Has an alaskan ice-shelf crawled into New York City or what? It’s freezing. It’s wet. It’s cold. It’s damp. The weather here is stoopid.
I’ve taken shelter in this little library in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. Its temperature is temperate, with a high of children and a late sweeping low of old people, one carrying a porn. I think it’s in Czech. WTF?
By the way, I’ve almost finished my folio. Soon I’ll be on the hunt for a job. Anyone got a job and visa combination you might like to give me? I’ll write you ads in exchange for food at the very least. Maybe even shelter in Gramercy Park. That might be nice. Lemme know courteous readers, you can find my email somewhere here.
Here! t at taitischia dot com.
P.S. Don’t you hate it how we gotta do that these days to not get a visit from the spam man? Hopefully you guys are hip to the tune of figuring out the email riddle above.
How long has it been since my last post? Like, three weeks? I apologise for nuthin’. What am I to do? I got a job as a call-boy in the Upper East Side, making ends meet looking pretty for old ladies in summer dresses. Mostly we’d lay in Central Park and I’d recite poems by Pablo Neruda while I fed them strawberries from a punnet. That didn’t actually happen, but if it did, I’d be rich! My looks are undeniable!
Here’s a bunch of stuff that actually happened:
- Enjoyed filtered coffee, homefries and eggs in a diner at 3am, drunk as a skunk, after appearing in a photoshoot for a Vice Magazine beer advertisement insert thing;
- Went to the Guggenheim and ‘lost my shit’ over the works of Frank Lloyd Wright - from within a giant model of his work!;
- Watched Sonic Youth play two encores from the front row of the United Palace Theatre;
- Enjoyed the 4th of July fireworks explode from behind the Manhattan skyline while drinking beer from the rooftop of a Brooklyn apartment;
- Stumbled upon a collection of Man Ray’s photography from a private collection, featuring Gerstrude Stein chilling, Max Ernst covered in seaweed and mugshots of Salvador Dali;
- Had a very late night, got sleepy, and rested under the sun’s warming rays in the middle of a baseball field in Central Park at 9am;
I was going to go to MoMa, but Daniel told me to go to PS.1 instead. He said, “It’s way better.” I took his word for it, but not his map, and ended up walking the streets of Long Island City asking strangers where I could find it. It turned out to be the large brick building, next to the subway I walked out of, with ‘PS.1′ written in bold letters three stories high on its side. I, on the other hand, turned out to be the fool with sweat patches and sore feet.
Once inside I hobbled into the multi-room solo exhibition by Jonathan Horowitz titled, And/Or. His work critiqued America, the media and pop culture in the best way possible. If you can imagine me crouching next to a wall, my ear hovering close to a speaker, listening to Jonathon whisper sweet somethings in the voice of Marilyn Monroe, while Britney Spears’ vagina stares at me from the adjacent wall - that’s what it was like.
Tofu on pedestal in gallery was another favourite of mine. It’s just as you imagine: A soggy piece of tofu, in a glass jar filled with water, sitting on a pedestal. It had been kindly shipped over from a Berlin gallery with the help of a host of small business sponsors. People care.
Then I caught the G train, transferred to the F train, and ended up in Park Slope looking for this place - The Brooklyn Superhero Supply Co. It’s there that they sell things like Secret Identities, Particle Guns, Anti-Gravity, and the supremely annoying Thunder Inducer. For those that don’t know, it’s the New York City chapter of the Dave Eggers’/McSweeney’s empire. Basically, the store is a front to the writing and publishing workshop in the back named 826NYC, run for the benefit of young writers in the greater New York City area. I bought a magazine they published called First Magazine, written exclusively by high school students in New York. It’s really very good.
When you buy something you need to recite the vow of heroism. So while surrounded by young children, all fell silent while I spoke aloud:
“I, Tait Ischia,
also known as Lord Eyeball, (I know… WTF? Don’t ask.)
promise always to use my superpowers for good.
I promise to use the items I’ve purchased here today safely,
and in the name of justice.
I promise to remain ever vigilant, ever true.”
After this I went to a BBQ in Brooklyn and ate Lion. True story.
The couches in New York are very comfortable. They are both wide and long and can accommodate most girths. If you tuck your face into the crack between the cushions it feels nice and will block out the light.
I’ve walked across the Williamsburg bridge twice this week. It’s pink and ugly but does its job of transporting many walkers and bikers across the Hudson river well. On friday night I carried a six-pack of Brooklyn Brewery beers across it to Sunni’s house in Brooklyn. She cooked lamb balls made from beef and we all drank framboise. Then we went to Lit in the East Village - a dive bar filled with an assortment of characters - because Sunni and Larry were DJing there. At 7am the next morning we climbed on her roof and enjoyed the morning Manhattan skyline. We all agreed that we’ll never get tired of that clump of buildings. Then we passed the joint.
