True creative genius

When TVs were air conditioners

In 1981, the Sony Trinitron television was as close to the top-of-line as the average American could afford. It was big, bright and brilliant. The 27" screen was housed in a plastic shell that must have taken up eight cubic feet. The entire unit weighed over one hundred pounds. Carrying it to a fourth floor walk-up apartment was like carrying a 25,000 BTU air-conditioner up those same steps today.

It was huge and heavy.

The 1981 New York City sanitation strike

It began just after midnight on December 1 and lasted sixteen days. During that time, in some locations, garbage piled fifteen feet high. In a city of eight million, where the average citizen creates over two pounds of refuse each day, the resulting mess was unprecedented. The cause is irrelevant. What matters is that rats the size of small dogs were strolling from pile to pile, across five lane avenues, with an impudence usually reserved for a Goldman Sachs partner. The city, at the time, was filthy to begin with, but this was the Sistine Chapel.

New York City — 1981

If you were born after the trash strike or had never visited Manhattan before 1989, its hard to explain how much the city has changed. Street crime was rampant. Hookers plied their trade openly and muggings were as common as pay phones. Time Square was not the Disneyland that it has since become.

The East Village was, however, amazing. Genius could be found in every club, bar and laundromat. Art of every kind was taking control of everything the pimps couldn’t. It was a flywheel, with chipped teeth, spinning at 6000 rpm. HIV hadn’t been discovered. You could walk into the men’s room of the hippest clubs and watch a profane circus of the absurd, without surprise or irony. Those that didn’t believe in vampires and werewolves were disabused.

Overwhelming stench

There was that moment during the strike—and it was different for every individual—when the trash problem became personal. And, after one had exhausted every personal resource — every hiding spot in one’s apartment, every dumpster on one’s way to work, every window at the end of the hallway, in every hailed cab, under every parked car, tossed in every open lot, thrown over every razor-wired fence and in every parking structure — one needed to find an alternative.

Pursuant to a practical solution, it helped to parse the refuse. The situation required rigorous analysis. Pyramids are hard to move. Truck tires can be pushed to the end of the block if you can stand them upright. Styrofoam, while bad for the environment, doesn’t attract rats. Banana peels do. A broken TV tray takes up space but doesn’t reek. Tampons, well.

Never leave a car unlocked in the five boroughs

In Manhattan, even today, a car should never be left unlocked. It will be stolen. With enough time, the theft can be guaranteed. Most people understand this fact implicitly but it bears reminding. An unlocked car is an invitation — a big, fat, beautiful invitation for the underbelly.

In 1981, ten year-old kids used to test every door handle as they walked down the street just so they could steal pennies from ash trays. And, yeah, there were ten year-old kids wandering the streets all over the five boroughs in 1981.

A big, fat, beautiful invitation

The most gifted creative professional I’ve ever met is a truly odd human being. He was a college professor who, in his chosen field, was world famous. You would know his work. His genius was unmistakable.

He was incisive to the extreme. He couldn’t edit himself, sucked his thumb and was stilted in a way that made everybody question themselves. He reached his personal limit with the trash about seven days into the strike. That same day, by coincidence, be bought a new Sony Trinitron. For the poor and the desperate, the television represented unachievable entry into a club from which they’d been excluded.

Roof rack

After saving up the most wretched garbage he created over the next several days, he walked through his building and collected his neighbors misery, telling each of them he’d found a way to dispose of the refuse. They threw money at him and gave him as much garbage as he would take.

The next day, he crammed the filth into that empty Trinitron box, making sure that none of the graphics on the box were covered. Outside, on Bleecker Street, in the West Village, he stumbled along, carrying that huge box until he found a car with a roof rack.

Five minutes later the box was gone.

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Newsletter: Sugary candy for the soul

I don’t teach, preach or sell hard. I do send out silly ten second stories about people, places and things.

