11.26.2008


Dear Blog,

I mean, Dear John,

I think you're the only person left who still reads my blog on account of me being an unreliable, fair-weather blogger. In real life I purposely failed to recount the following story in your presence, knowing that it would soon be at your electronic disposal, internet access and necessary hardware permitting. Why divulge a perfectly weird story on a regular day, when it could instead be unleashed during a moment of debilitating procrastination?

I admit it, John, I waited for your finals to begin. A crap tale for you in your time of woe in exchange for that disgusting gin & tonic. And dude, every word is true.

It was Halloween and I was riding my bike home from work, as I always do, underneath the Manhattan Bridge through a field of pot holes and a never-ending construction site. It was gray and cold, and the sun was setting. A vomitous green mist settled over the empty street. I could hear cars idling on the BQE and the wind whooshing past my freezing ears (unless I turned my head sideways) as I absorbed bumps in the road and negotiated scattered gravel ponds.

In addition to me, the only person or thing present underneath the bridge seemed to be a sweatshirt and sweatpants wearing middle-aged woman hauling a bloated wheelie suitcase. She shouted 'Sweetie! It's time! Come on out!' From a large pothole to my immediate right, a tiny, wide-eyed boy of about six years of age emerged. He was wearing a brown corduroy suit and an argyle vest, and his hair and skin were stark white. If not for his reflectivity he would have been translucent. For the sake of making the story easier to digest, I would like to say that the boy crawled out of the hole. I would like to say that upon closer inspection, the hole was very shallow, and that the boy was probably lying down in it. I should say he came from somewhere. Unfortunately, he didn't. Instead, he rose out of the deep dark hole without stepping, moving his arms, or even looking around. This caused me to gasp and rely on my reflexes to steady my bike as I rode past gawking. Like monster tentacles whipping out from beneath a childhood bed, this boy evoked paralyzing fear in me that some adults can't feel or remember. Surrounded by so many New Yorker's daily commute, the impossible boy showed how the backdrop of everyday life can bring the extraordinary into stark relief... even on Halloween, or perhaps especially on Halloween?

Expressionless and nonchalant, the tiny boy trudged up the hill as the woman in sweatpants wrestled with her suitcase.

Posted by Posted by nambot at 9:00 PM
Categories:

1 comments  

10.08.2008


Dear Blog,

Today was my first day back to work after being holed up with the flu for an entire week. Being sick and awake sucks, but dreaming when you're sick is awesome. There's really no reason to be awake unless you're eating. Here's one of the dreams I had:

There was a huge hike going on in my hometown alongside the south fork of the Yuba River. If you've never been to the Yuba, google it. Even uncoordinated people who confront moving bodies of water with extreme awkwardness or hate the outdoors completely will make an exception for this river. It sits at the bottom of a steep canyon lined with huge pine trees. Rocks jut out everywhere and the rapids kill thrill-seeking tourists a lot, but most people go to the river to lay around. The water is clean and clear, warm in the summer, deep in some places, and it runs over gigantic granite boulders. There are tall slate cliffs wherever the surrounding mountains are steep, and the rocks and the canyon shrink as the river heads toward the Sacramento Valley. All in all, it's a good place to spend every waking hour of your life when you don't absolutely have to be somewhere else.

Annnyway... in the dream, I was wading in the river during this hike. All kinds of people, kids, old folks, suburbanites, etc., were hopping over rocks on their way downstream. Everybody was wearing visors, aqua socks, and numbers like marathon runners. They were sponsored by their friends and neighbors, and were raising money for the Sierra Club or something. The finish line was at Bridgeport, and there was a terrible BBQ and ridiculous prizes awaiting the hikers. Standing waist deep in the water, I was totally annoyed with these interlopers. In my dream I was a "riverist," and it was my job to keep all of the rocks in the river organized. This seems pretty impractical, but most days I looked out for precariously balanced rocks and settled them into stationary positions. Imbalance and disorganization might be the result of interlopers, but was usually caused by strong storms that raised the water level and pushed the rocks around. I'd figure out which large rocks had shifted with the crazy currents, and try to resettle them in safe places where they wouldn't tip over and smash people. I was out on the day of the hike because the traffic was causing debris and rocks to fall into the river, and I was there to keep an eye on things. I kept yelling at people, telling them to take it easy and be a little lighter on their feet. I enjoyed giving everyone a hard time.

