People, I have some scary news to report. Prepare yourselves. Sit down, if you must. Are you ready? Okay. There's a Splasher on the loose on the streets of New York. Yes, you heard me right. A Splasher. I know, I know, it's terrible news. He (or she) strikes at night, when everyone is asleep. Walking around, armed and dangerous, the Splasher stalks a suitable victim for days, waiting for the right moment, waiting until they're alone, with no one around.
That's when The Splasher strikes. He or she whips out that night's weapon of choice. Maybe it's a can of Pacer White SW 6098, Juneberry SW 6573, or Sapphire SW 6963. Lately, the Splasher has shown a penchant for Gulftream SW 6768, or so we think.
There are countless mysteries about The Splasher that have yet to be resolved. Why is he or she doing this, defacing beautiful street graffiti -- which is art as well, in my opinion -- with big, ugly, chaotic splotches of randomly chosen colors of paint? How did this graffiti war start? What is The Splasher's point? Does he (or she) favor Sherwin-Williams or Benjamin Moore? Why? People, we just don't know.
Here's what we do know. The Splasher's work is fugly and anarchist. (No, I didn't just say The Splasher is the Antichrist, read it slowly). As of late, he (or she) has been leaving a "Manifesto" at each crime scene, which contains an opaque message railing against something or other having to do with street art, capitalism, or whatever the fuck. Honestly, I can't understand what the hell Splasher's message is, maybe you can. Here's a copy of the Manifesto, which you can enlarge:
Wow, that's some real pseudo-intellectual shit there. Who the fuck is Dada and why would he/she/it support the wanton splotching of colorful street art that people actually enjoy looking at? Clearly, The Splasher is a person who really likes him (or her)self and, quite literally, wants to spew his or her narcissism all over the place for the world to see.
Here are some images of Splasher's recent victims, who are now horribly disfigured. WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IMAGES ARE GRAPHIC. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
Sadly, this story recently hit home because, and this is hard for me to say, The Splasher is now hunting victims in my neighborhood, Williamsburg. Yes, Splasher's operating right here in the 'Burg, defacing street art, some of which I had previously posted on Flickr. Here's one I took of that dear old friend of mine, Uncle Sam:
Look how The Splasher massacred my boy (pic is not mine):
Here's what the bastard (or bitch) did to the painting of the beautiful woman I took a picture of a few weeks ago (first pic is mine; "after" pic is from Curbed):
Pretty disturbing stuff, I know. I hope you didn't eat breakfast before viewing these.
There are numerous other examples of Splasher's sick handiwork in the 'Burg, which have been carefully documented by fellow 'Burger i'm not sayin', i'm just sayin' For more Splasher-related pictures, go here.
New York-centric media also have been covering this story for months. We gotta story on Curbed; we gotta story on Gothamist; we gotta story in the Village Voice; and we even gotta story in the New York Times. Whew Splasher, you are bigtime, my brother! (Or sister).
In this age of terrorism, you will not be surprised to learn that this story of graffiti run amok has just gone national. I woke up this morning to see a story about The Splasher posted on MSNBC, via The Washington Post.
Everyone's wondering, just Who Is The Splasher???? Recent speculation has it that this is just another instance of guerilla marketing gone overboard, that some corporate lackey is being paid a few bucks every week to deface street graffiti, which is not legal property, to get some free "underground" advertising. One company in particular, who I am not going to name here for fear of giving them even more free exposure, is under suspicion, because ad postings mentioning this company have been found near The Splasher's recent defacements, untouched.
Folks, if you haven't noticed, it's getting harder and harder for corporate America to get into your heads. Billboards and neon signs just aren't cutting it anymore. This is why they have to resort to stupid marketing ploys like the ATHF fiasco a few weeks ago in Boston and now, possibly, this absurdity in New York. This is what it takes to get through to you. It's your own fault.
And if The Splasher really is an individual acting alone, a selfish, puerile, Mommy-didn't-hug-me-enough, narcissistic, attention starved, I-used-to-pee-my-bed-and-sometimes-still-do, wannabe artist who can't make it in the real art world, buddy, get some fucking therapy. No one wants to look at your pathetic excuse for a "statement." Enjoy your 15 minutes.
Boy all this work has been cutting into my blog time lately. Enough with the mushy b.s., it's a new month. Time to get back to current events. Here's a quickie in the middle of my workday: 8 things I think I'm thinking about today, March 1, 2007.
