Wednesday, July 01, 2009







On the way back to work from lunch the other day, I passed an old box-type delivery truck parked on my block. An old Asian guy was sitting in the front seat, reading what looked to be a Chinese porn magazine. (The characters on the cover looked Chinese--meaning they all looked liked pointy houses, as opposed to Korean which looks like pointy houses that have been invaded by and an army of oval soldiers, and as opposed to Japanese which looks like pointy houses with little double darts nestled up next to the houses. And this ends Vaguely Racist Asian Languages Categorization Class 101.) Anyway, the old guy had the centerfold unfurled and was beaming with pleasure. (Both hands were visibly holding the mag so I'm pretty sure it was a pleasure of the eyeballs for him.)

I've slipped. A lot has gone on in the last week--drinks at Beauty Bar (now with extra tattooed hipness!) followed by dinner at Momofuku with Allison and Dougasaurus, a bad yoga class with a bad sub for an absent Dreamy Megan--but I've been too lazy to write about it. It bothers me when I let time slip off unmentioned that way. Anyway.

Friday: attempted to go to Gladstone for the second time to see the Basil Wolverton exhibition. And the gallery was closed as it was the first time I went. Fucking Gladstone. So I substituted a walk along the newly opened Highline Park. Nice park. Lovely park. Great views of Jersey (seriously!) and hemmed in by a dozen new semi-interesting buildings, including that silver-white Gehry building. Lots of benches, lots of wildflowers--smelled like high yellow summer. Too many people, however, and it was overall a little sterile. Came home, read watched Meatballs (it doesn't hold up) and made cecina tacos.

Saturday: Patricia came over and we walked down to Socrates Sculpture Park for a sit in the sun. It was a non-stop dog party down there. Then over to Teddy's for a screening of Fitzcarraldo in his backyard . . . after a round of cheeseburgers, beers, margaritas, baked beans, German potato salad and peach cobbler. I've seen Fitzcarraldo before but--between this viewing and the first--I'd seen My Best Fiend, the Herzog film that examines the relationship between Herzog and Kinski. As the result, the weirdo intensity seemed much richer and more familiar to me but I found myself surprised and--okay, fine--a little moved by some of the tenderer moments he

Sunday: Rode my bike into the city to meet Juile at the Met for a second squint at the Francis Bacon retrospective and see if I couldn't get a look at the paintings and the newly opened American wing. (I couldn't see the paintings and won't be able to see it until 2010.) We had a few beers on the roof and under the spangly shadows of Roxy Paine's tree-esque sculpture. I then rode back into Queens and dropped in at the studio for a bit.

Monday: slept in and made my way over to the Sheep Meadow in Central Park. Laid out (yes, laid out) for about two hours. Finished (for the most part) one small drawing, made my way through Sam Prekop's Who's Your New Professor (read this say-nothing review to get no idea what the album's like), and had a small nap. (Oh, and I managed to get a mild sunburn, too.) Took a walk through the Mall and around that scummy green pond at the southeastern corner of the park. Saw some mallards and Canadian geese, saw some turtles and heard (but didn't see) a red-winged blackbird. Back into Queens on the W to 30th Ave. Got a head of red lettuce and a few tilapia fillets for dinner. I ate and hunkered down for the lousy return to work.

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