MARTYNKA AND SARAH

HILLBILLYWOOD HISTORY

Or FATBELLYWOOD or HOLLYWOODCHUCK, call it what you will the Catskills are once again becoming the destination of choice for the hipster/celeb set. It's not the first time. Those of you who are old enough will remember the big cartoon billboard of Jerry Lewis along Rt. 17 (Future 86) exclaiming "BROWNS- My favorite resort!". Our little corner of paradise is what used to be known as the "Borsht Belt". In the late 19th century predominently Jewish dairy farms in these hills opened their doors to city friends and family in the summer time, giving them a break from the oppressive conditions of the L.E.S. These boarding houses paved the way for the hotels. Prohibition kicked into high gear giving the hotels a real reason to exist. Illegal booze and casinos? What a combo. Babe Ruth, Peg Leg Bates and Al Capone all partied here. The Italian and Jewish mob joined forces and an entire resort community was formed. From the 40's into the 60's the Borsht Belt was in full effect. The Concord, Browns, Grossinger's, The Pines, Homowack, The Raleigh, are now either all gone, or barely hang on in some mutated state. Only Kutsher's keeps it's hip cred hosting ATP every year. Iggy's coming this year.

Then in the sixties, cheap airfare and air conditioning combined to throw a monkey wrench into the works. The Ratpack esthetic gave way to The Beatles and Psychedelia. Why go to the Catskills when it was almost as cheap to go to Miami or Vegas? Dark days were ahead. WOODSTOCK put the final nail in the coffin. By the 70's property values had crashed. Corrupt local government allowed Hassidic bungalow development to sprawl unchecked and locals either sold off and left or hunkered down for the long depressed haul.

I consider myself a local who left and came back. By 1995 these mountains were once again obscure, depressed and very unhip. I loved it. Property was cheap and nobody knew what a cappuccino was. Let the others have Woodstock or the Hamptons or Hudson. I was happy to drink bad java, heat by wood and listen to the radio. But nothing remains the same. In 15 years others have discovered the beauty of living in these gnarled mountains. Who am I to keep it all to myself? City folk are coming up more and more. The hotels are gone and Indian casinos have been trying for 20 years to set up shop. Don't hold your breath. Sure I love my isolation, but if I'm going to open the church I do need a congregation. Right now we have a small base of locals, transplants, supermodels and celebs- sinners all. It's becoming just like the old days. Remember- Bring a friend. Burn a Buck. The Little Green Hillbillywood is waiting.

FIRST CHURCH OF THE LGM

It's been 15 years in coming. The month I pay off my mortgage I'm having a service in the church. I always said I was going to wait until I had something to say before convening the elders and having a full fledged service.....but I'm tired of waiting. Slick "curated" me as part of a larger show that Brett and Sarah Majestic are doing. Glen Wild is waking up. Denniston Hill Foundation has Kara back and they have a summer of stuff planned. Artworld celebs Julie and Paul promise to be around for..... But back to me. I need help doing this church. Sure, cleaning and humping, and painting and taping would be nice, but more importantly is help in the form of just showing up. Look, turkey season is over that day. What else could keep you away? Bring a covered dish or booze or some desert. And if you are really feeling the spirit i welcome confessions and testimonials. There's phone or email or comments or facebook or just drop by 143 Old Glen Wild Rd. Glen Wild, NY 12738. All are Welcome.

FIRST CHURCH OF THE LGM

ROMINA

P.S. THE ANIMALS LOVE YOU

DT TONIGHT

The fact that I'm sitting at my computer at 7:30 am Sunday morning means I either scored yesterday, or..... Yeah, you guessed it. Two days of high winds, soft snow and rabbit screams in my ears has slowed me to a complacent crawl. If it wasn't for that $35 I ponied up I'd blow off the entire affair. Coyote hunting is tough business.

I started yesterday morning down in the river stand (where I should've been day 1). I used the turkey call this time, hoping to lure something off the hill. No luck. I saw one chickadee and a woodpecker. Then I switched to the screams of a dying rabbit, scanning the fields and river bottom. Nothing moved. The trouble with this kind of hunting (with screams and twitchy decoys) is you'll either see a coyote or nothing. It's not like sitting silently waiting for deer, and seeing a mink or a coon or any number of other critters, besides deer. Either a predator comes at the dinner bell or you just watch the snow melt.