1. Dick Cheney would do well to keep his pasty white arse within the borders of the United States. Yes, he's almost as despised here as he is in Afghanistan and Pakistan, but as far as I know, no one here is trying to take him out. Seriously, what in Allah's good name was he doing visiting those two haters a few days ago? Couldn't he have done the same thing with a video conference? No, no, no. Meeting with foreign dignitaries is really not the point. These little jaunts to the world's hellholes by Messrs. Bush, Cheney, and Madame Rice are designed to accomplish two things: (1) Stanch political bleeding on the home front, and (2) Poke a large American finger in the eye of our enemies. "I am all powerful, and I can go wherever I want in the world, including your backyard. I'm right in your face and you can't touch me, fuckers!"
Well, Dickles almost got touched a couple of days ago. Permanently touched. Too bad the Talibananas don't know that you can't kill Dick Cheney. You can only hope to contain him. The man is a vampire. He's Bulletproof. A zombie. The undead. You get the point. He's survived what, four heart attacks? He's not going anywhere and will probably live to 104.
Oh, and I loved this quote. When Dick was asked about the purpose of the suicide attack -- which killed 23 people by the way -- this is what he said:
"They clearly try to find ways to question the authority of the central government. Striking at Bagram with a suicide bomber I suppose is one way to do that."
No shit, really? If they almost got Cheney on short notice, how much time do you think Karzai has left?
2. Britney's bald look is hot. Yes, I know I'm in the minority here. Perhaps even a distinct minority. But her head is so smooth, so sexy without hair. It really brings out her beautiful eyes. I dig it. I really do. I'm biased though. In my life, I've had torrid crushes on other bald women, like Sinead O'Connor (pre-SNL fiasco) and the bald actress in the first Star Trek movie. I can't explain it. You really need the right head shape to pull it off though ladies, so beware before you trot out those clippers!
Jack Nicholson is another story. At the Oscars, he looked like a bloated Daddy Warbucks in too-cool-for-school sunglasses. Like Darth Vader after they removed his helmet in Return of the Jedi and showed his misshapen blue head. Not a good look, Jack. But you're doing it for your art, so you get a pass. (And I know you're reading this blog in between Bacchanalian romps with young wannabe starlets. That's why I am speaking to you directly, in the second person).
3. Pigs are flying and hell is freezing. We are approaching peace with North Korea and (gasp!) we might actually be seen in the same room with leaders from Iran and Syria. Good news, my brothers!
Of course, the moral of this story for all you pipsqueak enemies of the United States is that if you build yourself a nuke or two, we'll make peace with you. No one wants a nuclear fistfight. Is it any wonder why Iran is running full steam towards membership in the Nuclear League of Nations? It ain't no fluke, if you don't got that nuke!
Hey, who's that in the back of the room stompin' and swearin' and gettin' all red in the face? Israel? Hmmm... this story's not over yet. Get your hazmat suits and Cipro ready folks, and strap yourselves in. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.
4. You think your life sucks? Try being Taco Bell for five minutes. First they have a sickening outbreak in some of their restaurants in New Jersey and then NYC inspectors "discover" a nest of rats in one of their restaurants in Greenwich Village. Nice eh? I love rat droppings with my tacos, don't you? If you are stupid enough to still own stock in Yum Brands (owner of Taco Bell, KFC, and Pizza Hut), you may want to consider beating yourself about the head with a KFC chicken wing.
I've probably eaten at a Taco Bell twice in my life (my appetite does not run large for a shit-looking/smelling bean paste in a thin wheat rollup), but you'll never catch me there, or at any of those other places, again. In fact, between E. coli outbreaks, mad cow disease, and that bloated feeling I get after eating red meat, vegetarianism is looking better and better to me every day.
5. I wish Alan Greenspan would shut the fuck up. Isn't this guy supposed to be retired? He's as old as God and he still feels the need to grab his balls and opine on the future of the market whenever someone puts a mic in his face. A few days ago, he did us the dubious favor of proffering his wisdom that the U.S. could be headed for a recession later this year. Based in part upon his negative remarks (and profit taking in an overheated Chinese market), the U.S. market tanked 416 points, the largest drop since after 9/11.
Can't he be quiet, go buy an island somewhere, and keep himself busy playing hide the mango with a few lady friends? Sheesh. If he keeps this shit up, I'm going to be on the street wearing nothing but a barrel, like a poor character in one of those old Bugs Bunny cartoons.
