overheard strikes again

bedford-stuyvesant, chinese mafia, gentrification?

Man #1: Man, all these stabbings and killings, man.
Man #2: Yeah.
Man #1: But you know, that's every summer.

--Myrtle & Marcy, Bed-Stuy

i.e. a few blocks down.

This reminded me of the two hits that went down in the ground floor of my building in February. Two Chinese women owned/operated a wholesale grocer for large restaurants and hotels. (I've been told the extra rotting food smelled awful, so I'm glad I missed this era, from beginning to bitter end.) They apparently owed money to the Chinese mafia, and were stabbed to death in the late afternoon one day.

So I guess it's every winter and summer. Go figure.

depending on your perspective, this is an entry almost entirely - or only fleetingly - about food

brooklyn, money, the pros and cons of pot-bellied pigs as household pets

So even though I went to the city yesterday for cake day at Atlas (cancelled! no new cake!) and some sweet action at Dick Blick (where I am now a "preferred customer" via my expired Columbia ID), today I really truly had to pick up a new brush at the Pratt store (where I also discovered aluminum clamp lights, "plum" twintip Sharpies and a Tria brushpen six pack on clearance... I swear, that place will be the ugly, premature death of my "independent wealth.")

I continued my walk down Myrtle, then along Washington down to DeKalb. I was planning to get a late lunch at the excellent Pequena, but instead opted for a simple iced coffee at Tillie's. I hadn't yet been to Tillie's, which I'd read about as "continuing the writerly tradition of Fort Greene" or something equally presumptuous and pretentious. Now here in the story it should be noted that I was wearing my massive sunglasses, the ones I wear when I care not to be fucked with, and the ones I usually do not wear when exploring new places, as they more or less make me blind. So I did not notice until I was halfway through the door that I had not, as I'd previously suspected, stepped over a very rotund dark gray dog on my way in. No, no - I had, in fact, stepped over a very rotund dark gray pot-bellied pig. On a leash. Just when I noticed, an older man walked by and remarked loudly, "Damn, that's nasty." I presume he was talking about the pig and not its petite blonde owner, who was quite a nice-looking woman.

So despite my surprise, this is apparently not entirely uncommon, though nothing compared to the "pot-bellied pig craze" of the late '80s and early '90s, when pigs were selling for $800 to $1,000. But I guess that was before my time.

"comics are the new indie rock."

comics: great and awful, overrated things, shifting cultural paradigms

This past weekend was the annual MoCCA Art Festival at the Puck Building in SoHo. This was the festival's fifth year and my first, and I had great expectations, having only been to the San Diego and New York Mammoth Manga Comic-Cons before (but dreaming of SPX for the fall, despite Bethesda). I'm not qualified to compare it to past years (though 2006 was clearly lacking a Dan Clowes/Jonathon Lethem conversation, or anything feebly approaching that brilliance), so I should say that while I was not disappointed, and I did indeed procure a great deal of great comics, I was underwhelmed. I did notice that admission this year was the cheapest it's been since 2002, which could hint at some administrative acknowledgement of a possible lack of particular greatness -- or, like, maybe not.

My weekend was spent wandering around the three large Puck rooms filled with tables filled with comics, alternately good and awful, trying not to make awkward, guilt-inducing eye contact with anyone whose work fell in the latter category. The "event programming" was spotty. To celebrate the success of their quarterly anthology MOME (recently reviewed in the New York Times Book Review), Fantagraphics had an early run of the new issue for sale, and a panel featuring Andrice Arp, Gabrielle Bell, Jonathon Bennett, Gary Groth, David Heatley and Paul Hornschemeier. It was boring as all hell. I'm a big Gabrielle Bell fan, but she was not at her best, to say the least. No one seemed to want to be there, except the man who asked several questions of the panel, including "How do you feel about porn in comics?" which sealed the experience off really awkwardly, which is to say, it was perfect.

So I guess this is where I'm supposed to make some sweeping generalizations and conclusions about the fest en general. Of course it goes without saying that many good things were available, as they always are, at Drawn and Quarterly, Buenaventura and (yes, even) Fantagraphics. On the more indie front, I've never agreed more strongly with Sabrina Jones, who told me in January, “It’s like the early part of the 20th century, everyone was writing poetry – now everyone has a graphic novel or a comic.” I was skeptical, but MoCCA seems to have reinforced this concept for me, in sheer numbers of overpriced crap mini-comics. It was alternately unfortunate and inspiring, and I now feel entirely capable, qualified and excited to do comics again.

For posterity or something, this is the stuff I got, which I'd recommend to all four of you who might read this:
- Baby-sitter's Club #1, Raina Telgemeier; sweet nostalgia
- Communism button and sticker from Diesel Sweeties/Dumbrella; for "being hilarious"
- Girl Stories, Lauren Weinstein
- Good News!, Mikhaela B. Reid
- Peck, James McShane
- Pencil Fight #1 and 2; a Portland zine
- Pink Popgun War T-shirt, Farel Dalrymple
- Salmon Doubts, Adam Sacks; thanks, John
- Syncopated #2, Brendan Burford and friends; a great compilation of reportage, comics and reportage comics
- Three Very Small Comics V.II, Tom Gauld

"stalkers can't be lazy."

d-list celebs come in threes, homosexuality, digression

This afternoon as I was finishing my coffee and walking toward the Whole Foods in Union Square to purchase as many groceries as would fit in my backpack, I nearly walked right into comedic genius Demetri Martin. For those of you who might not know, I really, really love Demetri Martin (for several pages of reasons, please see Esopus #6).

