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Atlantic Avenue.
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I’ve wanted to take a picture of ‘Sherita’ for years.
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Pointed out by Bobby.
I went to two great parties this weekend but all my pictures sucked. Check out Katherine’s blog.
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This is not a slight to the BBQ that Rachel threw, but a very obscure reference to our trip to Fredonia (again, see Katherine’s blog).
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23rd Street.
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Summer blockbusters.
I know this doesn’t look like much. Actually, this is a gallery on 26th street between 11th and 10th. I can’t remember what it’s called, but it’s usually pretty uninteresting. But currently, they have this TV set in the front window with speakers mounted outside. And they’re just playing big summer movies.
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I saw a few minutes of T3 on my way to the office this morning.
The movies are complete bootlegs. Even more obvious than the stuff for sale out of suitcases on Canal Street. Like the image is literally handheld and there’s no attempt at framing the screen properly. Plus it’s super flickery. I thought this was hillarious. The speakers really pump it out on the street. I caught a few minutes of Capturing the Friedmans on the way home. I’m hoping to see snippets of the entire collection and wonder how long this will go on before Jack Valenti or somebody shows up and smashes that front window.
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There was an article in the paper today about people still freaking out about the new World Trade Center, yet this seems way more sinister.
In an attempt to keep my friends from murdering me, I’ve swapped out some of the more unflattering photos in my snapshot archive with… even more disturbing photos. Enjoy!
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Magnolia Bakery.
I walked around the West Village and Soho tonight and I was running into all kinds of stores just to get some air conditioning, pretty much leap-frogging place to place. Bleeker Street records has gotten rid of all their vinyl on the first floor and Magnolia Bakery cupcakes really are pretty good. But the big deal was seeing this book that I loved when I was a kid called ‘Magical Changes’ by Graham Oakley. It’s one of those books of illustrations where you can turn the pages in sections to make a variety of different absurd pictures. It’s a little hard to explain. I flipped though, cause I’ve looked for this book as an adult but could never remember the title. I saw it at a rare bookstore and it was $75, so my nostalgia quickly evaporated, but still…
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After months of fooling around with my photo archives, I have finally finished them. Just click on the viewmaster icon and see how many pictures of yourself you can find.
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I’ve always wanted to go to Baltimore. Pretty desparately. Jeremy lived there for years before he moved to New York and the way he described it made it sound exactly like Pink Flamingos, Female Trouble and Multiple Maniacs. I’d always been worried that that golden age had passed because it didn’t seem that appealing in Pecker or Cecil B. Demented. But after hearing descriptions of all the crazy bars and thrift shops and restaurants and loonies walking down the streets, I was begging to visit. And it’s pretty easy, too, if you have a car. Jeremy, Katherine, Dan and I left a little around 8:30 am and were there for lunch time. It started out very promising. We arrived in Greektown and had souvlaki at a place called Samos. It was the best Greek salad I’d ever had. Then a drive down Eastern Avenue through the Highlandtown area ramped up the excitement because there were all these insanely tacky bridal shops and super narrow town houses with that bizarre cement brick that seems uniquely Baltimore.
I’d heard about this bar where the strippers wore band aids over their nipples and begged the disinterested guys at the bar for quarters for the jukebox. And then Eastern Ave also had this old German restaurant were every square inch of the walls are covered in pictures and elderly waitresses dressed in nurse’s uniforms pushed around food carts to serve people. Sadly both of these places were gone. Which turned out to be a recurring theme of much of the day. But unlike a lot of American cities which have lost so much of this their character over the last ten years, Baltimore had not replaced these great places with Starbucks or BabyGap. The cool places where just closed. Edith Massey’s old thrift shop was still around, but it wasn’t very interesting and they were also playing the soundtrack to Cats. And maybe it was too early in the day, but there weren’t any ‘Baltimore’ type people walking around. I needed to see beehives and Farah wings and there were none to be found! I did see a couple of really ragged out old ladies. The kind of elderly you see in Las Vegas who look like they’ve had a REALLY rough life. But sadly, their hair wasn’t big enough.
