The “Housed” exhibition of women photographers happening at the Alice Austen Museum in Staten Island (did you know such a place existed? Now you do!) is pretty great. Up through Sept. 5, so you know, act now and all that.
(Photo:”Trude & I Masked,” by Austen herself).
Reading Bob Hicok’s Words for Empty and Words for Full (with thanks to Nancy Pearl for the discovery), and finding all over again that poetry has its uses.
From “Whimper”:
…and why ask that why
of the larger why, why did this happen, and why from that why
branch to the why am I alive why, there’s the why
are we here why and the why do we let so many questions
begin with a bang why and the why do we say aftermath
when it never ends, the desire to add for some and subtract
for others, we say we want answers, that it’s very quiet
around here now, all this light, the sun more full of itself
by the day until July will strip us of shadows and time
will seem to have given up on night, why is the song
we add to nature, we’re like birds as kids, why why why,
we sang, we sing, whole flocks of us swirling now,
turning our turns into turning, not knowing
in our direction what our direction is, how things
get decided undecided, lost if you need to find us
is where we are.
I mean.
Advice columns rarely deliver on their most basic premise. But then there is this. Whoever is doing the anonymous advising over at The Rumpus is really doing the Lord’s work—or at least she is killing it, writing-wise. Every column I click through just gets better. This is a good place to start.
Back manifesting destiny out (South)west for a bit for general soul replenishment/inspiration/kickstarting the autumnal lurch towards change. She totally knows what I’m talking about.
“Speaking of bowl cuts…we were in the dollar store yesterday and I found some old Aqua-Net from the 80s. It’s like really thick hairspray and I was thinking of doing something different with my hair at the show tomorrow night just to freak people out. Because lately it’s like “Oh, there’s the bowl cut dude.” But if I changed it up they’d be like, “Hey, where’s the bowl cut dude?” Maybe I’ll do the inverse and stick it up. We’re gonna debut our first performance of the New Kids On The Block song “Hangin’ Tough” tomorrow. It’s gonna be pretty wild.” — Sometimes it’s easy to forget what living in Brooklyn in 2010 looks and sounds like. And then sometimes it’s not. #whereismytimecapsule
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Psyched alert: For most of the next week, I’ll be hanging out and supervising the future Kathleens and Kims of the world Willie May Rock Camp for Girls, which is just about one of the most empowering organizations going for the little ones in this borough or any place. You can read Ada Calhoun’s quite comprehensive take on the whole thing over at the venerable 90s Woman, or get involved in whatever way you see fit at the official site. At the end of all this, there will be a fully-loaded, roadie-manned rock show at a Brooklyn mainstay, with lots of sparkles and feathers and beaming parents. Here goes.
Sometimes, when you take a trip up to Maine in the high summer heat wave, you end up on a beach, cut with rivulets and tributaries from low tide. Sometimes, you end up on this beach with a couple and their serenely happy, Irish-named child. And sometimes, you really just have to smash your face into that little belly. It’s not like there was another option here. I mean, sorry for partying with the babysploitation, but…look at it.
This is happening, incredibly soon.