This is the third in a short series of small-time celebrities I've seen in the last two weeks. First was Hal Sparks (of Queer as Folk, thanks to Kristiana for actually knowing his name) at Kate's, then Jai from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy on the downtown C train to West 4th. (He only went one stop - wtf? But I digress.)

A pattern, perhaps? I sure hope Demetri isn't into guys (or at least not to the exclusion of females), but I also hope he isn't dating the unfortunately unattractive horse-faced woman he was walking with. You deserve better, Demetri.

Then again, I have to admit that he was not looking so hot: awkward jeans, strange tiny red backpack, puffy chipmunk cheeks, unfortunate haircut. Maybe Jai could've helped him out. Actually, maybe one of the guys from that show who does more than teaches the importance of eye contact. I digress again.

In conclusion: please get it together, Demetri Martin.

rewind to: chicago

ncs debauchery, liquor, mr. ralph steadman

So back to that National Cartoonists Society Annual Weekend of Debauchery I mentioned so lovingly a couple posts back. The NCS never fails to let down this Young Cagle, but this year was particularly interesting in its own grown up, fucked up kind of way. Or perhaps this is all normal and I've just finally (finally!) been allowed to sit at the adult table this family Christmas (and my parents are just thrilled!).

This was the third anniversary of the Friday late night karaoke debac- er, festivities. This is, of course, the only evening where some might argue I over-imbibed - and, appropriately, the only evening of which I personally have photographic evidence. Songs were sung, - or screamed, in the case of Mr. Lifetime Achievement Award Winner Ralph Steadman - drinks were drunk and much fun was had.

Mr. Steadman was the biggest news of said Weekend, pissing off the red-staters with an acceptance speech in which he trashed Bush and "the belly of the beast," presumably Chicago/middle America. It amazed me that this was not completely expected - the guy was best friends with Hunter Fucking Thompson for christ's sake. I, of course, gave him a standing ovation, if only for his Thompsonesque walk up to the stage.
Other details: winners included the prolific and talented Mr. David Silverman and the patient and sensitive Mr. Gary McCoy, who may use his heavy award for effective cock-blocking cum next year. Unfortunately Mr. Lucci/Piraro lost out to this year's Editorial Cartooning Pulitzer winner Mr. Mike Luckovich for the Big Reuben Statue Of Golden Naked Cartoon Characters, but fortunately we all know he's going to win soon, because he's (some clever and insightful comments that boil down to awesome! here).

As for Chicago: overall, I can't say I'm much of a fan. I greatly enjoyed the Art Institute and of course the Weekend's events, (and yes, I'm a total fuck-up and didn't go to Quimby's, please taunt me forever) but on the whole, I found the city to be too big shouldered, Midwest, meat-and-potatoes for my sophisticated vegetarian coastal sensibility. I've been told by several people that I just "didn't go to the right places," but I've come to the conclusion that these people are crazy, and I reject their opinions outright. So I say: screw Chicago.

hott stuff

brooklyn, hipsters, brooklyn hipsters

Last night I went to a fundraiser for Urban Glass in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. Fifteen dollars for glass blowing demonstrations, three musical acts, a glass mug and all-you-can-drink-until-they-kick-you-out keg beer! My lovely friend Jason's lovely band Pirate Satellite opened, rocking especially hard considering it was their first show ever. Good job, dudes.

Headlining the show were the Harlem Shakes (no, not actually from Harlem; yes, lame), who tapped into the very-popular-with-the-kids-these-days post-electroclash dancey hipster shit that makes these kinds of young people go wild and dance like robots on crack (their only resemblance to Harlem). Kind of reminded me of Clap Your Hands, minus twins who gaze longingly at girls playing Scrabble in Smith Street bars. But now I've said too much.

All in all, a good time, and I'd highly suggest you check out the Urban Glass (57 Rockwell Place, 3rd floor) if you have money to burn on fancy hand-crafted things, or if you just want to see people wearing metallic space-age fire-proof suits and helmets do impressive spinny tricks with big metal tools and molten amorphous silicon dioxide - which is, I'm sure, exactly what you were looking for at this point in your life.

the rumors are true

columbia j-school, radio documentaries, community gardens

I did indeed graduate from the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism a little over two weeks ago. The speakers were boring as hell, but there was much fanfare and shredded New York Times/New Yorker throwing (for more info, see the lovely Kristiana Heap's thoughtful musings on the connections between Columbia J-school and being held hostage.) We really pissed off the B-schoolers when the wind shifted and blew all of our trash into their faces. Well-deserved, I say.

My last class before this messy sky blue graduation was a final installment of This American Life's Alex Blumberg's Radio Documentary course, which took place on a Saturday morning for complicated reasons of Wednesdays, Showtime cable television shows and the laziness of congress. Regardless, bagels were eaten, fun was had, and many documentaries were, um, listened to, not least of which the class' collaborative effort, Flowers From The Dead Earth, produced and voiced in majority by Lawrence Lanahan and Bruce Wallace. A testimonial from Mr. Ira Glass, addressed to Mr. Alex Blumberg: "I loved this so much. Those kids are so amazingly funny. And you taught them well: it was like a catalog of all the things we hate in public radio stories."

To listen to that "amazingly funny" piece and all the documentaries from our sweet class, simply click here. It's so simple, you have absolutely no excuses not to.

-S

P.S. I swear I'll be updating this more now that I'm underschooled, underemployed and undersocializing. So, like, stay tuned and stuff, for it will be awesome. Or at least more frequently updated. Hopefully both!