Decorum in the face of wondrous urbanity

J'ai vu New York.

New York, U.S.A.











I've seen your sacred buildings..














Your odes to backdoor action, etched in stone doorways along nameless northbound streets.














And structures. Large, impressive odes to domination, and not in a hubristic sense. More of a "Take this fucking shit" way.













I also ate a hot dog with onions, ketchup, and mustard for breakfast, at the south named pier/mall structure from which, on a clear day, you get Lady Liberty's left side. This taken slightly north of said destination.

Said repast of champions led to a desperation-defying celebration of Ameri-testinal fortitude and Red Blooded, Sleeve Rolling, Bible-Thumping Beattitude manifested in the Eagle Statue of Battery Park..


















.. In front of which roams the night-gauntesque Beast of Battery Park, the Turkey Looking Thing...













.. who has been known to roam near the official outdoor lavatory of north-east Battery Park, where, due to the aforementioned gastrointestinal negligence at breakfasttime, I decanted a certain family's kids for their afternoon swimming rendez-vous.














Then, walking, I strolled into America. America looked at me, smiled, and said "Money. America. Have some."

I gladly supped from its bulging teet.














My Native New Yorker co-worker asked me"Did you go see the 9/11?"



The prophet of Ground Zero.










To Strawberry Fields, the segment of the Grand Park whose name, and, of course, existence, celebrates John Lennon.

The rains fell. Fifty yards in front of these folk, one would find yet another decantment. Fleeing the rain, various men without homes took to the stalls of all the public restrooms.













Chocolate Covered Strawberry Fields.

And now, I can truly, and without pretense state, that I, Dear Reader, have been laid down..













.. Like a Bridge over Troubled Water.

Serge Gainsbourg

In scrolling through google images I came across this pic, photoshopped by a french person, with the caption, "Ou etait King Kong?"

Which, to the non-francophones, means, "Where was King Kong (on 9.11)?"

I cannot answer that question, but I can point out that this picture serves as a perfect metaphor for something occurring in mine own life - I will be hitting that famed city of blogs, New York City, right in the mouth, at some point during the week of September 18th - 22nd. I am visiting an old friend who is going to show me cool shit and instruct me on the ways of urban goodness. Like Kong, I am a hairy beast intent on destruction, and will be, like the Muppets, taking Manhattan. And it may not be a consensual taking.

Should any of you N.Y. blog folk desire to buy me drinks, trinkets, or otherwise, drop me an email or comment. I'm also available to speak at public schools, art gallery openings, college lectures (more toward the graduate students), NYU, RISD, Harvard, NOW, MADD, and, of course, AA. And AAA. And single A, but the minor leagues are called such for a reason.

9/11 - Whoop That Trick

Yes, I have been away for quite awhile.

But, you see, there was this thing happening, in early-mid September. An anniversary, an event, that only occurs once in a lifetime. And the only, well, appropriate analogy to draw, would be with, of course, my friend and yours, 9/11.

So take the first tower, and let's call it my youth.

And that second tower, well, we'll call that innocence.

The planes can be whatever you want them to be.

Ladies and Gentlemen, On 9/10, the eve of the Fifth Anniversary of 9/11, I turned 30 years old.

To paraphrase my old friend Meredith, I am now the dirty old man she always knew I'd grow up to be.