The End.

Posted by Posted by nambot at 8:20 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

9.11.2008


Dear Blog,

1. While I was riding my bike home from work on Bowery tonight, I accidentally pulled up beside this little chinatown bus full of passengers. Out of nowhere a man stepped out from between parked cars and stood right in front of me with one arm in the air. Simultaneously, the bus driver slowed the bus down, reached across the passenger seat, and stretched his arm through the open window. The two men appeared to be hi-fiving at a very inopportune moment for me. Instead of slapping hands, the bus driver passed something down to the man on the street that was about the size of my shoe and turned out to be... a wad of cash big enough to buy two pet dolphins, and a 4Runner.

2. Instead of riding directly home, I took a little jaunt through Prospect Park where I saw a woman walking a dog that was wearing what appeared to be a fiber optic light-up collar. Awesome! The sun had just set, so the dog was totally tricked out and very visible compared to other dogs. The dog's owner set it loose in the long valley at the north end of the park. As soon as it was off-leash, the dog bolted out into the night, racing through the trees like a little sparkly torpedo. It was the raddest.

3. A little Bonnie Tyler for you, oh blog reader, because your happiness is important to me. Also, if you have free moment, watch from 1:20 to 1:35 a few times in a row. That part where Bonnie disappears for a second is almost unbearable! OMG I cannot stop watching it:

Posted by Posted by nambot at 9:12 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

9.07.2008


Today I was so homesick for California that I used google street view to navigate from my parents house to my high school.

Posted by Posted by nambot at 5:25 PM
Categories:

1 comments  

8.10.2008


Hipsters take heed! Peek out from beneath your greasy side-part for a few seconds to observe the mini-movement before you that’s fraught with drinking and kicking things. Still not big enough to be called a scene, country music is coming from bars, little venues, and country fucks who found their way out of the proverbial sticks. (As a side note, this ramble is courtesy of Animal Collective, the not-country band who have an album named Country Fuck, and the The Felice Brothers, both of whom appeared at the All Points West music festival yesterday)

Remember, perhaps, where you came from, and I don’t mean Oberlin or Purchase. Think back a little farther, if you can bear it, to the time before college when you were trapped in your parent’s house in ruralville. Remember how you worked day and night at the only movie theater or record store in town so that you could afford the gas that kept you mobile and away from the clutches of your nuclear family? You fled to the library, the outdoors, some backwoods rave, and into the arms of some atheist, some queer, and the most blue-blooded classmates you could find. On the weekends, you and your friends drove two hours to get to a red state punk rock dungeon in Omaha, Asheville, Kansas City, Gainesville, Columbus, Denver, Austin, Missoula, or even Portland(s), Sacramento, or (god forbid) Salt Lake City. Is it any wonder that you’re playing in a noise band and hiding behind your hair in Brooklyn? Yet you somehow eventually discovered singers your rural yuppie parents might have avoided like Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton. Too often associated with the Right, so much country music was made for folks who never trusted the establishment and didn't like getting dressed up (leather notwithstanding).

I’d like to suggest that this inclination to shit-kick isn’t incidental, and that country fucks should mobilize, recognize their escape from conservatism and talk about their complicated roots. Juggling the politics of radio play and popular music, the country stars that make music that’s still danceable are heroic to me. In his own way Johnny Cash somehow managed to criticize the prison industrial complex before Angela Davis. Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton spent (and continue to spend) much of their careers speaking directly to women in their kitchens about the male dominance that put them there, giving them a few tools to get out.

