4 posts tagged “sexy jesus”

Maybe you know me and my predeliction for all things Victorian. John Ruskin. I have had the hots for Charlotte Bronte since I was a teenager. I aspire to one day be William Morris, and be able to successfully write novels and poems, design buildings and print beautiful books. It's easy to take inspiration from people who have been stone cold in their graves for more than a hundred years, but Brooklyn has one place where the Victorians still speak each and every day. The Green-Wood Cemetery, founded in 1838 in the Gowanus Heights is the largest concentration of Victoriana in NYC, yet so few New Yorker's I know even know it exists. Allow me to blow up thy spot for a bit.

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If you take the N/R Train to get to the cemetery, you'll pass a strange little building on the corner opposite the gates. This is the McGovern-Weir Florist, and this building is unique in the Five Boroughs. Legend has it that this glass topped, slightly soaring and beautifully ramshackle structure was brought to Brooklyn after the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair.

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The sign, as well as the verdigris copper roof is brilliant. McGovern-Weir is still a one hundred percent functioning business, so it's easy to slake your thirst for a view of the inside of this building. I'm a sucker for decaying copper.

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It's a tidy little building on a somewhat untidy block. Strangely, breaking out a serious looking camera seems to make the natives chatty, and here was no exception. A young father and his kids were throwing around a football, and seemed curious why I was shooting so many frames on their block. Unbidden, he told me the house next door had, 'A long strange history. Oscar Wilde stayed there once.'  That is an odd Victorian coincidence. I haven't been able to verify this. It may be possible, Wilde definetly visited NYC for a while, but the particulars are somewhat vague. Hit me if you know.

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'A dreaded sunny day, so meet meet at the cemetery gates. Keats and Yeats are on your side, Wilde is on mine...'  I couldn't resist throwing in that Smiths quote, because it fits perfectly. Green-Wood has an entrance  worthy of the serious business of dying that goes on inside. The gates at the 25th Street entrance, are slightly newer than the rest of the site, having been put into place in 1860's. The pillars are Indiana Limestone, and the iron gates have just received a fantastic restoration by Jurgen Scoda. You will feel quiet and humble as you pass inside. This is architecture with a purpose, to effect the humans that interact with it. This is often missing in our modern environment, we moderns don't like to be humbled so often by our own creations.

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The Gatehouse is one of the  best examples of Victorian architecture anywhere in NYC, and possibly anywhere in the United States.Designed by English born architect Richard Upjohn, and built between 1861-1863 every inch of this buildings is beautifully detailed.  Don't forget to look up. Above the entrance ways are well preserved Bas Relief carvings grouped around the theme of Christian resurrection.  This buildings is also home to famous  Brooklyn Parrots, which you can see nesting and wheeling about most of the year.

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After passing through the gatehouse, you are no longer in the land of the living. Pop a coin in Charon's hand; you have crossed into the land of the dead.

The Green-Wood Cemetery gets my vote for the most peaceful place anywhere in New York City. Even on clear, beautiful days, it's so quiet you can hear the wind whistling over the tombstones. There isn't a Yoga class that can hold a candle to this place.

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If you act like a yahoo, this gent on the left is sure to make an appearance in your dreams.

Situated in a slight dip in the geography is the Green-Wood Chapel. The chapel has recently been restored, and is less creepy than most churches. The doors are usually open for observation and poking around. The outside is somewhat dour, but after all we are in a Victorian Necropolis, but the inside is quite 

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inviting. Again, remember to look up. There is an outstanding chandelier hanging from the ceiling that is worth checking out.
I also noticed that an overly chubby pussy cat has

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taken up residence in the chapel. This photogenic fellow is one of the living residents of Green-Wood. He appears to have a fan club that takes care of him, and looks to be far from the starving alleycats that are everywhere in Brooklyn.

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I'm much more of a dog person,but I figure every graveyard worth its' bodies needs a tabby cat.