I don’t want to sound like I had a terrible time in Baltimore. I guess I really didn’t get to see much of it in that short time I was there. Jeremy and Katherine’s old neighborhood was incredible. They lived in this 8 story Raymond Chandler-esque deco building near Johns Hopkins that was surrounded by an amazing video store, a gourmet grocery store, 2 coffee shops and all the other neighborhood conveniences. And best of all there was this amazing bookstore/record store just a couple of blocks away.
The above photo is from the former swinging Baltimore red light disctrict, which still managed to be pretty scary. There were a lot of great signs. All the good bars I’d heard about on Eastern Avenue were gone.
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This is best Chinese restaurant altar I’ve ever seen.
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It was tragic that this album was not for sale. I’ve daydreamed of owning it ever since seeing that documentary, The Eyes of Tammy Faye.
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Also at the great bookstore.
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We ate dinner at The Cheesecake Factory, which is my favorite chain restaurant in the world. I ate there all the time in LA (Venice, technically) and have missed it these last couple of years. Dinner was fucking amazing and we all ate a sickening amount of food in this little tourist mall that reeked of a desparate attempt at downtown urban revitalization (the place also featured an aquarium, Hard Rock Cafe, Yankee Candle Factory and a Ben and Jerrys). On the way back to the parking garage, Jeremy and Dan spotted Robin Zander sitting by himself outside a big hotel. Everybody got really excited. I mean, years ago, Jeremy had made his own Cheap Trick bath towels to go along with his ridiculously expansive CT collection which he used as props for a documentary he made in college. So I was like, go say hi! It’s not like we spotted Mick Jagger or Prince sitting there by himself. But then I guess Zander saw us freaking out and put on this giant panama hat to obscure his face and literally sunk down in the bench pretty much in a sleeping position to completely hide from us. Naturally, the star sighting turned kind of bitter and we slunk away. Back in the car, Dan checked the Baltimore free weekly and discovered that Cheap Trick was playing a free all ages concert later that night downtown. Also, it was shocking how many foam parties they have down there.
The ride home turned quickly horrific when we got pulled over by a drunk Maryland highway patrolman. Katherine was not speeding or driving recklessly when it happened so everyone was like, what the hell? The cop immediately turned out to be this giant asshole. He didn’t tell us why he pulled us over and started screaming at Katherine, gestapo-style to hand over all her ID. I was sitting in the passenger seat and was trying to help and in the process tossed a half smoked cigarette out on the side of the road. This made the cop go apeshit and he started screaming at me about littering. It was really surreal. Then he demanded to see all of my ID and started alluding to how much trouble I was in. I only have an LA license and never switched over since I don’t drive. It quickly came out that I live in NY and not LA and he couldn’t fathom that I wouldn’t get my license switched over to NY (since you’re supposed to do that) and didn’t drive. ‘Well, how do you get to work?!?’ ‘Subway,’ I said. And he wouldn’t belive me. He made me get out of the car and stand on the shoulder of the road and made sure I didn’t put my hands in my pockets (weapons?) while he went back to his cruiser and ran my name through the computer. He was not in uniform (He was wearing sweatpants!) and was acting so vicious and irrational. I’ve seen Cops and have seen a million times how terrible these interactions go down. But we were all stone sober and wide awake on caffeine. I was worried he was going to search the car and confiscate our Cheesecake Factory doggie bags. It was so extremely bizarre. You almost might want to say Kafka-esque, but I kept thinking of Harvey Keitel in Bad Lieutenant. Anyway, my name cleared the database (whew!) and I got off with a ‘warning’ (gee, thanks!) and he never did say why we were pulled over. I guess the cops can do stuff like this and it’s all completely legal.
I know I shouldn’t hold this against Baltimore, which did not make the best impression when it’s all said and done. I’d tell strangers it’s kind of a third-rate Philadelphia with much better food.
