who knew?

MUD LUV has hit the grocery aisle...

I got Control

I fucking loved this fucking movie and that stupid cow who left the 7.15 show last night at the Village East Cinema blathering into his phone about it being just another band biopic that did not, to his satisfaction, explain the lyrics adequately, well, I suppose it's punishment enough he has to live with himself.

Maybe it all just made perfect sense to me because I lived through it and shared Ian Curtis' reactions--to the suburbs, to music, to pop culture. I never knew how tortured he was by the conflicting desire to be a part of the culture he grew up in and the art world he was so intrinsically a part of. No wonder I loved that music when I was 17. My self destruction just took another form.

Then there was the performance. I could not believe how totally Sam Riley BECAME Ian Curtis. At times I felt like I was right at the seedy venue with them, watching Joy Division perform, though of course I never saw them. I did, however, live for years with an oversized poster of them, looming over my desk in my apartment in Pittsburgh. I used to stare at it, sometimes wondering what made him do it, other times wondering why more of us did not. I also did not realize he was just 23 when he hung himself.

The theater itself contributed--theater one. An old stage, loge boxes and proscenium still intact. Giant screen, and plenty of curiosities to keep me feeling right at home.

Naturally, there's something. Samantha Morton, much as I love her, was a weird choice for the wife. And the last 15 minutes dragged--I did not realize it was going to be two hours long so the huge hot tea I drank did not help matters there. All in all though, this portrait of an artist, the way that Curtis transformed his experience into art, was inspiring. Precisely because my self-destruction did go a different way. Because I still have a chance, not to make a mark or change the current of history, but to just be present. To feel transfixed. To love being exactly where I am.

West Village, last July

14th Street

Architectural detail on 14th between 1st & A.
I wonder when's the last time it functioned as a fountain.

Aw, Ernie

This was going to be a post about Thanksgiving dinner yesterday. I was at this swanky pad in Gramercy Park with a bunch of writers and artists. It felt like I'd stepped onto the set of a Woody Allen movie by accident. I had a fabulous time.

Instead, this is my friend's cat, Ernie. This works too, though, also very New York. Here we have a grown man, does hair for celebrities like Billy Murray and Lucy Liu. And yet, he finds spare time to go out and purchase a tie for his cat.



Both of his cats.

I am thinking of getting a dog. That will force me out of the house.

Perhaps I shall learn to stop erasing photos as well.

Home 4 the Holidays

I moved to New York for all the city has to offer, and often speak of loving it. And yet, were it not for the nail salon around the corner, yesterday would have marked my first full day spent entirely inside my house.

The house, as it were, is less than 300 square feet. My radiator blasts its steamy gunk day and night--the thermometer on my keychain reads 80 degrees with all the windows open and a fan going. I'm seriously considering putting the AC back in the window, only that would block the 1.5 minutes of light I'm getting in here per day.

Money is a big reason to stay put. So long as I stay inside, I'm not spending it. Or I'm bleeding less of it. The fact it, I furnished the entire place without leaving my keyboard--everything was bought online. The trouble with buying everything online is the way it narrows your outlook--I have no idea how long it's been out, but I feel like I almost missed Ameri-Cone, Ben & Jerry's homage to Steven Colbert.

This blog is my attempt to force myself up and out of my studio every day, capture something in this city I love.