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As you move away from the gates, you begin to soak in the real character of Green-Wood. It's spare at best, in the best meaning of the word. Sure there are gravestones, but there are  mausoleums as well, which aren't quite so common in the U.S. Each of these free standing tombs is an architectural masterwork in miniature. I'm personally partial to the pyramids. The Victorians were just discovering  Ancient Egypt, and it's surface influence pops up all over Victorian culture, especially with anything having to do with The Dead. The Egyptians had there entire culture pointing towards the afterlife, and the Victorians have taken this same tact in  many ways. Through a strange twist of fate, of once spent quite a bit of time in New Haven Connecticut, where there is an enormous Victorian necropolis, with a giant moniker carved in stone above its' gates that reads, 'And The Dead Shall Rise Again', with some faux Egyptian stonework.

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Up on her high horse, we a fantastic statue of Minerva, the Roman goddess of Wisdom and Artifice. Strangely, this isn't the only statue of Minerva in Green-Wood. When they weren't appropriating the Egyptians, they were looking back towards Ancient Rome. Those Victorians.

Overall, the condition of everything at Green-Wood is absolutely stellar. The grave stones, the tombs and the grounds are perfectly kept, and there isn't a shred of litter of vandalism anyplace that I've ever seen there, and I've been wandering around this place for a long, long time. I have always wondered, what happened to my ladies' head here? She doesn't seem to be part of any specific grave site that I 

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noticed, which may be why her head is missing. Vaguely reminiscent of Winged Victory of Samothrace because of her decapitation, be sure and pay this statue of visit. She isn't much for conversation, things being what they are, but it is an exquisite little piece of art. In the past I have entertained the idea that she may have been constructed without a head, as a nod to the Greeks or Romans.
Up on a little hill, opposite the small pond with the mobs of geese, is an elaborate little temple tomb. Ringing the tomb are some scary, snarling, teeth bearing wolf heads that are worth a close up look. Possibly they were placed on this tomb to scare off evil spirits so the interred could rest in peace?

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Even through years of weathering, I wouldn't want to meet this fellow in a dark alley. His teeth are still sharp as hell all these years later.

Graveyards play funny tricks on your mind, and play tricks with light and shadows on your visions. Every now and than you capture a specter with your Nikon.

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Here is the shadowy alter -ego of your narrator stalking the paths of the The Green-Wood cemetery to let you know what's going on in NYC.

One feature of Green-Wood that I have always loved are the amazing little signs that delineate the various pathways and roads that criss-cross and ring the whole place. These are much more than ornamental touches. It's terribly easy to get hopelessly lost in here.  I once became so lost in Green-Wood, during the most insane summer deluge, that the rain actually destroyed my notebooks in my backpack and broke my cell phone. If you visit, try to make a mental note of the little signposts that pop up frequently. They are wonderfully made, have quaint yet beautiful names, and are actually useful for navigation.

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Here you can see the sun starting to set over the sign for 'Sunset Path'. I really enjoy the sharp edges and spear like protrusions on these signs. They could have been boring little informative rectangles, like we use now all over New York, but they aren't. The Victorians were just better than us.

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On the right is a modern grave with a small covered votive. This makes me think of the relics that seem to cover every inch of Italian churches. Looking at pictures of The Dead, while among the dead lends a certain immediacy to living, I think. I agree it is also creepy.

When approaching the crest of the largest hill in Green-Wood, you'll start to make out a terrific panorama of tombs, the lake, and views of Manhattan, Brooklyn and Jersey City on a clear day. At the bottom of the hill is a miniature
Monticello esque round Roman temple.

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The siting looking down on this tomb is brilliant. I love looking at it, and I think the notorious cranky
Olmsted and Vaux are looking down with approval. Hey guys, this is laid out much better than your Fort Greene Park, right? Of course you disagree. Well, at some point in the future we'll have quite a bit of time to work this out amongst ourselves fellas.

