Thursday, September 25, 2014

Of Time and The City

"Stress is a perverted relationship to time."

One could easily make the case that the one thing you truly control in your life is time. Physics posits that time, far from being that oppressive, dogmatic hound of consequntial action, is in fact a far subtler arbitrator, willing to squish and pull to meet whatever perspective needs arise. Inevitably you die and the rate of decay surely connives to abet that, but even that qualification is infused with the relative degree of rate. So, as they say, use your time wisely. Or perhaps create your time wisely. 

This morning I took the near archival pleasure of checking the surf. I can't say it's a ubiquitous lament, but I'll attest that it is an oft repeated one that all thes cameras and websites and forecasts have robbed us of some of the mystery of the surf check. When you live in a place as unfriendly to casualness as New York, the roll-by becomes an almost impossibility. You rejigger the schedule, piss off the people and make the time to get to the water, you're getting in no matter what. Not to mention the communal pressures that arise the moment you pull up next to a buddy. But this morning I got up early, checked the surf, and came home, my hair wet from rain alone. The surf looked ok. A lot of water moving. Speedy, maybe unappealing half lefts. I had my big pink soft top and reckoned one of my other boards would be more fun. More importantly, it's Rosh Hashanah, hijo primero is out of school and segundo will have had an uncustomary long night of sleep. The time to be had there, this morning, might just be worth the time taken.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Love In New York

Speaking with a stranger at a wedding this weekend, a man who (it became incresingly clear had anger issues of his own) relayed to me a story of his harrowing, incident filled journey to the ceremony; a series of comically ridiculous bits about not having enough fare for the midtown tunnel and a timely rear-ending not blocks from the event, declared, in in a vaguely Australian accent run-through a West Coast grinder, that he had witnessed the "classic New York road rage." In fact, I had been mulling over a similar topic only a couple days before in a different context and while it is indeed true that the New York metropolitan area serves up a peculiarly aggressive bluster, I would say that having lived in the belly of both, anything truly quintessential about road rage could only happen in California, a place I only wish I'd reminded him would soon, gratefully for the rest of us, be back in his sights. The fact is that New York has its particular rage associated with something quintessentially Californian after all: Surf Rage. I'm not talking about anything that might have to do with a regulating local and the product of heinous drop-in. It is the rage of not surfing at all; the sort of not-surfing that happens when one hasn't surfed for a stretch and still finds oneself land locked when a swell finally meanders through. Oh but this happens everywhere, you might point out. I can only acknowledge that this may be true, but that I can also lay special claim to the knowledge of a spiked difference between the kind of gentle annoyance that washes over a surfer in California, as confident as they can be that there will certainly another swell in a the next couple weeks, and the outright spitting fit that besets their New York surfing counterpart, a demographic that can scarcely hope for another quality swell within two months. 

At the Greenpoint dog run the lady with the lap dog named Fitzgerald, or Humphries, or Fitsgibbons (that never leaves her lap), tells the gay actor with the dog that sits and stares at trees that she is finally a Level 28, and only two days ago she was a Level 22. In the ensuing conversation he lets her know that magically imbued war hammers are better for killing attacking bears than regular swords. She replies that she just found out one could send a spell through a gate, killing all the unseen inhabitants on the other side.

If you come to New York and you ask me what you should see, I will tell you this: go up to the top of the Empire State Building, go to the Tenth Street Baths and spend an hour hanging out at the City Clerk's watching people get married.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Morning Recall

A nice little memory inflected ambiance via Ms. Olive.

Monday, September 8, 2014

The Ditch Paddle

Someone somewhere has a really awful idea. It seems like someone shows up on the easternmost tip of Long Island with a real stinker every year. Some are just embarrassing, others are harmful to the local community, yet others could have far more reaching consequences.

DIGITALLY PADDLE OUT and check out those who did in the flesh.

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Happening : Studio Sawada at PF Gallery

In conjunction with Studio Sawada's latest instillation piece at the Park Hyatt in MidTown, Kanae Maeda has brought Hirotoshi Sawada's ethereal hanging sculptures to the Picture Farm Gallery for the month of September.

"Thaw is an installation by Japanese artist duo Studio Sawada curated by Kanae MaedaTheir first exhibition in United States. The artists continue their exploration of the phenomenological effect created through the accumulation of ice. Made with special processed clear acrylic, each piece is uniquely constructed by free hand. The audience can experience the luster of reflection and shadow within the beauty of the work itself.

A critical feature of their practice is their ability to transform huge quantities of materials into sculptural installations that suggest the wonders of nature."

As always the opening (Friday Night) will be a wonderful time of community and love.