Granted the good ones can't be shown. (Like the one of the naked friend eating mayo out of the jar in front of the house.) And the best ones were never taken. (Like all of us deciding that the weather was too nice for clothes and taking a nude stroll on the boardwalk at three in the morning.)
It's going to be a good summer.
Weehawken Street in the West Village is the shortest street in Manhattan, but it is still long on history. And it has some issues. Or at least one issue. As the signs, spread ten yards apart explain.
P.S. The signs also make great desktop wallpapers.
~Christopher Street
Just stumbled upon a protest against the mall-ification of Coney Island. Literally. Who knew protesters were so hot?
To take good photos at an event, your pictures should tell a story. In this case perhaps the story would be as such:
Yeah, well, this place is called The Box and it's decorated and it's where Lindsay Lohan and Jude Law were 'hanging out' recently according to someone overheard. And so we're all there to drink Christina Vodka cocktails and to view Schwarzwald, the Black Party movie, and, oh, wait, there's its star, Buck Angel and now Buck's on stage and now the movie's rolling. And it's going okay, but I'm more interested to see the reaction in that banquet with Tinsley Mortimer (maybe) sitting in it and her reaction to the dildo insertion scene on the screen which totally gives me the excuse to avert my eyes from it as well. Well, now it's over and we'll all have champagne and toast Buck and director Richard Kimmel.
.......................................................................................... But the real story would be: I have a camera; don't confuse that with photographic competence. And no, that table is not on fire, but isn't that an interesting setting? And yeah, there were some pictures of me, but I shaved off all my facial hair and am not feeling the look, so, like, no posting of those.
Get MO: Last year's Buck Angel Interview, Why I don't have a show on the Food Network.
~ Matrix Global Academy, Hudson, between Leroy and Morton
Buy a hair dryer.
Use it before getting on the subway.
And even if your hair is dry, do not lean against me.
Thank you, you wet-haired, hair-whipping, sow.
Walking out of Madison Square Park, something doesn't look quite right.
Something about the desolate and the decrepit will always attract me. In a group of ten friends one night, everyone passed this empty storefront on Avenue A. I stopped letting my friends get a block ahead of me. Is there something special about this particular space? The common answer is "probably not", but stripped bare of it's deli/gift store/nail salon it possessed intrique.