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Just like in the land of the living, in the land of the dead, only the wealthy get to live and build on the shoreline. This chapel, sitting on the shore of the lake, is a fitting monument to the excesses of wealth. The copper doors have an outstanding patina of green verdigris, and the mini cupola on top is a tacky way to display your cash into the afterlife.

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It's hard to beat the view though. There are much less beautiful things you could be watching for eternity than this.

The Egyptians definitely thought you could take it with you. The Victorians did as well, but being a bit more civic minded, instead of snuffing out their pets for burial, they settled for nice statues of the same. I really love this hound. Him and his partner are guarding there masters bones for all eternity, remaining perfectly loyal down through the ages. I much prefer this type of eternal guardian to the bloodier Egyptian version. I make certain

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to pay these two a visit every time I visit Green-Wood. Be sure to give them a scratch on the ears. They're quite friendly as long as  you don't mess with their master inside.
I'm not sure who's buried in here. It's no one that I know, but between the dogs and the gorgeous Neo-Classical gate, I'm certain he had good taste.

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This casting reminds  me of Edwards Byrne-Jones. I imagine its' creator was familiar with his work, at least through prints or engravings.
In Full Metal Jacket, Joker gives a bit narration where he says, "The Dead know only one thing. It is better to be alive". This swan, swimming along and minding his own business, seems to know that better than anyone.

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One recurring theme, seen on all manner of tombs and headstones everywhere in Green-Wood, is Freemasonry. Ringing the lake, there is a huge cluster of Masonic graves. Many have the compass and rulers of the Masons. Quite a few others have carvings of the All Seeing Eye. The Masons were a hugely influential force in The Colonies, and all through the Victorian era, and the abundance of symbolic graves pays tribute to this.
I love a good conspiracy as much as the next guy, but not really convinced that they're controlling the world at the moment. Either way, the  Masons are heavily represented here in Brooklyn. This tomb also reminds me of time in New Haven, 

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where similar symbols point to the home of Skull and Bones.

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More than anything else, I appreciate Green-Wood as a place of extraordinary beauty, smack dab in the middle of New York City. Beauty can be thin on the ground in the Five Boroughs. Don't take that the wrong way, New York City has no bigger booster than myself, but truly gorgeous things are not exactly what NYC is known for. They're there, but this isn't Paris, where the truly beautiful is spilling into the gutters. We have to work a bit harder to finds views like the one above left.

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I like the austerity of this simple stone slab above ground tomb. It reminds of something the Etruscans may have left behind in Tuscany. This is a sturdy structure that I'm certain will  outlast all of us by a huge margin. There's something to be said for solid engineering, even to house the dead.

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On the opposite end of the lake, as you climb up the hill, you can catch more sweeping views of Jersey City. That tall, fairly hideous building in the distance is Liberty One, the tallest skyscraper in New Jersey.

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He may be remembered for telling young Americans to "Go West", but Horace Greeley, is firmly entrenched in East Coast soil for all time.  That's my wife taking in the bust of the former New York Tribune founder. His grave site is quite elaborate, with a copper bust, a few tableau's below, and a ring of relatives buried around him on lower ground. Strangely, Mr. Greeley is facing East. I wonder if that's an oversight, or is symbolic of him turning his back on the West because he's a New Yorker?

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That's Mr. Greeley getting busy on his old-school printing press, preparing another issue of the New York Tribune.

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Truthfully, my knowledge of the U.S. Civil War, is much spottier than it should be. I think I spent most of that year of high school smoking pot in the student parking lot. I do know that U.S. Grant was stationed for quite some time in my Brooklyn neighborhood, Fort Hamilton. It would make sense that his personal doctor, and his wife, are buried at Green-Wood. Remember folks,, the spirit of Grant and Douglas is with us when we Defend the Fort at all Costs!

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I really love graffiti. Especially old graffiti. This is only 40 years old,much younger than just about everything else in this place, but I find it very interesting how the words carved into this tree have grown and spread over time. You can see 40 years of tree growth in a second, that's something you won't find in a science textbook, but seems to illustrate the passage of time in a place that has changed very little in the last hundred years.

