Friday, March 8, 2024

NEW YORK GIRL


 Photo: by R. Kern

WOKE AS FUCK

 Ok. Before we get into this woke thing, let's catch up on the McCs. When last we left, Fariq was going in for an operation for something serious. Mario had suffered jail and a dog murder. Chuck was off on an art junket to Ohio and Sergio (the therapist) was on call in Florida. We good?

Since last we talked, here's what happened - Of course Mario wanted to kill the guy who shot his dog. Imagine if my neighbors shot Cheeky? What would I do? I'd not only kill them, I'd burn their house down, hack their facebook account, shit on their lawn, and say mean things about them on X (formerly Twitter). To Mario's credit, he did none of the above. But the clock was ticking. Fariq had his operation and remained laid up, Chuckle's flew to Ohio unconcerned about his brothers, and Sergio drove north to pick up Mario. Then shit went bad......again,

Mario, not in the best frame of mind,  attacked his brother  Sergio, broke his laptop and had to be committed when they hit Florida. Fariq can't drink or enjoy sweets in the near future. Chuck returned from Ohio heard all about his brothers' problems, went out got drunk, fell getting into his front door and broke his ankle. As Tessa escaped to London, Tristan is walking the dog and his father. That brings us up to date.

Now for the woke bit. Yesterday I received an email from little brother Rose. He informed me that the little village that we grew up in, Montgomery, NY, had declared itself an "unsanctuary" smudge on the map "city." Somehow this desperate, morally bankrupt, white-supremacist-lite, resolution had made national news. Of course I was interested.

So I posted a bit of Insta-outrage and felt better. Then, to my surprise I received a DM from Sailor Ricky Kern. I've known this cat for 40 years. You enjoy his potos on HWS. But we never talk. He "likes" me. I "like" him. All good. But somehow my pro-migrant post got under his skin.  Here's our woke exchange: 


Dude u probably haven’t been in manhattan lately but the east village is over run with migrants. Tompkins square is full of them like I mean hundreds of them hanging out. Believe me u don’t want to be a sanctuary city




Enter



Haha we won’t ever be enemies. Yeah sometimes I forget to keep my mouth shut.


   

  

Saturday, February 17, 2024

RICHARD "ZOOLANDER" TRAVIS (styling courtesy of my closet)


 

OUTRAGED YET?

 I apologize for my absence from HWS. Without the regular routine of deer hunting (even when nothing's moving) I tend to slack off on the verbiage in the off season. So here's the latest:

The month of January was spent doing drawings and obsessive little collages, huddled next to the woodstove. The spirit comes in fits and starts. I updated and published OPERATION LOVE GOD on blurb.com and continue to post my outrage at Israel's genocidal invasion of Gaza - much to many's disappointment and dismay - on Instagram. As far as writing the blog goes, I just haven't been inspired to make much of a stink. That is, until now.

Last night Shewho came over to the shack to use my washer/dryer, eat, drink, consume edibles and......you get the picture.  Date night. She'd barely taken off her coat when she asked, "Have you heard about Mario's dog?" I hadn't. Let me give you a little background. Mario is Chuckles McC's brother. I've known him since he was in his 20's.  He's brilliant and twisted (like the entire McC clan). Life hasn't been kind to Mario. Growing up in the lap of Greenwich, Ct. luxury, he blew off the PhD route, developed a bit of a drug habit, got shot in the ass on 14th St. copping dope, cleaned up, backslid, cleaned up again, and never really found his sweet spot. He's now old like the rest of us. These days Mario and his "rescue" dog live down river in Dingmans Ferry, Pennsyltucky. That's where the story takes place. 

Last year Mario and his dog (a benign looking golden lab) came up against an angry neighbor. I don't know all the details but an altercation ensued with the dog biting the neighbor and Mario getting punched in the eye. The cops were called. The dog went off to the pound and Mario to jail for assault. The neighbor remained free. Months went by. Then by luck, the charges were dropped and Mario was able to retrieve his dog before it was put down. Happy ending. Not so fast.