I’d also like to encourage everybody who relates to a rural-escapee mentality but feels suburban to look over your family history. How many church-going relatives do you have? Did your parents fail to mention that your great-grandparents were from Louisiana? Are they still in contact with those second cousins in Georgia, or have they “lost touch” since mom n’ dad planted themselves firmly in the middle class? You can get the fuck out of the country, but you can’t get the country…

Posted by Posted by nambot at 7:21 PM
Categories:

1 comments  

7.31.2008


Posted by Posted by nambot at 8:15 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

7.19.2008


1. Boomer Vamps:
Baby Boomers - they expect to live forever and they're going to leech off of us the whole time. Mom, if you're reading this, don't worry. We'll find you a nice dungeon in the suburbs that's ready with all manner of appliances and a nice coffin with lumbar support for you to sleep in. You're gonna love it. I promise.

2. T.S. Eliot:
"Do I dare to eat a peach?"... ??!!! I mean, I know what you're saying, T.S., but if you'd eaten a peach recently you'd forget all about whatever shameful inhibitions, decisions and revisions creep up beneath your bald spot. Peaches are GOoooD.

3. Summertime Dishes:
I don't want to hear anybody complain about doing the dishes in the Summer. Like eating a peach, cold water is GOoood. If you don't believe me, stick your hands or your elbows or one whole arm under a faucet, wonder where that water comes from and think of how spoiled you are.

Posted by Posted by nambot at 1:22 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

7.03.2008


The corner store
has one dimension more
than ours:
a portal to
anyone temporarily.

A high school boy asks:
"Hey Miss, do you smoke Marijuana?"
I reply
"No, but thank you..."
As I approach my stoop
he's looking still.
I raise my fingers to my lips
and take a huge pretend hit.
He motions,
"Call me".

Posted by Posted by nambot at 10:48 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

6.24.2008


Dear Blog,

I haven't been posting lately because I've had technical difficulties (verizon discontinued DSL in my neighborhood), I graduated from school, and have been working at a really hard job. Please pardon my guilt and excuses and have a look at the ponystation site if you get a chance, since I've posted some drawings there.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 8:49 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

5.19.2008


Dear Blog,

I am drinking Mountain Dew and eating suflower seeds in a minivan driving through the great state of Virginia. My immediate family began the day at Cracker Barrel in Staunton where I purchased two pot-holder kits and consumed several eggs, several biscuits, and several grits. We are recovering from Nascar.

The race took place two days ago, an was everything I expected and more. First, Nascar races are all BYOB events. When my mom and I stepped from our car into the mile-long Loew's Motor Speedway parking lot just outside of Charlotte, we were greeted by already drunk men, women, and children strapped with dripping ice chests, bags, and bakcpacks full of Miller, Budweiser, and Bud. The sun was inescapable, and soon my Yankee family and I were sporting burned red necks as we blended with our fellow fans.

I bought a youth size small Carl Edwards shirt as soon as we walked into the stadium. My brother donned an Earhardt Sr. cap, Laura and my mom wore Jeff Gordon hats, our friend Russ wore a Juan Pablo Montoya hat, and his wife Marisa was decked out in "Jr. Nation" gear. We ate hot dogs while beefcakes accused Russ of sympathizing with immigrants and asked if he needed to go for a "Number Juan" or a longer "Juan Pablo." A girl sitting in front of us in the stands spent about two hours ignoring her screaming younger siblings and drawing very excellent cartoon foxes on wide-ruled paper. Each fox was tricked out with a different set of accessories, and she made a little catalog record for every fox she drew and its corresponding halos, ribbons, and wings.

To our dismay, there were no crashes during the race.

Night fell.

When the race was over, everyone filed out of the bleachers avoiding bickering couples and shouting shirtless dudes. Sweaty meatheads were hanging all over each other, and I couldn't help but think how just one night in the West Village might show them that miracles happen every day, and can keep happening over and over if you let them. Outside of the racetrack, kids handed out free rolled up posters and we all started beating the crap out of each other. Cops in black lawn chairs surveyed the scene. Energy drinks were distributed from truck trailers by girls with highlights wishing everyone a blessed evening. A tall skinny bald man whacked me in the hind quarter with a poster causing me to yell "Good aim, asshole!" A weaving man was ushered away from the street by a heafty police officer. Cars were stuck at a standstill for miles in every direction and fans pulled down their tailgates, lit fires, cursed, and hit on my mom. Mom held her own, quietly out-drinking every annoyed wife and out-charming every randy husband. My brother and I hopped high weeds and peed in a field. I curled up in a blanket in the back seat of the minivan and fell asleep while my family and friends tailgated, drank beer and cracked jokes.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 3:19 PM
Categories:

1 comments  

5.09.2008


Cheap, Not Free

Dear Blog,

In the last year, it has become apparent that our country, which was at one time purportedly "free," is free no longer and has been sliding toward the bed-pooping moment in which we now find ourselves for the last forty years or so. By bed-pooping I mean economic instability (thanks Nixon for taking us off the gold standard!), corporate takeover (thanks Reagan for privatizing everything, imprisoning everyone, and letting drug violence and AIDS kill your least-favorites!), election-heisting dictatorship, and a not-too savvy elimination of civil liberties. Our government has always been a business, but this never bothered most americans until recently, when we collectively realized that our dollars weren't worth two bits, and our financial system looked about as patched together as the Joad family truckster. Did the smartest guys in the room just pay themselves to go to war with our worthless (tax) dollars? Crap!

Q: Hey, where'd our $520,000,000,000 go? Do you guys still have that, because none of the kids on my block know how to read or write and their school looks like a prison.

Meanwhile, there are so many European tourists in New York City this spring, I'm beginning to gravitate toward asymmetrical hair. Perhaps some of our friends from across the pond will buy our whole city, enslave us with a little more tact, and teach our kids how to pass the ball when they play soccer. The world's greatest city is now available at rock-bottom prices, and though we're certainly not free, we are cRaZY cheap.

If I could make one request of the whoremongers who purchase our dysfunctional country, it is that you folks always remember the funny movies and TV shows we exported to you for so long. Not only are you getting a sweet deal on our infrastructure and our people – labor... I mean labor – you're also buying the world's most talented all-singing, all-dancing citizenry, and we are eager to please. Remember that time we depicted people from your country in our films and they were villains with bad accents? Remember when americans seemed rebellious and cool because we were rich from pillaging "our" land and imperializing? Maybe you'll still think we're cool five years from now when our country reverts to the Wild West.

Ah, I can't wait.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 3:57 PM
Categories:

1 comments  

4.29.2008


Dear Blog,

Forgot to tell you the other day that I discovered a tiny chunk was missing from my cat. The dime-sized divot was just above his shoulder blade, and was a little bit crusty. In an uncharacteristic move, I momentarily feigned adulthood and applied a topical antibiotic ointment to my cat's wound. I am now metaphorically over thirty.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 11:27 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

4.24.2008


Dear Blog,

This morning while I was walking in the park during free-dog off-leash crazy-dog time, I was bombarded by miscreant dogs. Several pugs roved in packs like schools of fish, warding off me, other humans, and other dogs. An ancient golden retriever rolled in the grass, slapped its gangly limbs to and fro, and emitted a growling sound with cavernous reverb. A dobermann pinscher conquered a pomeranian next to the BBQ pits and gloated by performing an unsettling 3-legged prancing manuever. At one point I was approached by an enormous non-descript brown dog with a cranium the size of an ice chest who dropped a slobbery ball before me. Never one to disappoint dogs, I attempted cooperation, at which point I was issued a premeditated blow in the form of a "canine" tooth to the knuckle of my right forefinger. Dehabilitated, i thrust the dog's slobbery ball into the air with gorilla force and scuttled away to console myself.

Bad dogs.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 8:23 AM
Categories:

0 comments  

4.11.2008


See ponystation.blogspot.com (there's a little link above) for posts in April and May of 2008!