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This monster tomb sits on top of a hill, and  belongs to one of the wealthiest, most famous old line New York City families. I'm not going to tell you who. I want you to make the trek and figure it out. It's worth the trip here, which is the whole point of why I do this. I'm only interested in people exploring the city and learning something new.

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So stop. Take a look around. Notice the details, like the cast iron base holding up said stop sign. Green-Wood is really a unique place in New York. Sure there are other burial places, like Cypress Hills, and the two Marble Cemeteries, or the wonderful churchyard at St. Paul's. Green-Wood is different. I've been here dozens of times, and there is still so much I haven't seen. For instance, Basquiat is buried here, but I've never stumbled upon his resting place. I'd like to offer you this piece of advice. They lock the gates at 4 pm. For real, they will lock you in. I'm not kidding. As beautiful as it is here, I don't think any of us are quite ready to take up permanent residence yet. 
Until next time, keep it Victorian kids. - Sexy Jesus

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Darryl Strawberry? How in g-d's name did you end you end up meeting Darryl Strawberry, emily? Even more curiously, 'How did Darryl Strawberry end up talking to you about group sex and cocaine?'. Yes, 'Tis a Strange Tale indeed. I will do my best to explain.

I'll start at the very, very beginning, and while this tale is somewhat convoluted the punchline as well as the journey are both worth it in my eyes. Two of my oldest, dearest friends Chris Gethard and Gregg Gethard are the funniest set of brothers I know. Much funnier than my brother, Fran and I. We're funny, but not like these two. Over the years Chris and Gregg have developed quite a few brilliant comedy routines and extended inside jokes, and one of them centers around the troubled New York Mets slugger Darryl Strawberry - popularly known as 'The Straw' (I thought straw only had to do with an abbreviated version of his last name, but alas it may have more to do with drug paraphernalia than phonetics). Chris and Gregg have been bandying around jokes about The Straw for so long, that this routine  eventually took on a life of it's own. Gregg, as is my brother Franny, is an alumnus of LaSalle University in the worst neighborhood of  North Philadelphia. A few years ago, at one of LaSalle's open mic nights, Gregg performed a one man play called 'Darryl', starring himself as Darryl Strawberry, and giving a hysterical take on The Straw's life, times, and of course troubles. It isn't much of a life without drugs, drinking and car crashed, correct?  Gregg's one-man play was a smash hit on the LaSalle campus, and became legendary to everyone who had the pleasure of witnessing it in person, or on a poor quality video recording that I believe was limited to VHS, or possibly just BetaMax.

Now we can fast forward in time a bit (this is BetaMax, mind you, the skip function hasn't made it here yet). Chris Gethard is not only a funny guy, he makes his daily bread as a comedian, and is a member of New York City's notorious improv troop - Upright Citizens Brigade. Like all good younger brothers, Chris took Gregg's idea for a one man play about Darryl Strawberry and ran with it. Screw that actually. He took off, hauled ass and sprinted with it. He polymorphed into Carl Lewis, raised and clapped his hands and was 'Out!'. Chris created his own version of Gregg's idea, and 'Darryl', the one man play was reborn into a comedic milestone. On the surface, a 

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This brings us to the present. If you mounted a one man play about a man known for blowing lines of coke large enough to outline a regulation Major League Baseball diamond, smacking up his ladies and trashing auto's like matchboxes, what would your next logical step be? Why, gather up as much cash as possible and Win an auction to have Darryl Strawberry come speak to your 'School'!  That's what logic would dictate I'm certain. I broke out my engineering calculator, ran a few Game Theory scenarios, and that was what I came up with. Makes perfect sense. Defying every sane, right thinking chain of thought, this is what happened. Chris was able to win the auction and  have The Straw come and speak to a group of his closest friends.

The Brothers Gethard, many members of the UCB comedy troupe, many hangers-onners and your truly, Sexy Jesus, gathered at in Midtown for this monumental event.

