Man Hustle

Man Hustle

It may seem to some that this bit of Bushwick madness invading the Lower East Side is attempting to turn comedy inside out, but really a return to comedic roots is what’s at stake here. Old Man Hustle is a staple comedy hole-in-the-wall and this is simply the circus from the bizarro world returning for some third party narrative on the, ahem, finer points of life. Mr. Silver, who conducts ringside calamity on a biweekly basis at the French leave-your-senses Bizarre in Bushwick, arrives to screeches and howls at the Old Man Hustle for a more intimate affair and a more narrative approach to put-it-out-there outrageousness.

Mr. Silver takes a Bushwick circus to Manhattan...
Mr. Silver takes a Bushwick circus to Manhattan…
... for AIR escapades in text form.
… for AIR escapades in text form.

Not quite content tho with classic standup, a man may loose his shirt.

After some coaxing...
After some coaxing…
... to be transformed.
… to be transformed.
... a struggle ensues...
… a struggle ensues…
... a man may lose his shirt...
… a man may lose his shirt…
A Kodak moment at the Old Man Hustle.
A Kodak moment at the Old Man Hustle.

The humor has bite so that bouts of nervous energy suffuse the room. Every one of these men finds time to mention their wives or in one case a long trail of random encounters, as if to pay homage before daring to be quite the tasteless brute with words. We skate round and round in the millennial mind until arriving at some seeming insignificance that does the trick for laughter or grief or both. The little things under absurd scrutiny, that make it all matter so much less.

Crimean nervous energy evaporates with the inspired...
Crimean nervous energy evaporates with the inspired…
... game controller suicides upstate in Kodak-branded Rochester.
… game controller suicides upstate in Kodak-branded Rochester.
Food and sex...
Food and sex…
... a running joke, yet surprisingly quite appetizing.
… a running joke, yet surprisingly quite appetizing.
Finding the tinged spice of life in cucumber flavored water...
Finding the tinged spice of life in cucumber flavored water…
... after a bout of pharmaceutical memory loss.
… after a bout of pharmaceutical memory loss.
A whirlwind process makes a mockery of 'relations'.
A whirlwind process makes a mockery of ‘relations’.
After, in messy mayhem...
After, in messy mayhem…
... we regard the male take on male.
… we regard the male take on male.
The muppet monster sheen...
The muppet monster sheen…
... makes stars of everyone in the room.
… makes stars of everyone in the room.
A shattered recording no further from the truth.
A shattered recording no further from the truth.
Left with a bewildered look...
Left with a bewildered look…
... for the MAN HUSTLE.
… for the MAN HUSTLE.

Morbit

Morbit

The waning days of winter have a peculiar effect on the restless art stragglers who just manage to flee the stuffiness of their lofts for the kick off of open studio season. Like a support group in the bitter cold, eye spy what joe and jane have been up to cooped up during this desolate Bushwick winter.

The Bushwick open studios started with a lonesome untapped cities tweet –

“Is this controversial art exhibit by @FuchsProjects too much too soon after the murder of a Hasidic landlord?”

— Untapped Cities (@untappedcities) February 28, 2014

Too much too soon? All spite for money, all love lost.
Too much too soon? All spite for money, all love lost.

In spite of everyone’s worsening mood and depressed circumstance, the ironic shill “too much too soon” didn’t make it into the list of 150 journalist cliches –

“150 journalism cliches–if you are a writer or editor, you will laugh til you cry: http://t.co/A7ipNslFfT via @WashingtonPost

— Federated Media (@FMP) February 28, 2014

Wax...
Wax…
... skulls.
… skulls.

Passive-aggressive as a means at an end.
Passive-aggressive as a means at an end.

And so the attendees launch themselves into a morbid orbit of grizzly wax, bits of bone, uncanny juxtapositions,

Bits of bone with a hallucinatory sheen.
Bits of bone with a hallucinatory sheen.
oil paintings on strips of cardboard whose chemicals will eventually rot them off the walls.
Cardboard: the medium is the pedestal.
Cardboard: the medium is the pedestal.
They congregate on what looks to be the porch from a particularly depressing Faulkner novel and mill about cartoonsie interpretations of the Nagasaki bombing.

All neon palm dream now.
All neon palm dream now.
Dual focus out of compensation.
Dual focus out of compensation.
Fat Boy made a splash.
Fat Boy made a splash.
Insights on the cusp.
Insights on the cusp.
Can-do islands in-a-box.
Can-do islands in-a-box.

A splash of color. Fish.
A splash of color. Fish.
Whittled thumb.
Whittled thumb.

Rickety.
Rickety.
Carpets twice removed in molded form.
Carpets twice removed in molded form.

And yet, from a whittled thumb and east asian motif carpets etched in warped plywood to a set of colorful splashes even among the most morbid shapes, subtle juxtapositions do launch much needed relevance and yearning into an arts dialog largely catering to collectors and the overtly ambitious. This assembly encountered in the February dark calls attention to the tacked-on existence underpinning these rickety installations.

Pinned-on existence.
Tacked-on existence.
A bit of self-conscious morbidity can’t hurt when the week saw attempts to resuscitate a notion of blackness from the tragically hip put-to-Bed-Stuy.
One and one makes three.
One and one makes three.
Naturally for that discussion everyone came out swinging, including the landed gentri-(purely as prefix, we understand), slinging their Brooklyn growing up stories – “when I used to run around the way…” until some nasties found a way to end it with spray paint.

All cuts, no transplants.
All cuts, no transplants.

Kathmandu

Kathmandu

Valentines Day can be a bit stressful for those searching. It’s best to approach such a day completely randomly. A week ago the preparations were already massively underway. So much red, so much pink and so much advice that will teach any man how to cry. But then again hearts and cupids can be fun and even a bit mischievous. Something, though seems to have gotten a hold of retail to don a certain lavishness not seen before. While performing a bit of predatory shopping happened upon a sight. Is it perhaps because we are all already so interconnected?

Crush-worthy * D E A L S *

Sorry for the blur but it really does say Crush-worthy * D E A L S *. This kind of cheekiness is genuine public service to relieve some of the pressures associated with our official day for love. The excitement already started to build when #ActivistPickUpLines started trending:

“I’m a socialist in the streets but an anarchist in the sheets,” #activistpickuplines.
— Elizabeth Sauvage (@petitehope) February 14, 2014

Suddenly an invite popped up for an event at the Chocolate Factory in Bushwick that promised less thinking about me + you with a keen mission to fundraise for a school in Kathmandu. Quite romantic search for love on a mission to Kathmandu, who could resist? Whipped up some chocolate treats and headed to the chocolate factory in Bushwick. The dance floor was in full swing, we all had a delicious time.


Find out more about the Kathmandu project in Nepal from the 108 Lives Project. The sugar free / dairy free chocolate recipe that sustained us that night, which might sustain your journey to Kathmandu:

Ingredients

Preparation

  1. Heat the coconut oil.
  2. Crisp the hazelnuts in the hot oil.
  3. Take the pan off the fire and begin to heat with a double pan of water.
  4. Add the cocoa until the oil begins to get thick.
  5. Add the stevia a few drops at a time until a sweetness starts to show in the taste.
  6. Grind the green pepper into the mixture and drizzle on the coarse salt.
  7. Turn off the heat and stir in the raw honey.
  8. Fill silicon forms and chill in freezer for thirty minutes.
  9. Wrap in cellophane and chill some more.
Fresh chocolate just broke the mold.
Fresh chocolate just broke the mold.
Cup'O'Chocolate.
Cup’O’Chocolate.