i’ve NOT been posting.
i’ve been – figuratively – staggering around like a drunk here on this blog, though i don’t like to call it a blog, but for the moment, i need to keep it simple and to the point, so blog it is. i’m so full of hot air at times that i’m not sure what’s keeping me in my seat.
there were a bunch of things – performances – that happened here that i documented as well as things i did and places i went that were pretty neat.
i found myself fascinated that there were things out there for people who have an ice cream abuse problem.
oh shucks – i’m getting ahead of myself.
i’ve written patches and threads over these past days and days.
patches and threads, days and days.
someday i’m gonna write a real sappy song that’ll be sung by a pop singer whose name i won’t even know.
he or she might win a grammy with this song.
it might even be two separate songs.
or one’ll be the band name and the other, the song.
twenty-five years later, there’s a chance this person will have become an oscar-winner or an overdose “victim” (an oxymoron of sorts, possibly on both fronts).
so, here it goes, from then to now….
it descended on me slowly. i’m not sure of much right now.
i feel lost.
i have these days.
i sat on the bench in front of the store early this evening. i was wondering about the sense of loss that’s shrouding me since sitting before the doctor yesterday.
his conversations with me border on stand-up.
we were discussing my health. i was talking to him about my reluctance to let go of ice cream.
i wrote something some months ago about my goodbye to ice cream. i went on and on about having gotten on the other side in my relationship with the ice cream demon. we were discussing this because i am (and have been for a while now) diabetic. i have geezer diabetes. the kind, it seems, the population of new york is getting these days….. well, if you’re a fifty-year-old new yorker, anyway.
i said, “i gotta get a handle on this.”
“yeah , you really should,” he said.
” i gotta do this. i quit smoking years ago. it was the toughest thing i ever did. this can’t be as bad as that…,” i said.
“detoxing from nicotine is one of the toughest things to do in the world. you should feel really good about that..”
“i am..it was brutal…” i went on…., “i had to say goodbye to my very best friends…they were always there for me. except, of course when i had to dig them out of the garbage….
it’s tough having to stop the ice cream, though….i have yet to dig either ben or jerry out of the garbage in the dead of night…”
where am i with this?….a couple of days wandered by. farrah and michael jackson bought the farm.
michael jackson, lucky no more. ed mcmann, see you later.
there ARE millions of people playing the number 226.
i’ve got the tv on and am listening to keith olbermann ask the type of questions that will make me turn off the tv.
i turned the tv off.
i’m more about farrah, anyway.
i have no opinion about her acting career. i never watched charlie’s angels. i know that she was the poster girl of the ’70′s and the numero uno angel but didn’t know anything about her till that TV-special where she and i made our first and last earthly bond. i think what she did was brave and i’m grateful for her courage. i mean the cancer thing she did about her disease.
i think the king of pop was a tortured individual and never had any fun. i know that my opinion about this stuff doesn’t matter, but it gives me the opportunity say things like this;
i got creeped out by the crowds in LA who need to hang out and wait around the hospital in hope for a glimpse of the body bag or whatever else.
but that’s just me throwing in my two cents worth about some of humanity’s less than savory behavior;
people who rubberneck at tragedy.
i want to beat them with a rubber hose.
that’s all the news i could glean from the tv today, so i guess that problem in iran is solved. and that beautiful young woman, neda, who was gunned down by some douchebag from a goon squad has become irrelevant in america.
we have dead celebrities. there’s nothing better than dead celebrities, especially when they’re tragic.
revolution takes too long.
celebrity OD’s is more america’s culture.
they talked about the day that elvis died.
i didn’t remember when that happened. i was busy being brilliant or something. or drunk. i may have been drinking a beer.
pizza. it could have been pizza-time.
i didn’t find him culturally relevant. sorry. i knew he was, but not to me. except for one thing.
i may have wondered if elvis and ann-margaret “did it.”
for all i know, the answer is in one of those elvis books. after a while, that ceased to matter, too.
i don’t want to know nothing about nothing about michael jackson’s seductions. or ed mcmann’s.
michael jackson’s music was as much a part of my life as farrah’s role in charlie’s angels. it was everywhere and around for a lot longer than farrah’s feathercut,
i didn’t pursue it, but didn’t hide from it. that was impossible. i knew he was brilliant and talented and i watched him grow and morph and figured he was crazy because everyone else was, except he was big crazy because he was big stuff.
we’re all as crazy as we can afford to be.