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Anticipation was high. Chris was worried that somehow a room of professional comedians, and professional trouble makers like  myself, who were all in on a joke that Mr. Strawberry was not in on, may cause a problem. How could he think that? There was talk of the speech degenerating into a double aluminum bat wielding  fracas. There was talk of the speech degenerating into back room crack smoking (which was what I was hoping for). There was even talk of Darryl forcing the Brothers Gethard (Gregg who is pictured below and to the right in DSC 0059) to fight each other to the death as the creators of a play mocking him. Worry was definetly in the air at the UCB offices.  The UCB crew  provided a really nice  spread, that of course included  all the usual chips and whatnot, and a  huge plate of ....
Strawberries!

 

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Chris left the whole gang of comedians, and went downstairs where word was passed along that Darryl was in he deli downstairs enjoying a sandwich. Chris returned with The Straw to wild applause, and what eventually went down as one of the all time greatest pranks began and went off like a rocket.
Darryl is a huge man - broad in the shoulders, taller than me (and I'm 6'1"), and he was looking solid and healthy. It had clearly been at least two weeks since he did cocaine. Wearing a stylish blue and black checkered button up, and a pair of jeans, he was dressed comfortable, but the audience clearly made him uncomfortable.

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Framed by the all-seeing-eyes of the UCB logo painted on the wall, Darryl, who needs no introduction, especially to us New Yorker's who remember that magic Summer of 1986, introduced himself and explained that we weren't his usual audience. His usual audience were pimps and people blazing rock.  OK, not really. He explained that he usually spoke to school kids, but he was glad we were older, so he could 'Let loose a bit'. When Chris one the auction he told Darryl that he  would be speaking to a group of aspiring acting students, so The Straw was under that impression. You could tell he didn't think much of actors, or acting students,and that he was mocking us in his head. The deception and double entendre's were a flyin'.

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The Straw had a big, nervous smile on his face, and immediately began explaining how it wasn't really his fault that he became so fucked up, so quickly. He made the point that Major League Baseball is a trap for young, virile men to fall into, and every vice is made readily available to players. The Straw even explained that the older players introduced him to coke and women  after being in the big leagues just a few short days.

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After about five minutes of rambling speech about how he was glad he had now found g-d, Darryl sensed that we were a decent group of people, that we applauded at the correct time, that many of us were in fact stoned at that very moment, so he started loosening up. This is when the  event took a turn for the bizarre and better.

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The more we smiled, laughed and clapped, the better Darryl's stories got. He told us that even though he had tons of money while he was playing ball, that he never spent his money on drugs. He got all his drugs for free! The Straw told us that if you're famous, drug dealers want to give you drugs just to hang out with them. You could have all the drugs you wanted for free. Truthfully, how can anyone not get royally fucked when drug dealers call YOU up to give you free drugs. You'd  have to have the willpower of St. Catherine of Siena to stay straight. He explained that doing a lot of coke often leads to 'Tag-Teaming'. Did we know what 'Tag-Teaming' was?  He bet the guys knew, but not the ladies. Yeah, he pointed at your faithful author because 'Yeah, I saw you smile'. I'll admit, everyone knows I love a good orgy.
He offered up a few 'High-Fives' for the smiling gents on that one. It's good to see that Darryl hasn't lost his sense of humor nor his taste for group sex. He made several allusions to Tim Teuffel being his 'Go-To-Guy' in the threesome department. I'm just glad he say it was Gary Carter ('Yeah, Gary Crter would com to bed with the ladies but wouldn't ever take his catcher's chest protector off...').

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Everyone in the audience was fully aware of the irony of Darryl Strawberry coming to UCB to speak on the invitation of Chris Gethard, but it seemed that appreciated his talk on both the ironic and un-ironic levels. The Straw seemed like a genuinely coo, funny guy. It's easy to see why drug dealers would give him free drugs. Partying with him would be a blast. It's a shame that we live in a country that villainises people for having an excessively good time. Darryl pointed out that he never murdered anyone, that he never stole, that he never raped, and that he never hurt anyone but himself really. All he did was play some great baseball, and bring joy to a lot of us New York baseball fans in the 1980's, before the Yankees spent billions of dollars to bring home all those World Series rings.

