This Content From 2003 (or earlier) see index
Jeremy informed me of the real circumstances of this photo: "I was, in fact, NOT drunk in that self-portrait, but had just
woken up and had yet to preen myself into the dashing image of male-
ness that you all are so familiar with and envious of." Ten-Four, buddy.
This is my friend Jeremy Slusarz. He lives near me in Greenpoint. We drink at the local bar together and generally clown around. He's got a real cheap polaroid iZone digital camera (and the poster of Britney Spears that promotes it) and took those shots of me and my facial hair. He's also got a real camera and takes some real perty pictures. Maybe I'll scan them sometime.
Jeremy's a good guy. He works at a bookstore and has realistic political beliefs. He's very into his Polish heritage, always trying to get me to read eastern european literature or eat kielbasa. He watches the food channel alot and likes to have people over for dinner. He once made an amazing mac and cheese all with bleu cheese. It was tangy and refreshing and went errily well with pabst.
Jeremy is a pioneer of "outsider art". Here's something he made at a pizza joint near his work on the Upper East Side.
One of my favorite things about Jeremy is that he's got working class pride. Growing up in Boston apparently you have to. Despite the fact that he's from a bourgeois household, he's spend a lot of time with real people and isn't obsessed with money. So me and him like to rag on all the phoneys that populate our neck of the woods. In particular, he's made some funny comics satararizing Williamsburg, the trendy pomo faux boho hipsterville neighborhood just south of us. Read them here.
Jeremy has his own list of anti-hipster tactics:
- Point at people. Hipsters never point, they cock heads, gesture,
imply. Fuck that. POINT at 'em. At their friends. Throw in
a "hey...hey...HEY! STOP THAT!" If desired effect is not acheived
dish out a good ol' fashioned "HAHA! Look at THIS fuckin' GUY!" It'll
get 'em WIRED.
- Openly discuss the influences of THEIR influences, like the Mekons
or something, and watch the thin veil of confusion fall across their
faces as they realize that they don't know WHO and/or WHAT you are
talking about, exposing their phony-ness to the general populace and
gently easing them down into the mire of cultural mediocrity.
- Make eye contact. MAINTAIN eye contact. They'll never do that one
either. They are not merely a part of, but represent the very ESSENCE
of the chihuahua-like skitishness of the prototypical New Yorker. Play
on that one. When they are at their MOST vulnerable, smile brightly
and say "HEY! How ARE ya? Howdy-do!" - good ol Woddie Guthrie.
[outlandish] | [people]
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Big Wheels in Berkeley
I scored a set of west-coast wheels today at the Ashby BART station flea market. It's a very tall schwinn road bike, black, deceptively heavy but smooth-riding. Thirty-five dollars to boot. I oiled and cleaned the works, dialed in the bakes and took it out for a shake-down cruise immediately. Nice riding on a beautiful saturday, realizing how out of shape I am as I wheezed my way though the hilly area behind the Berkeley campus.
After about an hour I started to get the swing of it. Made some minor mechanical adjustments (including a free wheel truing at the bike collective on Shattuck), drank a few liters of water and started finding my groove, cruising up and around and ending up with a beautiful view of the whole bay. The roads here are not kind to the speed inclined -- too many stop signs and crosswalks and lights -- but it was good to get out and proj for a while. This changes my summer dramatically.
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