Brooklyn girl can't resist the purge for weird guest
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
While glitz and glamour epitomizes NYC, the seedy cultural underbelly that created this great city has endured a slow suppression. Yes, the streets are clean and flocks of prostitutes have been stuffed indoors, but it’s not really about the hoes and crack. There’s a darkness that’s gone missing. My hope was to find any vestige of a live cultural underground or even just crazy ape shit1 that goes on behind closed doors, to remind myself that this city has not completely broken from its past.
What’s a Trumbull Man? I’m not entirely sure. But I know one (pause) when I see one. And Dwight “Doc” Gooden is that.
Doc broke into the bigs in 1984 and proceeded to pitch three years of the best baseball anyone ever saw. A Nike mural featuring the Mets ace remained on the side of the Holland Hotel on w. 42nd St. for 10 years. (Speaking of numbers, Doc’s appetite was revered around the clubhouse — one teammate claimed Gooden ate 30 chicken wings in one sitting.) The boy was young and skinny, tall like a string bean and straight out of high school in Tampa, Fla., (with a pit stop in Class A Lynchburg, where he went 19-4) with a 98 mph heater and an infectious fun-loving attitude that New York City adored. They nicknamed his curveball “Lord Charles” and dubbed him Doctor K, eventually shortened to Doc. He was The Man in New York during Wall Street’s heyday, though No. 16 would eventually amble down a dark path, struggling with cocaine addiction for the remainder of his career, which ended in 2001 with the Yankees at spring training.
A troubled a man as ever a Trumbull Man was, Dwight Gooden, we salute thee.
The baseball-rock nexus is a weird one. Lots of serious guys with goatees and bad white shoes, lots of guitars, lots of Americana. Some weird indie rock bands have baseball-themed albums. But this photo might be weirder. And weirder in the good Psycho Sin way, not the bad intense goatee way.
Are they really sending him away this time? Poor chap. He simply refused to go anywhere without … excessive firepower — I suppose it was only a matter of time before John Law caught up with our friend. Look, I’m strapped — that’s a given. You see this? This is a Remington. <discharges three shots into the ceiling> What does Dwayne need with scatter-shot and automatics? Oh, look, some of the ceiling’s landed on your hat.
I’ll sorely miss our South Beach shopping sprees and his jokes. There was the day I introduced him to crêpes at A La Folie. He loved them! He must have ordered five different kinds. Slim once told me — this was last year — oh, forget it.
The boys say they’ve been pestering you with a list of “Lil Wayne’s” best mixtape tracks on their Twitter account, and asked me to say a few words to introduce their fancy little playlist. So, without any further ado, Trumbull’s Top 10 Weezy mixtape jams:
We’ve written about IEDs before, and we’ve been inside the hurt locker. But the delicacy with which the cast members of MTV’s “Jersey Shore” handle the world’s scariest bomb in this clip makes us want to throw down our wireless keyboards and wave our white flag. It is well-known that Pauly D has the tendency to shy away from grenades, but Ronnie goes in:
Link futures are wallowing in recessionary social media sharing protocols
Friday, February 26, 2010
Hey everyone. This thing on? So, we were all over the place this week. Washington. Haiti. Beijing. Gov. Paterson’s mansion. We took photos in the utility closet, which we called the “Hurt Locker.” Trust us, it’s funny. Not the closet itself, that place is the opposite of funny. It’s dark. Real dark.…
We dropped by Mike’s Apartment. He’s not in porno anymore, but he throws a hell of a party. Grillo’s Pickles made a cameo. Neysa Malone, the NYC street-famous singer called us with some news: “I got this new song ‘Walking Zombies.’ It’s about us against the zombies meaning everybody who is brainwashed by the media. In the video, we, the street fighters, take over. It should be out very soon!” Neysa’s been on her grind lately, and we’ll sure be keeping our eye on her this year.
“What happened to that dude, what fucking happened?”
The words rang out from my friend Zac Greer’s shiny, bic’d up head. Al Pacino was on television, one of many stars urging Americans to donate to One.com. The actor looked creaky and old, haggard. Zac was not exactly paying attention, but became saddened. What happened to Pacino, the strapping young colt of “The Panic in Needle Park”? What happened to Serpico, to Bobby Deerfield, to Glen Ross? Zac wondered aloud. We laughed, but five years since the ad’s air date, we’re still none of us sure.
I felt the same way Sunday night watching Canadian Olympic hockey team suffer an ignoble 5-3 home loss at American hands. What happened to the Canadian team, made up of All-Stars and Hall of Famers both? Where did our legs go? Why wasn’t there any fire from the point? Where was the development factory of years past, short and tall Quebecers, broad hosers and technically-citizens from British Columbia? What happened?
After Watching Beavis and Butthead watch Suicidal Tendencies Today
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sometimes it takes fewer words to say what needs to be said. I could spend an hour carping on the brilliance of one of my favorite shows, “Beavis and Butthead.” Some swear by “The Simpsons,” others, “Seinfeld.” Just as with music, I gravitate to Mike Judge’s product over others.
The titular characters are the crown jewel of the show — indeed, of any show on television. It is hard to believe that employees wrote their dialog for nothing more than money, that the two teens did not arrive fully formed. Same goes for Suicidal Tendencies. When the world was created, so too were they, only they bloomed later, around the ’80s. The best band from California, the second-best two-era band (after the Cro-Mags), the baddest dudes to wear Vans. It’s not whether this video is the best of all worlds or isn’t. It’s the truth, and “it speaks for itself.”
Taking the Bull by the throat at 1901 West Madison Street
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Benny, have a seat. No you may not. Keep it on. Benny, why did you disturb those men today? Which men? You know who we’re talking about, Benny.1 That’s right, Messrs. Carter and Combs, very good.
Now, Benny, we’ve talked about this — about the character. But certain men deserve respect, even from a character, don’t you think? Benny! You put that mask back on! I don’t wanna see your face right now, I am not in the mood!
Benny used to be played by Barry Anderson. With such similar names, mascot and maskee lost any individual distinction in the Bulls organization even before the events of July 2, 2006.
