After a couple of glorious spring teases this weekend, Brooklyn’s back to its typical “wintry mix” of snow, rain, wind and cold. There should be a simpler meteorological term for this kind of day: Shitty. Perfect for a long, gloomy record from the late 80′s as I spin Disintegration on repeat all day long. At least my wall’s not leaking any more.
Well, I’ve been talking about it for almost 10 years, but it seems I’ve finally got my ass in gear.
And thus begins the early campaign for a decade’s worth of from-the-hip, below the waist photo treats going public in print and digital this spring. And by public I mean anyone who stumbles across maunet or happens to be friend or family enough for the book to bear out as gift or purchase. And by spring I mean probably early summer. You see, with the help of the good folks at blurb.com, this is a self-published affair. Voyeuristic, narcissistic – what’s the difference…
“Walk On The Wild Side” | Lou Reed
From the introduction:
The idea for this book began taking shape in October 1999 upon moving to New York City,
a town renowned equally for it’s eclectic style and harshness of character.
A place where, generally, we don’t make eye contact.
Sitting in a subway car, we follow protocol. Hunched against the winter wind,
our gaze drops to the ground beneath our feet. Our field of vision is self-limited
to that narrow frame between the pockmarked sidewalk and the waistlines of
our fellow New Yorkers. Through this lens we gather our first concrete observations,
draw initial conclusions about the kind of person passing by us might be.
Where they dine. Where they dance. Where they work and play.
Ok, so it needs some work. That’s what I’m doing. I’ve made enough contact prints to paper the wall of my apartment. Becca Black and Brady Spud have graciously helped me edit down from 500 shots to a mere 50 spreads celebrating the fashion foot. Building the layout’s a bitch. Sequencing it ain’t nothin’ like making a mix tape. Ok, something like it, but, um, harder. And there’s this whole InDesign thing, which quite unlike Photoshop, makes me feel small and stupid.
this is So exciting! i can’t wait until i can get one for myself and some for gifts. it’s an excellent idea and the photos i’ve seen so far are stunning. will you intersperse the photo w/ stories, or leave it at a gorgeous visual book? also, will we be able to buy signed prints by you?
Thanks M – save for three chapter names, there will be no other text, save a douchy intro and some technical notes + thank yous. I’ll be selling the book online cost TBD. Prints will be sold as large as 13″x19″ archival quality color or black and white, cost TBD. Thanks for the support! Stay tuned, hope all is well! Let me knwo when you’re in NYC again, I keep missing you!
It’s 11:30PM and I’ve been dicking off upstairs all night, sipping whiskey, making prints and listening to fresh 180 gram vinyl. It’s an hours-long downpour outside, winds wipping grape-size raindrops hard against the window panes.
I head finally downstairs, presumably to bed, where I’ll pick back up on the early pages of The Brothers Karamazov, a daunting read I feel compelled to attempt for hope of some rich reward. I put out lights one by one before noticing a triad trickle of water snaking its way down the long loft wall. A lateral beam has cracked the drywall, an ironic misnomer as streaks of water inch steadily towards the floor. Seems the Brothers will have to wait.
Wiping the wall with a towel, I ponder how to patch the levee, lest it break. Duct tape. Duct tape fixes anything. But not even several layers of rugged silver adhesive stems the trickling tide. I haul out the iron WWII munitions case that houses sundry household hardware: wood saw and ratchet set; filament, twine, pliers and wire; hammers; wrenches; nails, fasteners, screws and bolts of infinite variety. Alas, no spackle, no blade. Where the hell is that? Ah, but here we go: caulk and caulking gun. Manly.
After a puzzled minute or two I manage to load the phallic plastic tube into its steel housing. Locked and loaded, I feel competent and self assured. Who needs a landlord when you’re so well equipped? I snip the tip and squeeze, expecting the orderly clean line of sealant to conform neatly to the long cracked line of wet flaking paint and drywall. Nothing. Squeeze as I might, I cannot coax a drop. Snip and squeeze again. Nothing. Seems the unused tube has lain fallow too long in that old munitions box, dried up solid as granite. Tindersticks sings “Whiskey & Water” as I defeatedly return the tools to their heavy metal home, resolved to the forces of nature, watching helplessly as the injured wall cracks, streaks and peels into the night.
On the most temperate day we’ve had months, all manner of species where drawn out by a cruel tease of Spring. One result is these stunning photographs by buddy Ben Curtis, taken on a balmy 67º Brooklyn winter day. That ain’t gonna last for long…
But look at ‘em. It proves again iPhone + on-board processing apps is the Polaroid
of our generation.
“Wishing: (If I Had a Photograph Of You)” | Flock of Seagulls
And speaking of how kick ass the iPhone is (not), it can’t listen to any of the audio on this site. Lame.
Couldn’t sleep tonight, couldn’t read or watch TV. “Tired and wired” indeed.
Poured a bourbon, sparked a smoke, spun some Leonard Cohen.
L. Cohen | The Future
Wandered by the bathroom, scrounging for benzos. Better living through chemistry.
The cabinet of meds needed sprucing up. Pervy and addled I got carried away. Results:
Looks like Wednesday’s Half-Foot winter guest found its soul mate in the form of another Dashing 7″ last night. Get your minds out of the gutter. Pure and sparkling couple, they are.
The morning sun broke through early to warm the cold white pelt of our streets and rooftops, making them sparkle and shine like, like what… diamonds? Silver Dollars? A gansta’s teeth? I dunno—help me out here and pick a good original metaphor. Tap-dancing could be heard as melting ice pock-marked our cold winter blanket.
Next on tap: Thigh-deep carbon-grey slush on every corner. Better get your boots on…
Third time since Christmas Brooklyn’s gettin’ slammed with snow. Actually got my ass out of bed before 8 A.M. to feel the thick, bushy flakes on my face.
actually, we plan to sometime in the next few months after the dad’s in the band get some time and i come out of my hibernation… will let you know, would llike to do cakeshop next time around, maybe with Frozen Falls…
iPhone 4G + CameraBag
iPhone 4G + CameraBag
Wednesday 03.23.2011 | 4:48 EDT
spud says:
great shot – you bastard