Slusarz!

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:

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.

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