At midday, after watching WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF with Shewo on the couch, Elizabeth Taylor's voice made me long for rabbit screams. So I loaded up the Neon and headed for White Sulphur Springs. I climbed the mountain behind Chuck and Contessa's place and slowly worked my way back down, trying different calls and set ups. I never cut a track. The joy of seeing a coyote on the first day was wearing off. I was back on the couch before dark. The one thing I was getting was beautiful snowy field footage for disposabletv. And right at this point the show was about to go from freezing white to hot disco pink. Slick was hosting a birthday party for our friend Lani.

The only thing more surprising than seeing that coyote standing on Gilkey's hill, was walking into a basement in Woodridge and seeing big Hollywood stars boozing it up and letting their hair down. I caught the eye of some guy in the kitchen and was about to go "Hey man! Howzitgoing?" like we were old buds when I realized I just knew him from TV. Jeesh, I was star struck. Horst was there (he's in the biz) introducing Shewho and I to a cute little blond with a big smile and a firm grasp on her beer bottle. Shewho and she hit it right off with private school and local real estate talk. Turns out all these celebs are our neighbors out in western Sullivan Co., and to my amazement they were really chill and friendly. Because of the hunter's code i can't tell you who these stars were. (Remember I could've stolen Catherine Zeta-Jones' health club ID and hubby Michael's Oscars.) But both are in a big movie that just opened Friday. You figure it out. I have one more day to hunt.

ANNA IN COYOTE PELT B&W

COYOTE CONTEST 2010 (MID DAY REPORT)

Today is the first day of a three day coyote hunting contest here in NY State. The Grand prize is $2000. So I'm in the woods. I was up before dawn and planned on starting the day in my deer stand down by the river, on GNJohn's land. It was cold, snowy and windy- suckass weather for coyote hunting. Nonetheless I was in the field right after first light. As I headed for the stand I had a change of plans. Instead of hugging the swamp, i cut across the field and.....I looked across the dead golden rod and there on Gilkey's hill, right off the Denniston grave marker, stood a coyote. Damn! As soon as I spotted him, he made me and slunk off. If I had stuck to my original plan I would've had a shot.

I set up by the river and called....and called.....and......you get the picture. Working my way along the hedgerows I ended up by the monument. The tracks went into the swamp, but I couldn't coax any thing out. I broke for coffee and then went across the road to hunt Rich Neighbor Butch's. I had the wind in my favor but a long slug through snow drifts and howling wind produced nothing. Now I'm back at the shack, eating cold pizza and strategizing the afternoon. A sighting on the first day is great. Let's see how the rest of the day goes.

MODEL IN CHURCH

VIAGRA AD

"SMELLS LIKE OLD PEOPLE!"

That was the first thing out of Teehoo's mouth Valentine's morning. I had travelled down to the big city to surprise Shewho for Valentine's eve. Teehoo and I had cooked it up, complete with dinner at Schiller's and drinks at Max. Fish. We had a great time. Ah, but this was just a distant memory, as her mother and I stunk up the tiny apartment with our slowly decaying carcasses. I admit I can be pungent. The wood smoke clings to my clothes, hair and beard. Mixed with pit stank and booze sweat, I guess we did smell like the elderly. Hell, get used to it kiddo.

But that's not what I want to talk about. Just this morning I was sitting around watching the steady snow fall, wondering what to do with my day, when I remembered someone had sent me a link to a "little film" contest. I make little films of a sort with that Flip cam. So I went online and filled out the application, giving up my email and credit card info, etc. I felt good about finally putting the stuff out there. I had a little ambition. Good for me. Then I screwed around making another little film about Mike Wild getting in a fight with Paul Teutal of AMERICAN CHOPPER. Then I checked my email. I had 28 emails! Whatthefuck? I'd been hacked.

This is a first for me. All the blogs and now vimeo and facebook, it's no wonder. Someone's got a hold of my address book and they're flinging out Viagra ads in my name. And my address book is eclectic as hell. Most people realize what's happening are letting me politely know. But other's like some editor at Harper's (who God knows why is in my book) is fucking incensed. Sorry mofo. Chillax. It's completely out of my hands. All I can tell you is if you get an email from me extolling the virtues of penile implants or rubber vaginas....I didn't send it. Disregard.

