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.   

$100 REWARD

 

PARKING LIKE A SETTLER

 During that last snowstorm I pulled into the haphazardly plowed Trading Post without paying too much attention. As I got out of the truck I noticed the blue stripes demarcating a "handicap zone" where my truck trespassed. Disregarding the obvious rule breaking, I headed for the front door to buy a loaf a bread. That's when I ran into Pigpen Rothman who had parked right in front of me. My indiscretion had not gone unnoticed by Pigpen. "Parking like a settler, huh?" he accused me with a smile and a nod towards the blue zone. Busted.

Let's go back a bit. The first Osterhout settler sailed from Amsterdam, Holland to New Amsterdam, New Netherlands in the early Spring of 1653 on the Spotted Cow. He arrived in the Fall. The city was rocking. Like any Osterhout who has moved to town since, Osti #1 (Jan Jansen Van Oosterhoudt) probably double parked his horse outside the Corlear's Hook Trading Post, and after surviving a week in the city considered himself a local. Fuck the rules. I own this town.

Almost 400 years later and little has changed. The "Trading Post" is still there. When I was a kid you could still buy a gun, a fishing pole, a sack of flour, and a sandwich with your ax at the place. You didn't pay for your goods with a beaver pelt, but that's about the only difference. Now, in the year 2024 the word "settler" is also reappearing at the Trading Post. This time it's not the Colonial Dutch and English who are being referred to as such in the Blew Mountains, but the ever increasing local Orthodox Jewish community. Is such an assignation anti-semitic? Let's see.

After recently being accused in public of being anti-semitic by a vocal, local, Jewish woman, I have done plenty of soul-searching to make sure my baked-in bigotry and generational racism is acknowledged and in check. Check. Years of historical study and thousands of words written on the subject of genealogical depredations has given me a certain perspective regarding the Osterhout's interaction with different races and groups. Initially we marginalized and killed the Esopus/Lenape. We owned slaves and gave them the Osterhout surname. Who knows how we treated our "darker brethren." We killed (and were killed by) the French, the English and the Six Nations of the Haudenosaunee. Eventually we adopted the identity of "Americans," secure in our position as original white, "Nativists," in a landscape of generational segregation and disinheritance..........not inclusion.

The joke of being accused of parking "like a settler" by a man who was raised Ultra-Orthodox, fought in the Israeli Army and disagrees with me (on almost every point) over what we are all witnessing unfold in Gaza was not lost on me. I got it. Here's the deal. I do what I do art (and parking) wise, say what I say on social media and publications, and generally operate in the world trying to be honest with myself. Since I don't have any specific religious faith or plan, I could care less what anybody else's is. Most anti-settler (Orthodox) sentiment  comes from my Jew-ish friends and cohorts in the community. I wish these settlers would drive (and park) better and leave my art alone. That's it. I'm good with all the rest. 

The (legal) Orthodox settlements that have spread out from Williamsburg to Monsey to Kiryas Joel to Lenape County over the decades will continue to increase, eventually becoming year round communities. This is our (and their) future. We are all settlers. Even the Lenape arrived here from somewhere else. When I installed a bare-breasted mannikin with a tree growing from her head in the Social Sculpture Park it was no more directed at the Orthodox/Settler community than an ax stuck in a log. Yet, both pissed off the Jewish and non-Jewish "settlers" enough that they consistently have taken it upon themselves to remove, displace, and cleanse the park of my art. My motivation is never to insult or instigate a particular group, but to display work that satisfies me sculpturally, outside of the market and institutions that are usually relied upon to validate it. This is one of my many limitations that I embrace working this way. All I ask in return is to be left alone. 

I promise I'll try to be more conscious regarding where I park. I'd hate be called an "anti-handicap settler" on top of everything.         

      

  

      

KKKLOWN DOWN

 Photo: Samm Kunce

ADJACENT THURSDAYS

 "Adjacent can refer to two things that touch each other or have the same wall or border." That's how the internet defines it. "Adjacent" is how S. Birka Budde described HWS. "It's kinda personal....but...." It's the but that makes what I do relevant for community consumption. My adjacency to others in the community gives me a certain perspective that immersion would not. It's the sharing of these oft-crossed borders and climbed walls that makes experiencing it (and writing about it) worthwhile and a helluva lot of fun. 

Now that hunting season, and the holidays are behind us Thursday nights at my house can convene again. Last night we had Pigpen Rothman, the Buddes, Judge and Miss Polly Brennan, and my new neighbor Gen F in attendance. Everyone brought whatever it was they were drinking or smoking and bags of munchies and dip for all. From 6:30 pm until a little after 10:00 pm we solved the world's problems, argued, laughed, ate, got loaded, and enjoyed our adjacency to each other. 

Part of this confab was also to de-brief on New Year's Eve, comparing our drug-addled memories against each other. I remembered my Tourettes kicking in at some point and becoming quite gropie. If I grabbed your ass without permission I apologize. I can be quite handsy when I feel that comfortable and adjacent. As my old man was fond of saying when a local debutante would perch on his lap, "Safe as in the arms of Jesus." My mother would just smile and roll her eyes. 