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 8:52 AM
Categories:

0 comments  

3.31.2008


Dear Blog,

Last week, Laura and her husband (and my brother) Greg came over to my place for Easter festivites: He Is Risen, Bitches. We boiled 36 eggs, discussed future artistic ventures excitedly, and readied the archaic PAAS dying kit brought by Greg and Laura. If you haven't seen one of these in a while, they haven't changed since the 1950s, and still contain arbitrary supplies in addition to color tablets, including a sheet-full of trashy cute animal stickers, a cross or two, a few esoteric egg shrink-wrappers, and the memorable bronze octagonal dipping-majig. I drained the flaming hot, finger-scorching, crayon-melting eggs as a reverential silence decended upon the kitchen. We took to the eggs with steady focus. At some point my brother introduced experimental olive oil into several of the dyes, for which he was punched and kicked many times. We melted gold crayons in oil over the stove, and finished by combining all eleven mugs of oily dye to produce a final inedible and slippery SuperEgg. The resulting egg/objects were totally pretty, and we re-dyed or ate the less pretty examples.

To conclude, I advocate year-round egg dying. Not only are dyed eggs very handsome, but they make midnight fridge rummages quick and painless, and they're easy to toss into a sack for later consumption. And why spend another night emptying you wallet at a bar when you could stay home and drink and make something beautiful that packs well?

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 5:55 PM
Categories:

1 comments  

3.23.2008


Dear Unhappy People,

Be you ill or well, with means or without, Ohioan, New Yorker, Immigrant, Floridian, relatively originless, unemarkable or quite distinctive, nice looking, hideous, kittenish, sheepish, bookish, privileged or overprivileged, friend, foe or total stranger:

You're not fooling anyone, grumpy.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 12:10 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

3.20.2008


Posted by Posted by nambot at 12:21 AM
Categories:

2 comments  

3.17.2008



Dear Blog

Okay, so I'm breaking a rule by not blogging from my phone, but it's an emergency. Some friends at Anthology Film Archives were extolling the great virtue of their new slide duplicator for making small gauge film blowups, so, like the enthusiastic idiot I am, I went out and bought one THAT DAY. Blog, I know you probably don't know what a slide duplicator is, but it's basically a stand for an SLR camera that is pointed at a transparency that's mounted and lit by a blinding bulb from below. Guess I'm still going to have to fork over the $800 for a digital SLR, but meanwhile, my 5 megapixel Canon Elph produced this semi-fantastic terrier from Super 8 film. I am most pleased. Scanners be damned!! I mean, it's kinda blown out, but SERIOUSLY BLOG, how awesome is this freakish and WICKED CHEAP combination of analog and digital media?

Super awesome!
nam

Posted by Posted by nambot at 8:36 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

3.09.2008


Dear Blog,

I've been thinking a lot lately about feline literacy and wondering if I should teach my cat Marlon how to read. Raising the issue with some friends over dinner, I learned their cats Moritz and Inky Larkin are both able not only to read, but also to write. Incredible! Things really are getting better, I thought to myself; we're evolving, getting smarter, and educating ourselves and other species. Above is a photo of the little note that the cats left near their food and water bowls in the kitchen.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 8:28 AM
Categories:

0 comments  

3.03.2008


Dear Blog,

Yesterday afternoon I escaped from the brain-melting clutches of my Master's thesis, only to find myself elbow deep in human skin. I assure you that I only spent as much time as was necessary to ink my receptive and cooperative friends, and then high-tailed it home. The image above is of my friend Buffie (hey boofie- is it okay if i post your bust on my blog?) and her tattoo of two frogs eating from one plate of spaghetti - Lady and the Tramp style.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 11:23 PM
Categories:

3 comments  

2.27.2008


Dear Blog,

Just wanted to let you know that I didn't forget about you, but that nothing exciting or bloggable has happened lately. I did invent another hybrid food, which is called "PG Tips French Toast." I made it up out of desperation the other day when I realized I'd poured my last drop of milk into my Orange Pekoe (PG Tips Tea), which I subsequently whipped in with a couple of eggs and cinnamon to make French Toast. It tasted fine, it wasn't very remarkable, but it definitely worked. I might try it with a more milky tea and longer steeping time... Could be good. I'll keep you informed.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 6:21 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

2.20.2008


Dear Blog,

At the moment, there are approximately 30 teenagers running rampant on my block howling at the moon in unison since there's a lunar eclipse currently in progress. During a pause between howls, somebody says facetiously, 'Yo, it's getting mad dark out here,' which gave everybody a litle laugh since there are street lights everywhere. More kids keep coming down from their apartments or yelling from their windows. Dogs are barking and going nuts. The moon is orangish red and it looks like it's under water.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 10:16 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