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Darryl Strawberry opened up the floor for questions, and I could see Chris start to sweat profusely. He began eying the fire exits and calling upon the spirit of Royce Gracie.  The first question was from my brother, who produced an amazing artifact 'Get Mets-mirized' - a 12" LP rap album of the several key members of the 1986 Miracle Mets rapping. My brother asked The Straw if he could talk a little but about this record, and he also asked why Dwight Gooden was wearing sunglasses on the cover. My brother asked if Doc Gooden was high when they made the record.

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This made Darryl a little bit angry, and this was by far the most uncomfortable moment of the whole day. He said that it was pretty obvious why Doc Gooden was wearing sunglasses, and that the rap album was amazing, not horrible. 'Hey if the Chicago Bears could do it, why not us?' Touche, Darryl. My brother began to point out that The Straw's ex-wife sang backup vocals on the record,  but he was luckily cut off by someone else asking a more sane question.  Next, Darryl asked if any of the Ladies had any questions. One did, and that question ended in physical contact - just a hug - but I Darryl was just dying for some young comedian booty at this point. It was a bit creepy. It became creepier when Darryl asked if any Other Ladies had any questions.  I was waiting for him to ask if anyone wanted to get fingered or 'Tag-Teamed' after the show.

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Then, it was over. I literally bent over to change lenses on my camera, and Darryl was gone. I was secretly hoping I would get a chance to shoot some one-on-one photos of various people and The Straw, especially Chris, Gregg and my brother, but it didn't happen. Darryl ran like he was dipping from the Florida Highway Patrol. It was a shame, because we never got to show him another amazing piece of Darryl memorabilia, a shiny, silk screened jacket with  his visage in neon and satin. We even got a pretty lady to model it, which should have roped  Darryl right on in

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This story begins with two brothers who have a dream, and ends with the realization of that dream.  How many times does that happen? Almost never. We've gotten to see an idea go from infancy, to maturity to mockery, all in the span of a few short years.  I'm not sure what the most amazing part of this story is. Is it the fact that there was a one man play about Darryl Strawberry? Is it the fact that the play was actually performed, in public, numerous times? Is is the fact that it was given amazing reviews because it is so hysterically funny? Is is the fact that the story of a drug abusing baseball player is considered comedy by out generation? Is is the fact that 'Darryl' gained so much attention that a cease and desist order was issued and the play brought to a halt by unfeeling, un-laughing, humorless legal powers? Is it the fact that the very same man who engineered this play, and was forced to abandoned it, then got the subject of the play who forced his hand to come and speak to the plays' audience? This story is a comedians wet dream. More than that, this story is any true American's wet dream. Chris and Gregg Gethard challenged the juggernaut of Major League Baseball, and got the last laugh. In many ways, this story is about more than just a hysterically funny play about a drug addicted ballplayer. It is a metaphor for the Gethard's feelings on life. When we were younger, the Gethard Brother's suffered at the hands of many jocks, and caught tons of abuse from the 'Darryl Strawberry's' of the world. Any smart, talented, funny person can make a play about their torturers. It takes a master comedian to make it funny. However, no one can make a play about their torturers, make it funny, and then have their torturers sit through their play, while they are being made fun of the whole time without realizing it. That is the true genius of the story of 'Darryl'. Goliath has taken a stone to the dome, and he hasn't even figured it out yet.

Chris and Gregg, I salute you. You have managed to pull of the world's greatest prank, bar none. Huzzah!

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postscript: At Darry Strawberry's little speech at UCB, I was the jerk snapping hundred of pictures. Someone needs to document these things! If anyone is interested in any more pictures of this event, please check out Sexy Jesus' Flickr Stream of Darryl Strawberry at UCB. There are a ton more pictures there. All my photos are licensed under Creative Commons, so feel free to use/post/repost/make-custom-toilet-paper-out-of freely as long as my contact info (emilydickinson@gmail.com and http://emilyrides.vox.com/) is attached.