RUSSIAN MODEL IN SCHOOL HOUSE

P.S. THE ANIMALS LOVE YOU

ON SPEAKER

Maybe it's my short term memory loss, but I swear Shewho never told me that her phone only worked on speaker. So the other day in the midst of our phone conversation involving her afternoon encounter with a major Hollywood celeb. I mentioned that I had recently seen one of her films where she screws and jerks off her son, then her son kills her with a knife......and I think I made some crack about "star fucking"......"You know you're on speaker?" I did not. What I did know is she had a tiny apartment and 14 year old Teehoo was most likely close by. Christ!

I blamed her (and rightfully so) for not telling me, or at least reminding me that I was being broadcast into the room. But the next conversation I have no such excuse. We were discussing our plans for the next couple of weeks when I mentioned that on the 19th, 20th and 21st of Feb. I would be busy coyote hunting, trying for a $2000 prize in a local contest. The words no sooner passed my lips then I heard a squeal and gasp in the background. That sweet little animal activist was incensed. I had not planned to let this one out of the bag. I had just gotten her used to deer season and did not want to press my luck. Too late.

By the time I got off the phone there was already an email in my inbox. Staring at me were 4 of the cutest little coyote pups the internet had to offer, and a heartfelt plea from Teehoo to spare their mother. Ugh. How the hell that kid found those photos so quickly is beyond me. I know this is going to be a constant battle of justification on my part. For now I'm still going to hunt that weekend. Hell, I sent in my $35 and a crack at $2000 is real money. I told Shewho to get a new phone fast, before I shoot myself in the foot again and scolded Teehoo for misuse of her 14 year old superpowers. Those pups ARE Soooooooo cute.

MORGANE

MARTYNKA IN THE SCHOOL HOUSE

SCULPTURE TRIUMPHS

It's been a long time coming. Since the cave dwellers first spit blood over their hand, leaving a negative record on the wall, painting has always been first and foremost in the minds of most, over it's bastard brother sculpture. Sculpture was utilitarian. Painting was art. Then, the other day, a spindly 6' figure "Walking Man" by the sculptor Giacometti, surpassed Picasso's "Boy and Pipe" in monetary value brought at auction. The skinny feller went for over 104 million USD. Finally!

Although I've done my share of paintings over the years, I've always thought of myself as a sculptor. Back in the 70's, when i was cutting my artistic teeth at The San Francisco Art Institute, I was in the sculpture department. It was where they put you when they had no idea what the fuck you were doing. I set fire to my shoes while tied in a chair in class, bought a cow, adopted a boy, got people tattooed, pulled bloodprints and stood in front of the school store berating sunday painters from Marin Co., in order to get out all the money I had been given as part of a scholarship. I put their paints and canvas on my account, taking their cash in return. I was doing sculpture.

In those days we thought time and space could be sculptural materials. It was all inclusive. Painting had limits. Sometimes I wish I could've been a painter. It was so much simpler. If I did paintings I felt obliged to create a fictitious artist and assign her the work. Then I killed her off and kept painting. The cumbersome elements of identity and narrative drug behind the work like a ball and chain. But I couldn't help myself. I took my cues from old timers Beuys and Klein. If I followed Beuys' ideas of "Social Sculpture" it opened up the possibilities even further. I shot animals, became a hunting guide, started a church and rock band, went to seminary. It all tied together and made perfect sense in sculptural terms.

(I warned you hunting season was over.)

But not to bore you too much. I just wanted to own Giacometti's triumph just a little bit. I'm sure some painter will pass him soon. But for now. Way to go Jock-o! 3d rules. Now I'm going coyote hunting. I feel like doing a little art.

TN-3

4 DAY, TOP OF THE WOODSTOVE, CURES WHAT AILS YOU, CHICKEN SOUP

Step 1: adapt your lifestyle to heat by wood. Step 2: buy one large red enamel pot. Step 3: wait until it gets below zero and you have a bad cold.

Ingredients

1. large package of chicken thighs

2. one red pepper

3. one white onion

4. one turnip

5. some fresh basil

6. one Fresno (hot) pepper

7. one cup of chicken broth

8. handful of egg noodles

9. one can of pinto beans

Get a good hot fire going in the stove. Put everything in the pot and set on stove. Add a couple of cups of water. Cover with lid. Lay on couch and wrap yourself in Gram's afgan. Over the next four days eat, then put on back porch to freeze. Then repeat. In four days you'll be ready to go back to work.