As Shewho loaded up my washer with her soiled unmentionables she continued the story. "A couple of days ago Mario was walking his dog on a leash, on his own property, when the neighbor appeared, pulled a gun, shot and killed the dog.....still on the leash!" The washer churned. Holy shit! I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "ON THE LEASH?" I cried. Shewho nodded solemnly. Live Cheeky looked at the two of us in disbelief. (I always make sure the cat in my house is the correct Cheeky). The cat hates dogs but even Live Cheeky was aghast at this perfidy. "Meow." he cried in outrage.

As it now stands the neighbor (who is black) has been arrested and may or may not have posted the $30,000 bond. If you google " Pa. dog shot on leash" only Mario's brother Fariq's facebook post detailing the dog murder comes up. The neighbor's fb page has been deleted. I'm assuming he got a bit of hate for his despicable actions. These hillbillys up here don't need much of an excuse to unleash their inherent racism. Killing a dog on a leash is right up there with genocide.  I worry for all concerned. To be continued......                 

Friday, January 12, 2024

ME and TRICKY


 PHOTO: S. Birka Budde

WANTS 2 FLY


 

THE FAILURE OF LANGUAGE

 A little over three months until turkey season. Jeesh! I don't know if I can make it. Between the snow and the cold I'm severely limited in how I can work. Forget putting pieces in the SS Park. The ground is frozen. I can't work large or comfortably in the unheated church or the shul. That leaves the living room, next to the woodstove. It's within this space that I do most of my writing and small drawings, paintings, and collages in the winter. After self-publishing 6 books this past year I've (temporarily) run out of ideas. So that leaves small, static artwork. I've chosen collage.

The large round coffee table from Wolf Lake now serves as both my pedestal and portal to the news (Aljazeera English and ICJ genocide proceedings) as well as my art production facility. The place looks like a very messy 19th Century Kindergarten classroom. Piles of Farm Journals and Lady's Home Companions from 1888 litter the floor. Tape, glue, white-out, scissors, paper and marijuana crumbs form a whirlpool of artsy/craftsy activity. I'll probably end up doing dozens (if not hundreds) of these collages and never show them. (see above).

As I watch South Africa's petition to ICJ in the Hague for a cessation of Israel's hostilities in Gaza under the heading and accusation of "genocide," while cutting and pasting butterfly wings, I can't help but notice how all parties concerned are struggling with the definition of terms. What's a war crime? What's a genocide? What's starvation? What's intent? What's ethnic cleansing? What's apartheid? Is it all that nuanced that the response of Israel to Hamas' atrocities of October 7th can in anyway be seen as "defensive" and "proportional"? The court will have to decide. 

Last night's adjacent Thursday found us down in the valley at Judge Andy and Miss Polly's cidery to celebrate the Judge's birthday. Of course at some point the conversation turned to Israel, Gaza, anti-semitism, etc. It seems embedded in the fabric of all convos these days. I was reminded, once again, how pissed off (and disappointed) my own community is with me - the non-Jew, non-Christian Infidel with a big mouth, self-righteous opinions, and plenty of aggressive verbiage online. WTF? What's wrong with these people? All I continue to hear is how this person or that is angry with me. Thank goodness we (the Buddes and I) ended up at The Dale- try the sausage and peppers. Great Manhattans! Make sure you tip Chris the bartender. Sometimes I forget. It was too loud to discuss Hamas.    

The band may have outnumbered the crowd but they (and we) didn't care. At one point I asked S. Birka if she'd seen Tricky Travis? Not five minutes later he appeared, grabbed the mic. and in his machine-gun rapid fire delivery cranked it up a notch. A little snoz-bloz and the place came alive. Yeah, words fail me (and the world) all the time.  I try to be careful to have my facts straight and not ruffle too many feathers. It's not working. That's why I retreat and cut paper with my blunt scissors and glue stained fingers. It's much safer.