that is, if you’re crazy to begin with.
that’s what i believe at the moment.
plenty of people in my world were muy loco, but none of them made it to the hallowed space of divine crazy, something that seems to be an illness caused by fame.
back in the early scrap bar days, there was a kid who was a paige or intern or whatever you are when you work for nothing, who worked for WNEW-FM when it was hacking and sputtering along, heading toward the classic-rock ash-heap.
it was do-wop all over again.
it’s always doo-wop all over again.
anyway, he came into the bar and related a story about sting, that guy from the police.
it was 1986, about the time he was probably selling their greatest hits album, the first sign of cracks in the mantle of the rock god.
are there any more rock gods? i mean, new ones?
he told me that he was going on the radio to talk with scott muni or someone and had an advance guard walking before him, ordering all employees of the station to turn their head to the wall so as not to look upon sting as he walked down the hall. yowee!
performers who deify themselves.
now there’s a tragedy.
my friend gerry, who tended bar at scrap bar, worshiped michael jackson. i’m sure he’s crushed about all this.
i understand he was big in britain. it’s got to be tragic to to lose a diety to an overdose.
give me a stack of stevie wonder albums if i want to bask in the glow of musical greatness, black or white.
but i NEED to digress.
let me stop and look up at the sky -
let me ride my bike and get a better shot of this. let me tell you to look closely and tell you that there’s a double rainbow of you look real close -
i was heading to a couple of afternoon soirees that day. i took my camera because i promised to document my journey for a friend on the other side of america.
it was fortuitous that my camera was in my bag that day.
everything IS timing. and luck. and fortune. and planning. and dreams. and hope.
i wanted to show my friend my route from goodbye blue monday and the rainbow, so i took some picks as i rolled along.
i took a photograph of something as american as apple pie.
maybe it’s urban pie.
and rolled past a beer-bottling plant built 150 years ago….
i looked at this building and imagined it has stories of joy and horror.
i want to find out about it and will, but not just now.
i believe i see ghosts peering through the window at me in the picture.
i see all sorts of things. some people it “hyper-imaginative,” others, “spiritual” but i call it “lucky.”
i call it “mathematical.”
i would roll on to kent avenue (that’s in williamsburg) and cycle through a plywood tunnel between two big shiny buildings that may have run out of money to finish its construction (for the moment, anyway) and end up on a pier and meet my friends -
this is the rest of the pier and the big, shiny buildings that stand quietly on the shore -
this is manhattan skyline;
after watching the sun disappear in the west, we went to the place where the grilling was going on – it was a small storefront that a bunch of guys from main drag music
have for such affairs – there were giant BBQ grilled ribs and fish-
i took this picture and it made me feel like a portrait photographer. this belongs in a music magazine.
i rolled on…
i was somewhere in north bushwick and was going to the land of ching chong song – it was dark;
but it was beautiful….and there was all those friends who frequent and perform at goodbye blue monday.
i chose to not name names from the places i went because there were too many to write down and this was the best way to not forget anyone.
i won’t deny that i felt a little like a fish out of water.
jesus christmas… have i gotten that shrink-provincial?
a lot of people who saw me here said that they were surprised to see me “out of my element,” my element being either the store or the sculpture garden.
i used to be a shmooze machine.
now, not so much.
i left that wonderful backyard with the music and lights.
i was supposed to roll further into ridgewood, queens and visit buffie gilbert. i mention her name because i didn’t see her.
sorry, buffie. i was runnin’ out of gas.
but now i want to look back to days before my bike ride. this was to show how different this place could be from day to day or moment to moment.
other times, it’s from place to place, like this;
this is a duo from san francisco named moira scar
they made people dance. they were electrifrying.
and not eighty feet away, this was happening;
it’s like wandering between planets and it’s happening here more and more often with the ongoing madness going on in the backyard. we got barbecue going on this weekend on the forth of july.
the east side of new york city will get no macy’s fireworks this year. nothing for brooklyn or queens. zilch. zip.
so we’ll be playing music and grilling stuff all day and night on saturday.
got sparklers? bring’em
and one last shout out for the make music new york happening on the summer solstice. we pulled the gear inside what with the rain. here’s a few pics from then, some from kenny forsch and his crew, a few from the marionettes of satan as well as the amram crew offstage.
kenny forsch and the k-men’s crew;
a bunch of people who work here who kick absolute ass onstage wherever they go;
and some amrammania;
life sure is a hoot.