Never Question My Methods

Anneke is my youngest cousin, and is kind enough to donate her time to reading this blog when she’s not writing brilliant essays or reading intellectually engaging books. Other than my brother, she’s my only blood relative who I share musical preferences with. She killed me at least twenty times in a row in Halo. And once, she saved me from a trained bear who suddenly went berserk, by playing a song on an improvised violin (I believe the song in question was a sea shanty, but I was too terrified to really listen).

Also, for her birthday, while she recovers from swine flue she asked for a blog post. And I’m one day late with it.

The entire Davis Square Memorial Day Parade was worth having a number of fake guns pointed at me just for this guy:

Now, I know that there is a shriner on the Segue, but I have to point out–this is an undecorated vehicle in a parade, the point of which is to celebrate the pageantry of life and its many splendid motor vehicles.

There should be some kind of ornament on that scooter. Which makes me realize that I’ve never seen a really decorated Segue. Is everybody just leasing these or something?

Also, I was impressed by these gentlemen. What you can’t tell is that some of them have added fake beards to their real beards, which just turns reality UPSIDE DOWN, man.

Not having a new thing to post out, but being so freaked out by the Gooby post that I no longer want it at the top of the front page, I’ve got something special for you, Dear Reader.

This is the hit song by Thor and the Tritonz, from one of the most metal of horror movies, Rock’nRoll Nightmare. A movie, which, despite being a horror movie, and involving demons — which are from Hell, I don’t know if you knew that — is nowhere near as scary as the trailer for Gooby.

Yes, one of the verses really is, “I set my goals and I pace myself”.

Which is something we should all do.

When we listen to the song.

Someone should give Marty Markowitz a wakeup call.

I write this, and then I put a return after it to give it emphasis, because apparently a cow can just escape — at will — and wander around Queens at any time.

And from where did this cow escape? Good question. It escaped from a slaughterhouse, which is where animals are taught to kill.

Queens. Just a heartbeat from Brooklyn, if you’re in Ridgewood, which I and all my neighbors are. That’s right. My neighbors and their children, who are also my neighbors.

Here is a link to the article on the internet. Frankly, and I’m being frank here, the flippant attitude of the writer irks me to no end:

http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/05/06/cow-escapes-from-queens-slaughterhouse/?hp

The current “check point” system does not work, as many Queens residents are easily able to pass for Brooklyn residents, and vice versa. Visas are not required, and drivers licenses can easily be altered with what are called “borough license stickers” to change boroughs depending on whatever is convenient. And cows can just saunter through because there’s no law. No law!

I’m not sure if you’re aware of just how much damage a cow can do. If one walks up and bites you, it’s over. That’s because they don’t just snap at you. A cow will sink its teeth into your flesh, close, and then perform what’s known as a “death roll”, basically using its body weight to tear you to pieces–and if that doesn’t work–crush you undercow.

This is why each year, thousands of high school students die cow-tipping, and farmers die by the age of twenty-nine.

And, as if this situation isn’t dire enough, smug diary farmers promote their products with hyper-realistic cow escape simulators — which they call videogames — to children.

I have been begging for someone in power to close the Brookln / Queens border for a decade now, and before then, as a condition of my moving to New York. My cries, letters, and helium balloons delicately inscribed with magic marker, have gone unreturned.

Close the Brooklyn / Queens border.

There’s too much at steak.

And how sunny a room would this have to be for an intelligent and dresponsible person to take on this situation?

To say nothing of “humble”?

A mustache from the Village People will now cost you fifty cents at the Bushwick local C-Town.

In this blogger’s opinion, they are easily worth twice that. Why stop at just one?

UPDATE 5/5/2009

Stop emailing me: I know it’s really 75 cents per moustache. Consider just how long it takes to grow one yourself–if you can–and then get back to me. With a moustache. Gratis.

I was just at SVA to see a friend’s senior show, and as I made my way through the dazed, slightly tipsy crowd, in the strangely just-a-little-too-warm building, one thought kept coming back to me:

Was there some way we could just take the SVA building, tilt it on its side, put a shuffleboard deck somewhere conspicuous, crack a bottle of Cliquot on the prow, push off from the Hudson, and sail somewhere not too . . . . hmm, what’s the word for “not too piratey”? Nonbuccaneerial? Something like that.

“But wait,” I thought, “Why would I want to do that when I could just put the whole show on a yacht?“

Cllockwise: Joan Miró, Dali, Jacques Duchamp, Max Ernst, Gala Éluard, Breton (center)

This is the vision of SeaFair, who describe themselves as  “America’s most versatile and cost-effective art fair venue”, as they offer “exhibitors exposure to smaller, affluent, less competitive markets along the Eastern seaboard of the United States”.

I’m a bit befuddled by their use of the phrase “less competitive.” But I guess it’s fair to say that the attendees can’t go across the street to another gallery. Or are they saying that people who go on cruises are undiscriminating “less competitive” types of people?

The novelty cruise is fast becoming a trademark of our era, and this one in particualr is really no stranger than going on a cruise with the editorial panel of The Nation, or going to see the Bad Brains except in this case, you are coming back to port with a big bundle of art under your arm.

Ideally, you would also be called upon to solve a mystery.

“So you see, Captain, the thief hid the dingy in this sculpture — inflated it during the opening speech — and then placed the paintings in this airtight container . . . “