Under Atlantic

In torrential rain, I went down a manhole in the middle of Atlantic Avenue. The purpose? To embark on a subterranean tour of Brooklyn, in the dark. Back in the 80's, a guy called Bob developed an obsession with rediscovering the world's first subway, which lay buried beneath the boroughs for more than 100 years. He's just started taking people down again, after being shut down (by the government, man!) for almost a decade. Check out his website. I also learned a new word: spelunking (the recreational sport of exploring caves).

Bike porn

I know it doesn't sound like a good combo. But there was this thing. It was organized. And I didn't have a bike. So I rented the equivalent of a big fuck-off Cadillac for a day. All white. No gears. I took it on the subway, and so many 'blinged' men commented I was starting to wonder whether I was going to get jumped for it. In any case, I made it from Astoria to Fort Greene without losing it, and making new friends along the way.

Outside the Bohemian Beer Garden in Astoria, Queens. The image doesn't quite capture the full 'pimpness' of my ride, but use your imagination people!

The route we took carried us through mostly run-down industrial areas.

Beer in giant styrofoam cups, goes well with a game of BuckHunter.

And final destination: Habana Outpost. A market/eating and drinking venue that is open only 3 months a year. Recipe as follows: take an empty lot, put some colorful umbrellas in it, serve that delicious Cuban BBQ corn, let people pay less if they make they're own frozen margaritas by using an exercise bike to power the blenders, and that about does it. A fitting finale to a perfect summer day in NYC.

Problem: bored at work?

Solution: fashion a costume around the theme of 'fake moustache'. Works every time.

Serra show

Richard Serra's sculpture is showing at MOMA right now. All I have to say is: Picnic at Hanging Rock redone in steel. Amazing.
And a whimsical wall of drawings by Dan Perjovschi, also on at MOMA.

Foot long phallic beverage

A morbid curiosity surrounds Coney Island. My morbid curiosity. Sunshine, 50 year old amusement rides, clams, carnies, dirty beach, home of the World Championship Hot Dog Eating Contest (and it's giant LCD countdown) - how many more reasons did I need? Just one: Coney is being demolished to make way for a new 'rich young thang' seaside getaway. More apartments, anyone?

Take Brighton, take Blackpool (they don't even have nice weather), but please don't take Coney. I still have concussion from the world's scariest rollercoaster. Or perhaps it was the foot long pina coladas.

The aforementioned ahem's.

No, it's not Guantanamo. It's the line-up for The Cyclone - a very old rollercoaster, now designated National Trust landmark.

Warm Up

PS1, Moma's young upstart space in Queens, turns into a venue for Saturday dance parties and gallery-viewing with beer. I have to say, it comes pretty close to the classic Vibes on a Summer's Day back when it was affordable and intimate.

This year's winner of the PS1 Young Architect Award, Ball-Nogues from LA, has created an amazing space to Warm Up 07.
The cafe ceiling is transformed.

Multi-tasking in NYC.

Installation of sky by James Turrell - very cool.

And at the end of the day, we end up at Water Taxi Beach Bar, for neon palm trees, sand and the best view of a Manhattan sunset you could imagine. Hint: it's not really a beach. Just sand dumped on an industrial lot in Long Island City.

Faded glory

Took a drive out to Tuskegee, Alabama, site of America's first black university started by Booker T Washington. Nice campus, but no town anymore. Just a lot of run down, burnt out buildings - most of which stand empty. Another case of the rich-right -next-to-the-poor weirdness of the States. And lo and behold, no Walmart.

Pine Point 07 - getting in touch with my roots

Every year, the Bommers, Darrows and Anthes' converge on a strip for sand in Connecticut. They've been doing it every year for god knows how long - maybe 50+ years at a guess. That's why I figured "when in Rome..." and took myself along for the last ever Pine Point Renunion. The house is sold and the kids are moving on, so that's why I have to include so many pictures this time round.
My grandmother's ashes were hauled out for the festivities, complete with cigarettes and alcohol (no gin on hand). Now I know where I get my sense of humour from.
Ye olde homestead - Oswegatchi is the name I think.
The tradition here, as I understood it, was to eat, get drunk and then walk it off by donning ridiculous hats and canes and parading around the neighbourhood. The family used to own the whole point, so I suppose it's akin to surveying your lands (in an ironic way). Sample hats pictured.
You can't have a boathouse without chilli lights, if you want to be legit.
My grandfather made these speakers out of old soda crates (one great grandfather owned a root beer bottling factory way back). I think this is cool and I bet they cranked.

The 3 C's (Connie's Converge on Connecticut)

The way Americans like to name their kids, if you didn't already know, is to make everyones name the same. Think George Bush and George Bush, and you'll start to get the picture. My father is the 4th in a line of William's. So now, having returned to my 'homeland', it's time for me to get with some of my own (not literally, of course - we stopped all that least 2 generations ago). Meet my namesake (the older one) and my aunt - all named Connie. Never before have all 3 been together in one place. Pretty special, in an American soap opera kind of way. This was taken at the last ever Pine Point reunion, at the Anthes' homestead in Connecticut.