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This New York City junky can site plenty of yearly events that are worth breaking plans to attend, but for most people, the New York City Marathon isn't one of them.  These people are WRONG! The NYC Marathon is more than just a bunch of Uber-Fit no fun, non-smoking, non-drinking,no-weed, be-muscled, no-getting-laid-because-it-wastes-your-energy weekend warriors. The 2006 New York City Marathon in my neighborhood, Bay Ridge Brooklyn is a huge wild party. The streets are lined with people swilling beer from their stoops, holding sign and cheering for their friends and strangers alike. What other sporting event gives you the opportunity to high five a vast portion of the athletes as they drip sweat all over your clothes? Maybe a cyclocross racegives the spectators as much of a thrill, but I think I'm only the cross RACER in Brooklyn, so people watching the races are thin as hell on the ground. The NYC marathon begins in the rugged lands of Shaolin, and crosses the Kill Van Kull via the engineering marvel, and my second favorite suspension span (after the Brooklyn Bridge),  The Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. After decamping from the bridge, the runners headed down Fourth Avenue, through Bay Ridge and Fort Hamilton, which is where I was standing. 

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As someone who spends quite a bit of time racing myself, albeit bikes, not in just my sneakers, I was absolutely impressed by the speed of the runners. These men and women towards the front of the race were cooking. It's difficult to imagine running full bore like that for more than three hours, gives me a side stitch while sitting in my desk chair.  I got to see Lance Armstrong, who appeared to be rocking his own personal version of a peloton. He was being shadowed by some type of motorized camera platform,  had about a dozen domestiques from Niketown handing him water and was hauling ass. We ride bikes Lance, give up the sneakers and get clipped back in.

I noticed this fantastic sign while walking up the block to the race, and I made a mental note that a great graphic designer lives in that house. My bubble was quickly burst when I found out that particular sign was given out by the corporate sponsor of the race. I'd love to know who the designer was, Milton Glasser maybe? If anyone knows shoot me a comment.

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This group was the first to come down Fourth Avenue and contains the eventual men's winner Marilson Gomes dos Santos. 

From top to bottom,  the Italian  contingent did Italy proud, and  I noticed more Italia jersey's like this one, than any other countries colors.

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The race was also riddled with cops and fireman, who were easy to spot by their regalia.  These two gents were actually toned down compared to their fine and brave brethren.

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Quite a large percentage of the runners had a smile, semi-smile or smirk as they glided past. I'm not exactly sure how that's
 possible, but I was only standing at mile 4. Whnwww!

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The runner on the left has a fantastic t-shirt on which says, 'I Don't Look Like Jay Leno'. Sorry pal, unfortunately,  you do bare a resemblance to Leno, enormous chin and bizarre facial expression an all.

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I'm a sucker for athletic ladies, being a racer myself, just ask my wife, we met on a bike ride. I'm especially a sucker for women in arm warmers. Fuck leg warmers, arm warmers are where it's at. If you have a set of arm warmers, you are guaranteed to be hardcore. Only road cyclists,marathoners and triathletes even know what arm warmers are. I have a set of Rapha ones that are butter. As if all this isn't enough, her shirt says 'Impeach Bush'. It also says the same on her ass.

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My good buddy, the painter par excellence Matthew Morrow, always maintains that nothing says class like tuxedo t-shirt. After seeing this lady killer I can do nothing but agree.

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Way back in 1984, when I was still a schoolboy the centennial of the Statue of Liberty was a very, very big deal here in NYC. From fireworks to Lady Liberty themed flashers and Carvel ice cream ('Statue of Liberty  O'Puss' anyone?), everything in New 

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points and a torch. Too bad I hadn't discovered bondage yet. These foam crowns were all the rage, and were considered extremely clever. They even qualified as stand alone Halloween costume.  The crown is no giant red moose antlers, but hey, no one's perfect. Not even the big green lady with the creepy bare toes.