6. This just in -- 74 year-old Italian grandmother, Olga Mauriello of Naples, finds live grenade in groceries. Apparently the device was covered in dirt and she thought it was a spud, a dirty little potato, until she took it home, picked it up, washed it off, and realized she had a live, active grenade in her hands. [INSERT CLICHED ITALIAN EXCLAMATION HERE]. Thankfully, she lived to tell the story, though she has been seriously traumatized by the Spud That Was Not A Spud.
Baaaah! What a baby. My Nonna would have turned that grenade into spicy fries, thrown it on a plate with a T-bone, and served it to us for dinner.
7. In local news, I can't decide where I come down on Pool Aid. You don't know what Pool Aid is? Man, where you have you been? Pool Aid is an organization that has taken a (still) decrepit, though incredibly large, empty pool near McCarren Park in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and turned it into a happenin' site for summertime concerts. I attended a couple of them last summer, and they were actually kind of fun, though the lines got longer as the word got out. Cheap beer, Dodgeball games, slip n' slide, hot dogs, lit doobies here and there, and good old fashioned rock and roll. All the great things you remember from your childhood.
The downside is it that the crowd gets a little grungy during the course of an afternoon. And after a few drinks, some of the hipsters -- the cool but much maligned 18-25 year-old unwashed demographic that pervades the 'Burg -- come perilously close to venturing into 60s hippydom, dancing around, hugging, waving, laughing, smoking. Hippies are most certainly NOT cool. When I start seeing hippies, that's when I pick up my NY Times (what a dork I am, seriously), get on my bike and leave the scene.
Some people don't want the concerts because McCarren Park is located near rapidly rising, yuppie condos, some of which now surround the Park. The concerts go all day on the summer weekends. Not exactly what the Condo People envisioned when they plunked down mucho dinero for granite countertops, Australian Jarrah wood floors, and Subzero refrigerators.
If you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, what a hipster is, or why you should give a rabbit's poop about pool concerts in a tiny town in Brooklyn, well have I got a special treat for you! I ran across the video below on Curbed, which will answer ALL of your questions and much much more. It's Pool Aid Hipsters singing "We Are The Pool," playing off the USA for Africa song from two decades ago. Shots of last year's concerts, kids splashing, Williamsburg hipsters dancing, and people just having a good old party time. An aging, sadly deflated Kool-Aid Man even makes a cameo. (Sadly, he's really let himself go. Must have been all that cocaine in the 80s.) Enjoy.
8. One small step against terrorism, one giant leap towards a police state. Time for an update on the legal proceedings of the case involving alleged Al Qaeda operative (and American citizen) Jose Padilla. He's the guy they locked up in a U.S. military brig in South Carolina for a few years without due process for allegedly plotting to build a dirty bomb. His trial is coming up in April and what do you know? It appears that a crucial DVD recording of Padilla being interrogated has mysteriously disappeared. The missing DVD dates from March 2, 2004. It's important because it might show, among other things, that Mr. Padilla was sufficiently traumatized by prior harsh treatment -- which has been said to include extreme isolation, manipulation of the temperature in his cells, loud noises and other techniques designed to break him down -- that any confession or other statements he gave during interrogation could be ruled inadmissible at trial. Guess we'll never know now, will we?
Prosecutors gave no explanation for how and why the DVD went missing after all this time. One would think they would have kept it carefully guarded under lock and key, since it purportedly provided key evidence of Mr. Padilla's guilt. Apparently someone important decided that the bad outweighed the good and the DVD should disappear, so it did.
This guy is getting railroaded so badly, it makes Saddam's trial look fair and clean by comparison. Can't wait to watch the sham on C-SPAN.
And that's 8 things I think I am thinking about today. Good night and good luck.
In honor of El Primero Presidente Jorge Washington, who suffered through a brutal winter in 1777 with the troops at Valley Forge, I froze my ass off taking these pictures today. Hope you like them.
Industrial-Land.
Ixnay on the Ignorancay.
Williamsburg has some of the hottest graffiti women I have ever seen. Tried to chat this one up, but for some reason, she wouldn't respond.
Stop! As in "Stop taking pictures of this fucking bridge!"
Chaka really like dis picture.
Just a dude crossing the street. Nothing to see here.
Nice views of Manhattan from the Schaef.
Salvation lies within. Drink Kabbalah. DRINK ETERNAL LIFE.
I swear to you, for three seconds I thought these two were real. They scared the shit out of me.
Hipsters - 12:00.
There you have it. Have to go take care of my frostbitten parts now. More pics at the Flick.