Mud

2.18.2008




Dear Blog,

How do you feel about video? Because it is 63 degrees this February day, I had to go to the park to see what was happening. This is what was going on on the horse trails.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 1:44 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

Dear Blog,

Here I am pictured with the brand new summons issued to me by the New York City Police Department this evening. Guess I should have known better than to ride my bike on the sidewalk while a swarm of police vehicles hit the streets of Bed Stuy looking for someone who was definitely not me. I mean, I know the cops are busy, but for the sake of keeping the peace, I'm glad they still had time to pull me over (on my bike - awesome!) on Myrtle Ave. on a Sunday night at 9 pm during a rainstorm. Seriously? I've interacted with all kinds of police officers, but this was the very first time I have had the pleasure of being asked, "Is there a warrant out for your arrest?!" by an agitated man in a uniform shouting to be heard over the rain. For confirmation that this situation was in fact ridiculous, I looked over to the yelling cops' partner, who nonchalantly rolled his eyes to commiserate. How could I be mad at these guys? We all have our moments, and I'm sure acting grumpy is low on a cops' list of concerns. And to be fair, much thanks to said officers for not impounding my bike or causing further hassles. If you guys want to stop by later for some soup and a hug, I'd be more than happy to host New York City's finest.

Love,
nambot
PS: What's up with my two-fingered alien hand?

Posted by Posted by nambot at 12:27 AM
Categories:

2 comments  

2.12.2008


Dear Blog,

It's snowing! This is the first real snow of the year, which reminds me of last year's snows, which happened for a few consecutive weekends. I believe this was the weather's way of teaching New Yorkers how to hunker down and act like suburbanites on their days off. Luckily this lesson was brief, and its effects short-lived, but still memorable. To appreciate today's snow more fully, I went for a ride on my road bike to see just how long it would take to break a collar bone. Fish-tailing was fun, but the most satisfying move was just running alongside the bike and sliding on two feet.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 7:53 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

2.10.2008


Dear Blog,

Forget Armour, yesterday's visit to the Met was all about Arms - and I'm not getting agalmatophilic (learned this word about seven hours ago and I can't believe it's already coming in so handy), I mean guns. Guns covered in woodland scenes, made of five kinds of wood harvested from trees in the 18th century neighborhood where they were used, and encased in backgammonish velvety boxes designed to accompany fabulous outfits appropriate for dueling. My second favorite Arm was a German crossbow winder that looked like a juicer. My most favorite Arm was the double-barrel shotgun from 1846 that incorporates two squirrel-shaped hammers as a cocking mechanism (pictured here). Perhaps someday I can convince someone at the Met to allow me to borrow this relic so that I can modify it to be used with Buck Hunter Pro. It is the possibility of making adaptations such as this that makes living at this moment in time so fun. Yay museums! Yay video games! Yay imagining and reconstructing history! Yay emulating death as opposed to actually causing it!

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 11:05 AM
Categories:

2 comments  

2.08.2008


Dear Blog,
It's at Target and it's a clearance item, so get here with a quickness. Also, my friend told me that she saw a used Duraflame log-splitter for sale on craigslist the other day. What would that even be? A dirty cinder block you found in your building's basement that night you were really cold and found out faux logs don't fit in your fist-sized fireplace?

Posted by Posted by nambot at 10:01 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

2.06.2008


Nobody likes to crap at work. Nobody.

Posted by Posted by nambot at 7:06 PM
Categories:

0 comments  

2.03.2008


Dear Blog,

The terms of your mobile existence are as follows. You, blog, agree that:

1. Only messages originating from my cellular telephone are fit for posting.
2. Postings submitted at a standstill will be rejected.
3. Accompanying images are encouraged but not required and must be spawned by the aforementioned mobile device.
4. Trivial everyday content associated with gadget-dependency is mandatory.

Love,
nambot

Posted by Posted by nambot at 8:18 AM
Categories:

0 comments  

 
>