your back door. You should know better." When you're right, you're right. The door is locked now.

DOUBLE

2007-05-07T13:23:00.000-04:00

Two toms shot off Steamhollow rd. Woodridge, NY.

SHOELESS ART GORMLEY

2007-05-06T14:35:00.000-04:00

Anyone who has read my blogs for a year or more will recognize Art. Every year like a recurring case of the clap Art shows up on my doorstep to hunt turkey and fish for trout. Art belongs to a rare sub-culture of "sportsmen" made up of retired Jersey cops and blue collar good 'ol boys who discovered crack cocaine and Oxycontin late in life, and like to combine the injestion of said substances with standing in frigid water or squawking like a hen turkey. Artie claims he once shot a big buck off of Whitney Huston's tennis court. I'm sure Whitney, Bobby and Art were all smoked up at the time.
1:30 am last night- I drop Shewho off at her Brooklyn pad, after attending an opening for El Prof at Harris/Lieberman Gallery in downtown Manhattan. Post opening we've just watched Merryweather beat De la Hoya in a 12 round split decision, ate, drank and smoked too much in a throwback to the 80's evening. My god daughter Monasita is there with her dad looking like a 17 year old rockstar. As half the crowd comes and goes into the bed room to snort coke El Prof and I reminisce over fights past and watch the girls giggle. This is parenting 21st century style. It DOES take a village!
Pointing the Neon north I head back to the mountain. Half way home my herniated disc in my neck starts to hurt so badly I have to pull over. At 3:30 am I pull in my driveway almost blinded by the pain. There's a car in my spot with Jesey plates. Art. I forgot to lock the back door. All the lights are on, as is the TV. A toothless man is spawled out in my guest room, his dentures floating obscenely in a glass of what looks like scotch. I'm in no mood for company. "Make yourself at home Art." I growl and head off to bed. "Mikey!" Art smiles a toothless grin and never opens his eyes.
This morning I hurt so bad i can't get up to hunt. I hear Art get up about 8:00 am. Just as I'm rising around 11:00 he returns, carrying beer, white bread and eggs. At least he makes breakfast. Because of my bad neck I've thrown out my couch, so I get Art to drive me to town to buy some chairs. After I buy the chairs Art tosses me his keys and asks me to drive him to Walmart to buy shoes. "I don't feel too good." he informs me. "Must've been those pills of yours." Not only has he smoked my pot, drank my beer and invaded my house, he found my painkillers.... I grab his keys and look down at his feet. He's not wearing shoes. Let's go shopping. How can you not like this guy?

ESTATE GREY

2007-05-02T20:30:00.000-04:00

STUFF HANGING IN PORCH

2007-04-29T08:19:00.000-04:00

Photo: MC Brown

A COUPLE GALS OVER TO THE CONDO

2007-04-28T17:03:00.000-04:00

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.

NEW CHURCH ROOF 007

2007-04-25T14:12:00.000-04:00

Roofer- Al Blanchard

KITCHEN CABINETS

2007-04-25T08:33:00.000-04:00

Fabricator- Brent Hertzog

MARTYNKA

2007-04-24T14:04:00.000-04:00

Photo: R. Kern

STAINLESS BANNISTER

2007-04-24T13:51:00.000-04:00

Fabricator- Rich Memmelaar

JULIA 2

2007-04-18T16:32:00.000-04:00

Photo: Marianna Rothen

THE END

2007-04-18T16:06:00.000-04:00

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.

READING, WRITING AND BALLISTICS

2007-04-17T17:04:00.000-04:00

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.

FLOOR

2007-04-16T08:54:00.000-04:00

DEAD HO

2007-04-15T08:58:00.000-04:00

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.

JULIA

2007-04-14T14:25:00.000-04:00

Photo:Marianna Rothen

DOWN RIVER

2007-04-14T13:44:00.000-04:00

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.

JABBA THE ACCOUNTANT

2007-04-12T13:17:00.000-04:00

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?

SPRING 007

2007-04-12T13:09:00.000-04:00