Occupy Wall Street

 The two men in the Guy Fawkes masks had "Undercover Cop" written all over them.

BY the time I left work last night my whole family was asleep, so I decided to stop by and check out the Occupy Wall Street protest site at Zuccotti Park. For those of you not familiar with lower Manhattan geography, the park is directly across from the World Trade Center site and used to be called Liberty Plaza. When I worked at the WTC it’s where I would eat my lunches and it’s where I usually end up to sit and reflect when I  visit the site on the anniversary of the attack.

Spending some time at the camp it was obvious that however you want to feel about the protest you could find lots of material to support your argument. There are goofs, kooks, stereotypes, hippies, and people spewing nonsense, and there are sincere, intelligent, rational people who are aware of the limits of their protest but feel it’s important none the less. Overall there was an earnest sincerity that I always find unsettling, be it in religion or politics, that is indicative of “True Believers” and usually the over-simplification of complex issues.

I’ve had a very mixed personal response to the protests, ranging from blind contempt to a vague anti-establishment solidarity. I agree with some of the criticism that the protest is too amorphous and abstract and seemingly devoid of ideas, but at the same time it’s refreshing to see people making sacrifices to express themselves. Make no mistake, these kids were out in a cold, hard rain throughout the night and all of them were prepared to get maced or punched and spend the entire weekend in The Tombs just to be a part of whatever this ‘movement’ is.

Regardless of your opinions on tax reform or government’s role in healthcare or Wall Street regulation, I would hope that you would fully support people’s right to peacefully protest without having a police officer pound their kidneys with a nightstick or spray their eyes with mace. The police that I saw at the park were incredibly respectful and polite. They didn’t seem to be looking to find reasons to arrest people.  In fact they seemed to turn a blind eye to some things that might otherwise get you arrested. That said there was a quiet tension between the protesters and the police, basically a “don’t be a dick and  make my life difficult” vibe that all of us have felt.

The media was there in force and most of them seemed to be tailgating with the hope of police clashes in the morning. Even if they are just there for the blood sport,  they are there, and that is a win for the protest organizers. At minimum the group has people talking about their issues of choice, and for that reason it can already be considered a success. I am interested to see how this all plays out, if it will strengthen or wither, if there will be any lasting effect, if some sort of charismatic figure will arise from the rally, etc.  Time will tell.

Window Dressing

Amze Emmons and Kevin Haas - Disintegration and Sprawl - Christina Ray Gallery

The images below have terrible white balance and do not give an accurate representation of the work. Please go here to see the proper coloring.

 Amze Emmons

 Kevin Haas

The Press

The second piece of artwork I ever purchased was a beautiful print by Amze Emmons. I was a college student at the time and my silent-auction bid of $30 felt like a lot of money to spend on something I couldn't eat. I was very nervous that I wouldn’t win the piece but shocked when I did. Even then I realized that I had gotten an incredible bargain and that I would likely never have another opportunity to take home some of his work.

That print has hung in every house I’ve lived in since, and beyond its artistic qualities I also enjoy it in the same way a kid treasures a rookie card that he was prescient enough to acquire before the player became a star. Seeing Amze’s show at Christina Ray has further cemented that feeling.

Side note:

I once shared a class with Amze that was titled “Creativity Workshop.” The instructors were a patchouli-dipped couple clad in flowing khaki linen, both sporting limp ponytails and luxurious body hair. They were very, very serious about their earthy intensity and they insisted that you be the same

.
The class began with a 15 minute guided relaxation breathing exercise and from there basically consisted of girls in sweatpants discussing their journal entries and the drawing of ‘life maps’ and ‘word clouds.’ I don’t recall doing ANY work for the class, as it was ‘up to us’ when we were feeling creative. The only strict assignment was a final project that was an autobiography of some sort.

Most people were turning in a diary or a shoebox diorama or a collage made from old US Weeklys. Amze made a gigantic and amazing painting of overlapping maps that (if I recall correctly) showed the geographic timeline of his life. It was beautiful and elaborate and well crafted and exposed everyone else’s projects for the garbage that they were.

 

Car Toons

Shellac at The Bellhouse

I obviously had my camera out too, but the Andy Rooney in me hates how people nowadays watch shows through the screen of thier phones. Fuckin' nowadays.

 "We're  not going to play Heartbeat. That record is 25 years old! Stop yelling! It's really annoying! Stop doing it! STOP IT!"

 Steve Albini

 Todd Trainer

 Bob Weston

 The stack

My freshman year of college I learned through “the web” that Shellac would be playing a series of shows at the First Ave club in Minneapolis. The lineup was Thrones, Blonde Redhead, and Shellac.  There were going to be shows on Friday and Saturday nights, and then an all ages show on Sunday morning at 8 am. I was only 18 so the morning show was my only option. Growing up in Des Moines, driving long distances for shows is a ritual, just part of the deal. I floated the idea to some friends and we all agreed the logic was sound. We would leave at midnight.

That Saturday night the house where I lived was having a big party, and in my excitement I invited more people to join us, expecting they would decline. They did not decline. Around 11:30 the five of us (Myself, Raphe, Dominic, Bryan, and a totally random girl none of us had ever met but who was at the party) crammed into the car and set out for a 5 hour drive with no tickets, no maps, and no clue if the show as even still 100% happening.

15 miles later, while driving at 85 mph on the interstate, Dominic’s car lost all power. The alternator was shot. We pulled over and got out and pushed the Pontiac for about 3 miles in the dark before another car finally stopped and offered assistance. None of us had a cell phone, so they drove two of the people in our group back to Iowa City. The rest of us waited at the car and discussed potential alien encounters. An hour later the crew returned in a different, significantly smaller, car. We grabbed our gear, abandoned the first car on the roadside, and continued on.

When we arrived in Minneapolis we dropped the random girl off at her house and went downtown. We joined a line of about 15 other people outside of the club and sat on the sidewalk and waited. When the doors finally opened an hour later, we found dozens of toasters scattered throughout the venue along with free pop tarts, juice, and coffee. We binged.

All three bands played amazing sets. Or anyway they had to be amazing to us because if they weren’t amazing then we were huge idiots. After the show we hung around and talked to the bands and said thanks. I remember Bryan telling one of the Blond Redhead twins that they should come to Iowa and “We’ll get you some corn!” A couple minutes later when the guy politely excused himself Bryan began freaking out “WHY DID I SAY THAT?!?! IDIOT!” Around noon we set out to find lunch.

After some complications we were able to meet up with random girl, who was in a teary state of sleep-deprived mental breakdown. None of us had slept in at least 24 hours, and I was personally at the 36 hour mark. After a lunch full of arguing and bitching and short nerves we set out for Iowa City at about 2pm. I drove while most of the group slept. Raphe stayed awake to make delirious banter. The car had a broken speedometer so I would try to gauge how fast I was going by other cars.  If I had to guess I would say the we were oscillating back and forth between 30 and 90mph. After what seemed like forever, we finally arrived home around 8pm. We dropped off a still-teary random girl, who I would never speak to again. The rest of us parted company with shrugs and satisfied grunts.

Considering all that, I was shocked at my own reaction when a friend called and said he had a spare ticket to this show and that it was a 15 minute WALK away. My first instinct was to stay in, but then I remembered that little opportunities like this are exactly why I live here. On the way over to the Bell House, one of the friends-of-my-friend was talking about how long the walk was and I smiled.