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An Open Invitation for February 12, 2005

PLEASE DISTRIBUTE OR MODIFY IN WHATEVER MANNER YOU WISH

America, you're in a fine pickle. You adorn your tailgates with "Support Our Troops" magnets. But America, that also makes you mad. Do you know where you're coming from?

Christo will help you look at Central Park with The Gates. On his
website, he calls The Gates "a democratic expression that Olmsted invoked when he conceived a 'central' park."

Some of us are going to put "Support Our Troops" magnets on the steel bases of The Gates on the day they are unfurled, February 12. Some people might get a kick out of stealing a ribbon, while the old owners will be sad or mad. I will buy some cheap in Chinatown. The next day we will take them all down. Maybe some people will think about what they mean. In any case, it'll be fun. It will be American.

And perhaps you'll see something, America, that you hadn't paid much attention to before.

(Note - I'm happy to accept magnets afterwards so they don't end up being landfill)
--

It is with sorrow, with sadness and joy that we will remember our country, when we tell our children stories which start like all the fairy tales: there was once a country... (Kusturica, Underground, 1995)

The Gates/Support Our Troops!

There is little time for explanation.

On Saturday, February 12, you are invited to temporarily vandalize The Gates, by Christo and Jeanne Claude. The Gates do not make sense. But Christo and Jeanne Claude have $20 million that says it doesn't matter, including a $3 million donation to the city (more here). Besides, The Gates will be wonderful.

Our country is now full of magnetic ribbons, both yellow and with a flag motif, exhorting us to "Support our Troops." These ribbons do not make sense. They could be a genuine attempt to cope with grief or an attack on the depravity of the left.

On Saturday, February 12, you are invited to confuse vandalism and patriotism, grief and celebration. Get as many of those magnetic suckers as you can and slap them onto the steel bases of The Gates. The following day, please help me clean up afterwards - collecting the ribbons and Leaving no Trace. And celebrate! I'll certainly organize something in Harlem, where this idea was born.

No one will know why they were put up. Some people will think they are an official gesture of solidarity. Others will see biting sarcasm. There will be suprise when they are promptly taken down.

Remember, it's not our job to make sense. But please, pay attention to what you are doing.

My Neighborhood

A man hails me on the street. I say hello.

He says, "What're you doing up here."

"I live just down the street."

"You should be down in the East Village. Ain't nobody up here but niggers, crackheads and prostitutes."

"I like it here," say I, "You know Clinton's up here too."

"Yeah. Nothing we can do about that."

The woman in Harlem Vintage is trying to help us find a good house red for The Home. She takes us all over the store and tells us stories about each bottle. It smells nice there. The wine we selected is not It.

The $6 white we found behind the bullet-proof plexiglass in the store next to the laundromat is quite nice. Not much body, but a great floral finish.

Another day, a man recognizes me in the post office. "You're the 3rd violinist for the Metropolitan Orchestra."

Well, no I'm not.

"You two look like brothers or something."

No, Tom and I are not brothers. We don't even look that much alike. Lots of people have goatees.

"Do you live around here?"

Yes, on 112th Street.

"That's nice, you can see the park from there."

Tom is on to him, however, "Yes, it is nice."

We can't actually see the park. But you've got to keep your wits about you. I mean, this is Manhattanville.

Followed by a Year of Order

Some will claim that it was not a Year of Chaos that preceeded it. Some because they feel my life remained all in all pretty tame. Others because they feel that I should not call August 2003 - October 2004 a "year."

Be that as it may, I'm now on a lease keeping me in Manhattan until exactly one year hence. Which, I feel, is cause for celebration. So do please come:

11 December 2004

A Housewarming Party

1845 Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. Blvd.
Apt 5C
New York, NY 10026

(NE corner of the intersection with W. 112th St.)

Do try to RSVP, but if you can't, you are probably Really Cool and we want you there anyway.

(new) phone:
main - 212.202.6707
AT&T/Cingular - 917.544.8408

email:
housewarming@ecult.org

Guests may arrive at 8pm. Please adjust according to your level of Coolness.

If you are not able to attend that night, you are welcome to come calling at another time.

We have more space than we know what to do with. We will be working mightily to fill our 11 fathoms of bare hallway, plus the walls of our various rooms with works of art. If you have something you'd like to display and possibly sell, we likely have the wallspace for it. We will be having dinners, readings, movement both for health and for expression, and general foolishness. We are building next generation computer networks for all your social and business needs. We have lots and lots of woodworking tools. Do your friends a favor - tell them about us (though it would be nice if the party was, you know, people that knew one of us to some extent).

If you must bring something, we would appreciate gifts of booze, treats or bright, energetic children for our new apprenticeship program.

And DJs. Totally bring DJs.

A Place to Live (That Goes to 11)

[UPDATE - Tom just measured the hallway. It is 11 fathoms long. (How long?)]

So here I am, sitting in apartment 5C of 1845 Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. Blvd. It is unique in many ways. It is, for one, the largest apartment I have ever seen in Manhattan. But as far as uniqueness goes, it pales in comparison to the radical faerie houses, anarcho-syndicalist squat spaces, indian reservations clearly marked "off-limits."

But I didn't just fall into apartment 5C at 1845 Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. Blvd. while having some random adventure. I decided to live here. I have already bought a bottle of scotch whiskey. I will furnish my room. I will have friends over for tea. I will pay rent.

All of this makes my mother very happy.

It was not easily won. Our bizarre finances caused no end of waffling from the management company. When they finally decided to proceed with us, they made insane demands about how fast we needed to deliver large sums of money to them. I spent countless hours on the phone with the real estate agent.

This threw my current situation in stark relief with the rest of my life of late. Even when I was applying for the job with Google - which I was really excited about - I didn't really work for it. But this apartment thing - I was like some kind of rabid pit bull. It was THE place. All the hangups and difficulties only served to highlight how truly committed I was to making a new life here in New York. And making it in THIS apartment.

I already have a regular Bones for Life gig planned for our rediculously huge living room, which we plan to use for movement practice (you know, like stage combat and belly dancing). Adam, my new roomate, already has some people coming over to practice for a production of Romeo and Juliet. And at last Sunday's Meeting, I found some Quakers who are interested in an overtone singing class.

Our apartment also now has the distinction of being the largest apartment anyone has in the Carmine Street Irregulars juggling club. Lots of people from the US and Europe come to visit the club. So, these rooms will see many strange objects balanced in odd new ways on interesting parts of the human body, guaranteed.

All kinds of cool stuff happened before when I wasn't even trying. So, All of this is a way of saying you should come visit. 'Cause it'll be even cooler.

Oh yeah - and we need another roomate. So let me know if you have one for me.

Letter to a Rock Star

That night I found myself in the bed of another woman, and she is happy to have me back when I need a place to stay. My life continues to mirror yours. But the world is a good friend to me. She was nurturing and kind, not demanding and expectant. I needed this. Even in my world, I felt fragile. The demands placed upon your strength... they are certainly beyond my power.

The next morning another woman joined us in the bed, but I was more interested in the sound of my own voice - like Johnny Cash. I had been coughing all night after yelling to be heard over the bands at the club. I wonder if you heard what I was saying?

I could not be sad that morning and likely not any day soon. The move to New York is so full of promise. It is a city that could only have been designed by Walt Disney. Full of details hidden to delight the observant, characters extending warm welcomes.

And I will always have my love for you. I continue to marvel at love. I demand nothing in return, but receive far more than I ever give. I am pursuing my dreams.

We may have lost a wonderful opportunity. But that was in the future, and my future is always bright. I will look for you there, and welcome you among my closest friends.