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Running 26 miles in an unwieldy homemade lighthouse costume is not an easy thing to do. One gust of wind and 'Larry The Lighthouse' is 'Larry the Stumbling Human Projectile'. That ain't made of goretex neither, so I doubt it breathes all that well. I just have these terrible, creepy feeling that he is beating off in there. I really hope not.

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These gents saw my SLR and ran across several rows of running traffic to jog in place so I could snap a clear shot of them. Good work guys, you made the photo cut.

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One man in a floppy green Irish hat is just that - one man in a floppy green hat. However, you get a crew of men in floppy green hats, and that's a statement. It shows foresight, planning and commitment.

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'I'm From Austria'. As if we couldn't tell by your pal. Actually, German's force him to wear that shirt so no one thinks he's German.

What a waste. They should be forced to use and carry water bottles like us bikers. Seriously that's a disgrace.

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This reminds me of the opening credits to Laverne and Shirley, where they place a glove onto a beer bottle on the assembly line. Shameel - Shamazzle! Hossenfeffer Incorporated!

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That deer on the Poland Spring bottle should be made into fondue for this behavior. Poland Spring coming straight from Maine? They should go back to Maine and litter in their neighborhood, not mine. I have to say, the volunteers for the marathon did a pretty decent job of 

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up. The one thing they didn't entirely clean up were these cups. I imagine they'll still be a few come next years race stuck in the sears and under bus stops and dachshunds little feet.

Milton Glasser's 'I Heart NY' is a tough design to beat when picking out your marathon shirt. You know whatever shirt you wear that day will be immortalized in the timekeeper's shot in your personal photo collection, that you use to brag about finishing for years to come, so choose wisely. It may also show up on random internet sites about Brooklyn, so watch out the next time you run out in a stained Varnet ginny-t and Umbro's 'just to get milk'.

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'Hey RJ. Had Fun. Got too Drunk. This is your sign. See you at Rother's!'  These fellows should get an A+ for creative use of a fire escape along a Marathon route. Not only were they too hung overto do whatever it was they were supposed to do, they were drinking all throughout the marathon, and planning to drink at Rother's afterwards. Cheers Guys!

The NYC marathon rocks. Next year, get up early, roll a joint, snag a good cup of coffee and a sesane bagel with tofu cream cheese and head to the nearest place the runners intersect with your life.  If you ran in the marathon, or would just enjoy looking at more of my marathon photos, please check out my 2006 New York City Marathon Flickr Stream.  Sexy Jesus' 2006 NYC Marathon Photos All my photos are licensed under the Creative Commons License, so feel free to repost them as long as my name,email addy and the address of this blog appear clearly.

Stay tuned, as I had a chance to meet Darryl Strawberry, the legendary New York Met's slugger yesterday. I have tons of photos and he told me about threesomes and cocaine. I'm serious.

I was listening to the GZA's absolutely brilliant album Liquid Swords this morning, and I noticed that there is a sort of newscaster's monologue delivered at the beginning of Investigative Reports which describes the Battle of Brooklyn, the bloodiest battle of The American Revolution. I've heard itinerant, almost to the point of inducing nausea in me, historian David McCullough describing the Battle of Brooklyn as nearly ending the war before it even got off the ground. There's apparently quite a bit of American Revolution history here in Fort Hamilton

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I fought my own battle today, in the form of trying to post a video to the web. I won't bore you with the technobabble, but if you've ever attempted this, you know it's a soul eater. I am quite happy with the results which I'll share with all of you tonight.

First up is a video of me, Sexy Jesus, giving a spoken word poetry performance at The Waterbug Hotel (see the post from 10/29) for a little more about that. This video is fairly long for a poetry set, coming in at 26 minutes, but surprisingly it's easy to watch, even on a middling speed connection.  Check it out here: Sexy Jesus Live!
So, on goes the archiving.