So if you are in the neighborhood on Thursdays, give me a call, or just drop by. Snow's coming and this is just the beginning of expressing our beautiful adjacency.  

      

SOMETIME AFTER 1:00 am JANUARY 1, 2024

 Photo: Sara Budde

DAY ONE

 After eating a gummy I got on the party bus at Majestic around 8:30 pm on New Year's Eve. This followed a full day of deer drives, a couple of sakes with Bird and the high of Savage dropping that buck. We were headed for The Dale. This is our Max. Fish, or Claire's, or Ma Betcher's, or Squirrel Cage. Pick one. The place was just starting to crank when the crowd wanted to get back on the bus and head on to Velma's (aka NG's) to bring in the New Year. I had an overwhelming curiosity regarding a packed night at The Dale. So I stayed put. I figured I could get a ride to the party at any time. The bus left.

For years in the late 80's and early 90's I worked at Max. Fish on Ludlow in the East Village. Chuckles McCormick and I bussed tables and held down the door. You develop a thick skin and contempt for the generally drunk public when you work at a bar or nightclub. Holidays are the worst. Halloween and New Year's Eve stand out as "for the tourists" and bridge and tunnel weekend warrior nights. It all came back around 11:00 pm sitting at the bar at The Dale. Great pizza and good drinks. Love the owners!!!  Closed Tues. and Wed. 

I was lonely (and very old) in a room full of partying, very happy, much younger, strangers. Had I made the wrong call by staying? But, instead of folding and giving into the malaise I remembered I had another gummy and a hit of Molly in my pocket. I waited on the Molly, ate the gummy and ordered another beer. By midnight I'd made a couple of new friends, kissed a strange girl, danced with Minnie and Real Estate Dave and got a ride to the party with Chris and Masha (Greg's brother). Then I ate the Molly. I remember that Chris was an International Yo-Yo champion and.........I don't remember much after that. There's some blurry pictures. I love this scene. In the end, I was happy I'd brought in the new year at the Dale. This crew is amazing!!!!! All LOVE for the New Year. 2024 is shaping up nicely.   

SAVAGE, UB, BIRD at Julie Picasso's (Formerly Ray Gilkey's)

 

LAST DAY

 As is our tradition, we put on New Year's Eve deer drives here in Glen Wild. UB, Savage and Bird were in attendance. The first leg was the push the cemetery between Little Bill's house and the cut. UB was in the stand. I was on the ground near Carlito's stand and Savage and Bird drove. 1O mins. in and I saw a deer coming my way. "Baaaaaaa....." I bleated 3 times. The deer stopped dead in front of me at 20 yards. I got on her and fired. "P-ssssss-ffffffttttttttttt......FUCK!" came the sound from where I was kneeling. The gun had misfired AGAIN! For some reason my bullets are infested with .45 ca. slugs mixed in the proper .50 cal. shot. While sighting the gun in I had had this happen, but disregarded the extra-easy slide down the barrel, thinking the powder had gotten wet somehow. Now I know if the bullet goes down too easy, it has to be removed. Next year I'm tossing out all my random crap and getting more serious with my loads. NEXT YEAR! It sounds so depressing and very far away.

The second leg to this drive was for Bird and Savage to drive the truck down toward Julie Picasso's. Bird would get off by Carlito's new driveway by the schoolhouse while Savage set up right above Ray Gilkey's grave in the cut. UB and I would then continue the drive around RNButch's ridge. I went low. UB stayed high. Late in the drive Bird shot. Then another shot came from Savage. The radio crackled. Bird missed his shot while Savage said he had 20 deer come by him. "There was a nice buck....." he reported "I think I hit him. He acted hit." We all converged on Savage's position. I never saw a deer.

We looked for blood. Nothing. Then UB found a tiny bit of hair. No longer than five minutes later UB spotted half the rack sticking out of the swamp. We were all elated and went to check out the buck. It was a nice 8 point with a golden rack, the same one I had missed days earlier. The unknown was now known. I had missed that buck clean. I must've rushed the shot and shot over him. I was relieved and haven't stopped kicking myself for missing that easy shot. Yet, in all honestly I can admit, that if I couldn't shoot that deer my second choice would be that one of my great friends or brother would shoot him. Thanks were given all around.

So that's it. The season is over. I have what's left of two deer in the freezer and one hanging. All three turned out to be bucks - one a button, one an eight, and the other a shed. Bird got a six. Savage also got three bucks - a six, a button and this nice eight. UB got skunked. It happens. We all had our fuck ups and successes. Savage never ceases to impress me with his shooting skills. After losing the sight in his right eye he taught himself to shoot lefty and can still knock down a running buck with one shot. I'm blessed to have such good, trustworthy, skilled, safe, friends to share my deer season with. Unless I get obsessed with another writing project I'll keep at it here at HWS. Who knows what the the new year will bring. Thanks for reading and Happy New Year to all my readers. Much love. 

MO