Manhattan Offender

You say Tosca; I say Tosca

What? Tosca in Central Park tonight? Not SummerStage, but the Great Lawn?

Oh. That Tosca. Yes, the tradition of "Assembling in the Park to Drink in the Name of Culture" continues tonight.
For some reason, it's okay to drink in the park if there is an opera involved. I'm sure if I brought some champagne and set my iPod to the electronica Tosca at a time of my choosing, the police wouldn't turn the blind eye they'll be turning tonight. Don't get me wrong, I like opera. But I don't pretend to enjoy poor acoustics and sound just as an excuse to drink outside.

Offender is cranky today ...

Push it real good!

What a shot weekend: working Saturday, mother-in-law in town (can't be all like, "Hey, Mama Offender, I'm going to LCD Soundsystem. I should be in by 6 or so in the morning, cool?"), one of my least two favorite parades is going on (I stopped myself from bringing up my introduction to the Puerto Rican Pride parade, watching drunken forty-something women taking dumps in Central Park), couldn't even pull together a decent workout.

And just when my inspiration hits a low point, SHE happens.

So imaginate a little: It's 6 pm on a Sunday evening. You'd rather be at the Eagle, listening to your buddy Paul spin, eating grilled burgers and swilling dollar beers, but you ain't Blanche, you ain't. Then you see her, half a block away. Because of the distance you doubt yourself, stand at the corner and await her approach. Behind the pushcart you see white shoes, a red skirt, a vivid yellow and red blouse, a sheer red headscarf, big hair, full makeup with a full red lip, and, my favorite, white gloves all enveloping a teensy tiny mid-seventies woman. This is what an evening stroll with your pushcart is all about!

I fumble around my bag because I just need a picture of this. Then I remember, the camera's recharging. (Mr. Offender went on a bender. Made several movies of subjects telling him that they didn't want their picture taken.) Next up the camera-phone. Memory is full. Delete blurry shot of Casey Spooner. Ready.

But she's ahead of me now and this needs to be a frontal shot. She pulls into the grocery store. She removes the gloves and reviews the circular. I pause in produce and await my chance. She passes by when I'm distracted by something low-carb. She swings into an aisle; I race down parallel to head her off. After visually establishing the fact that I am 'using the phone' I get my shot and leave, of course not buying anything - it's summer; I don't eat solids in summer. (Granted the normal offender would have just stopped her in the street and asked her to take her picture, but I'm off my game, loves.)

The point of this being that if your weekend just isn't living up to it, put on your white gloves and roll your pushcart out into the world.

Freedom Models

I was leaving a party on lower Greenwich Street last night around midnight and was trying to find a spot to find a cab going 'in the right direction' so I walked by the future home of the Freedom Tower. A small-scale photo shoot was going on in front of the Ground Zero site: one camera man, a light person, a male model and a female model. Couldn't really tell what the shoot was about. The models were too pretty to be talented and the clothes didn't seem to be from the same designer. Maybe it was for a political ad or a 2012 brochure? (ooo ... scrap the tower, Freedom Stadium!)

Regardless, a passerby wearing a light blue polo was none too happy with the smiling models or the camera. "How dare you!" echoed through the WTC Canyon several times. The passerby decided that the male model was the person to blame (aren't they always) and started to push him. The male model went all Karate Kid on the guy, making lots of sharp punches. The camera man and light person interceded. The female model stared in disbelief (or perhaps miscomprehension). Eventually the photo shoot group ran off, leaving the pissy passerby ranting into the night.

As the pretty people were gone, my interest waned. So I left.

Puerto Rican Day Parade Preparation

So I'm getting a Red Bull (Sugar-Free) at a deli across from Madison Square Park. An older Korean woman runs out of the deli and gets in front of a Jeep Cherokee, parked, but with the motor running on 23rd Street. Suddenly the young woman behind the register is yelling in Korean. The older woman is banging the hood of the SUV. Two young men run up from the basement and join in the fray. The older woman goes to the driver side door and literally drags out a man in his mid-forties, wearing a tee shirt emblazoned with the flag of Puerto Rico. All three of them yell at the man and point at the park.

I ask the woman at the counter if she called the police. Her reply: "No. That junky lives in the park. He comes here all the time."

