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.

Friday, August 29, 2014

Monday, August 25, 2014

The Thing Is, The Answer Will Come

I am not one for the rampant use or ownership of firearms. At least not the sort that could kill a crowd in a clip and quickly. But just now, as I sit waiting for my New York coals to burn drinking my New York rum concoction reading my New York memoir, I spot a drone buzzing overhead. I spy it as I hear it first as the worst sort of unnecessary mosquito. Oh that I had a high power'd rifle.

Other bits:

I left California at the wrong time.
On the gang plank, Wifey remarks upon seeing the empty poster frames, "Is it Green or Green."
Then on the street today, just outside the dog-run, "The problem isn't enough food in the world, it's that people eat too much of it."
And my own eight year old son, last night as we sauntered to pick up the grateful pup, (thankful for what I don't know), "I love New York."

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Friday, August 22, 2014

Notes On A Victory Lap Part II



I did two uncharacteristic things today that tell me perhaps my paternity-inspired vacation should be coming to an end:

1) Looking up from the book I am dutifully trudging through to a vision of inspiringly regular head high lines marching consequentially towards the beach, I smile, nod my approval and keep reading.

2) After couple chapters of said reading, I finally paddle out for the third time today with a leash on.

Weird things are afoot.
Tonight I head to Patagonia Cardiff to see the thing I missed the night I left New York.
See you there.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

¡Get Small or Get Out!

Dan Malloy talks about Naomi's vision...



And our own documentation here...

Notes On A Victory Lap

There has been a two foot (ish)(+) swell running from the moment I stepped off the plane.
We drove straight up to the old stomping grounds in Santa Barbara for a professional fly through and some sentimental fever dreams of old sights.
We caught C Street small and fun twice, and had it not been for a sleeping infant, would have dipped our toes in the hallowed Queen's waters as well.
As it was we arrived back in North County to that same half-thump of body whomp material, the break in front of Red's going typically summer closeout.
The best part of the East Coast to West Coast binge banks on a three hour head start everyday. This has begun to wane after a week and a half, getting me up only an hour ahead of everyone else now, a scampering to the popular spots replacing my habitual laconic stroll of head nodding to all the old timers who begrudgingly accept my presence for a handful of days.
This morning, annoyingly late up, I found myself surrounded by a slightly younger crowd, but more importantly, an electric one as the lightning not only brought a rainbow off the reef, but bars of bolts on all sides.
Scampering in a different direction being de rigeur.

Highlight so far?
This moment of no swell surfing yesterday as my nieces got their first taste of the good life.

And Then There's This Classic Bit of Bad Vibes

Clic le Pic

Happening August 22nd 2014 : Surfy Art, Surfy Art


The Bakery Presents
Hang Ten Heat Wave
August 22–September 22, 2014
Opening Reception: Friday, August 22, 7–10pm
Hang Ten Heat Wave is a summer show of ten artists and designers whose work is 
driven by a desire to connect with nature. The contributors are based in New York 
and spend only a fraction of their time outside the city, causing their work to take on 
a romanticized and often fantastic interpretation of what lies beyond their immediate, 
urban surroundings.
In many ways New York City is an organism, constantly changing to adapt, but few 
would refer to its booming developments as natural. Even the untamed and overgrown 
spaces within the boroughs–landscaped parks restricted within the confines of the 
grid plan–turn out to be elegant hoaxes, self-aware illusions of nature. The city is so 
carefully planned that any ‘nature’ which develops within it’s limits, now or in the future, 
will be automatically subverted.
The artists and designers in Hang Ten Heat Wave join a lineage of New Yorkers who 
weave into their own urban existences a stylized version of the natural world: sunny days, 
lush forests, blue oceans and high-contrast deserts. And because they are removed from 
the harshness of these places, their work is an often playful representation of the New 
Yorker fantasy: to leave behind the city and try to reconnect with the elements of which 
they are continuously deprived.
The work represented in Hang Ten Heat Wave is pure summer vibes.


Auto Body Presents 
Groove Move 
This Friday August 22nd at 7pm 
A surf film by Jack Coleman, music by The Sweathogs and various Dj sets from some special guest will grace the airwaves. This is an all ages event.








Second House Museum Presents 
A Hundred Miles To The End 
"Join us this Friday evening for a charity event benefiting the Second House Museum in Montauk. The event features The Montauk Project, starting at 6 pm and two surf films one of which is "A Hundred Miles to The End" around 8 pm. There is a $10 donation/admission for the evening. All proceeds go to the museum."




The Parrish Museum Presents
Atlantic Vibrations Surf Movie Night Dos
August 22nd at 8 PM

The second installment of Atlantic Vibrations: Surf Movie Night, an outdoor screening of short, noncommercial surf movies made by filmmakers from Westhampton to Montauk and selected by film director Michael Halsband, artist Mike Solomon, and film curator Tyler Breuer. Created as a platform for emerging and established filmmakers, Atlantic Vibrations acknowledges the timeless connection between art, film, and surfing.
Bring lawn chairs and blankets for our first outdoor screening. The screening will take place on the Bonnie Comley and Stewart F. Lane Events Lawn. In the event of rain, this screening will take place indoors.





Respect


Monday, August 11, 2014