On Fire

Ah, Fire Island. No better way to throw yourself into the summer season.

A favorite story about Fire Island:
The first time I ever spent the night there, I was staying in Cherry Grove. We (Mr. Offender and me) decided to walk to the Pines. It was dark out, but we had our trusty keychain flashlight and we had been through the footpaths earlier. As we came closer to the entrance to (what we later learned was called) the Meatrack, we were encouraged to see all of the other fellows whom we assumed were also heading over to the Pines. Suddenly, as we were about 50 feet into the woods, something seemed off. Every time we followed someone in order to get to the Pines our leader kept stopping in little bushy alcoves. Finally we decided to try and make it on our own. We kept the flashlight low to the path and were making great progress, but suddenly we reached another stopping point. Feeling lost, I lifted up the flashlight to put my eyes on the largest man I've ever seen naked. Kind of like Santa Claus in all his jolly alltogether. Fabulous! We screamed like Mary, Kate and Ashole all the way out! Now granted, getting rimmed by a rabid deer isn't really something I want for myself, but a salute to those who get their forest freak on. If art is about putting yourself "out there", then this is art.

More stories from Fire Island past are coming. (Topics include Robyn Byrd's vagina, leaches, burlesque and fashion appropriation!) But after a great day I came home to look at my own art: randon patches of deep red and purple on white where the 50 SPF Baby Sunscreen had failed me.

Blogging is a muscle

Anxiety strikes as the Offender realizes that he hasn't posted in days. It's not like I'm so very busy, but the mundanities of daily life take up so much of my time. And I so have much to write.

Like how I hate it when blogs go meta and talk about themselves.

Bad Offender, now go to the kitchen and make me a liquid snack.

Other Music

Probably one of my favorite emails every week is from Other Music. Other Music is what a store should be. I can wax poetic about the place but it's best that you go there yourself. It's not overly large. The staff enjoys working there. There's always great things to discover there. But best of all, it's across the street from Tower Music and flourishes in that location.

Fischerspooner and the Landmark Lovely

So the last night of Fischerspooner's residency at Canal Room is tonight. Completely recommended as a person who's gone to see the latest incarnation of the show twice.

I like to think that Casey Spooner and I have a relationship, excepting the fact that we've never met. When they were first coming out I was 225 pounds and in a dead-end corporate-slave type job, pigeon-holed by a mentally unstable tyrant. Then one day I heard the lyrics from Emerge: "You don't need to/Emerge from nothing/You don't need to/Tear away." Right words at the right time. Lost 50 pounds, got out of the job and, well, emerged.

Now at last week's show, I kept bumping into this one girl, so I started to talk to her. Very cute, tall brunette, 20-something hanging with four of her friends who also seemed to be quite fun. Shared about 15 laughs with her when she pulled out this one: Have you heard of " Landmark ?" I made the common assumption that she was increasing the comedy level and replied, "What, the cult? Why are you a recruiter?" Not a second passed, "It's not a cult ..." This conversation ended as soon as I could. Turns out that glaze over her eyes wasn't alcohol, it was self-righteousness.

Flash-forward to the final song of an impressive set. The Landmark Lovely is smashed, topless, and making out with a friend on the stage. Shame on me for being so quick to judge. If this is what Landmark is all about, then sign this fag up, honey.

Just for shits and giggles I did look at the Landmark website. From their mission statement: "A fundamental principle of Landmark Education's work is that people ... have the possibility not only of success, but also of fulfillment and greatness." Kind of the message that I got from Emerge. I downloaded the song for free. Landmark charges.

Bio rehash

So, here I am, living in New York, just like I knew I would growing up as a kid in Indiana. Surely, I was the only kid in my high school with a subscription to Interview. I dreamed of wild debauchery, fun with Eurotrash, and a great life.

But this isn't the city I thought it would be. The red state tourists, the Carrie-Bradshaw wannabes and the silver spoon kids have created an environment that I didn't really expect.

I don't want this to be negative though; that's way too easy. This is a celebration of the underground, the decadent, and the free. I've created a circle around me of amazing people that should be running the world, not running from it. This is about us, and, hopefully, it's about you too.