• November 2022
  • Nov 24, 2022 The scroll of Kerouac's soul Nov 24, 2022
• October 2022
  • Oct 3, 2022 A brother helping me remain in light Oct 3, 2022
• September 2022
  • Sep 1, 2022 Ten things to never say to a new car salesperson Sep 1, 2022
• August 2022
  • Aug 1, 2022 The question of an evolving identity made whole by street artists and vandals Aug 1, 2022
• July 2022
  • Jul 4, 2022 The warmth of knowing my baseball glove is in the sweater drawer Jul 4, 2022
• June 2022
  • Jun 2, 2022 Sonny Rollins standing on the bridge in Giverny Jun 2, 2022
• May 2022
  • May 1, 2022 Sitting in front of forever May 1, 2022
• April 2022
  • Apr 2, 2022 A temple, a church, a synagogue or an artist’s studio? Apr 2, 2022
• March 2022
  • Mar 2, 2022 Foghorn Leghorn inside the flower garden of the mind Mar 2, 2022
• February 2022
  • Feb 6, 2022 My first cup of Tibetan butter tea Feb 6, 2022
• January 2022
  • Jan 4, 2022 Dancing is better with a corn dog in each hand Jan 4, 2022
• December 2021
  • Dec 1, 2021 Even Edgar Degas made mistakes Dec 1, 2021
• November 2021
  • Nov 2, 2021 Running shoes, rhetoric, hyperbole and the dog with the human head Nov 2, 2021
• October 2021
  • Oct 2, 2021 Still life painting at 36 Via Fondazza Oct 2, 2021
• September 2021
  • Sep 19, 2021 True creative genius Sep 19, 2021
• August 2021
  • Aug 17, 2021 "Sometimes you need to just lay on the sidewalk and bleed for a little bit" Aug 17, 2021
• July 2021
  • Jul 12, 2021 Dozens of worn-out couches in a true art house Jul 12, 2021
• June 2021
  • Jun 14, 2021 Daft Punk Frida Jun 14, 2021
• May 2021
  • May 17, 2021 Eating cake in a cemetery May 17, 2021
• April 2021
  • Apr 8, 2021 Mindfulness, meditation, a drum circle and the yellow doves of Mount Airy Apr 8, 2021
• March 2021
  • Mar 9, 2021 That diner in Brighton Mar 9, 2021
• February 2021
  • Feb 17, 2021 Tibet via North Philadelphia Feb 17, 2021
• January 2021
  • Jan 11, 2021 Bukowski is family Jan 11, 2021
• December 2020
  • Dec 23, 2020 Mindfulness, meditation, parking meters, poems, love notes and library books Dec 23, 2020
• November 2020
  • Nov 16, 2020 Six tongues and the sugar face Nov 16, 2020
• October 2020
  • Oct 20, 2020 Tequila, cops and grace Oct 20, 2020
• September 2020
  • Sep 25, 2020 Feeling the machinery Sep 25, 2020
• August 2020
  • Aug 17, 2020 The futile fury of a final letter Aug 17, 2020
• July 2020
  • Jul 4, 2020 It all begins with the word Jul 4, 2020
• June 2020
  • Jun 19, 2020 Hate in the abstract. Love in the specific. Jun 19, 2020
• May 2020
  • May 19, 2020 Dirty hands drawing a circle May 19, 2020
• April 2020
  • Apr 19, 2020 A singularity built from many pieces Apr 19, 2020
  • Apr 14, 2020 Resurgent feelings and the Bowery's Blitzkrieg Bopper Apr 14, 2020
  • Apr 5, 2020 Channeling my inner Iggy for the third time Apr 5, 2020
• March 2020
  • Mar 24, 2020 A golden eagle's echo will carry forever Mar 24, 2020
• February 2020
  • Feb 21, 2020 Seven crappy poems Feb 21, 2020
  • Feb 11, 2020 Words from the white space Feb 11, 2020
  • Feb 5, 2020 Bursting between the beasts Feb 5, 2020
• January 2020
  • Jan 30, 2020 Mindfulness, meditation and the Yah-Yah contraption figure Jan 30, 2020
  • Jan 22, 2020 The Beastie Boys, potato salad, the number 12 and a phone call from a Buddhist monk Jan 22, 2020
  • Jan 16, 2020 Mindfulness, meditation, nevermindishness and nothingness Jan 16, 2020
  • Jan 8, 2020 Glibquip Jan 8, 2020
  • Jan 6, 2020 DeSoi versus Hemingway Jan 6, 2020
  • Jan 5, 2020 Hating happy cats Jan 5, 2020
• December 2019
  • Dec 31, 2019 Baked beans and ice cream Dec 31, 2019
  • Dec 27, 2019 Zen and the little blue box Dec 27, 2019
  • Dec 20, 2019 About the power of symbols Dec 20, 2019
  • Dec 13, 2019 Obscure references lend credibility, especially when you make them up Dec 13, 2019
  • Dec 9, 2019 Three fingers tickling the air Dec 9, 2019
  • Dec 5, 2019 Sunday dinner at the DiGiulios Dec 5, 2019
• November 2019
  • Nov 26, 2019 One man's silly secret to writing an online dating profile Nov 26, 2019
  • Nov 20, 2019 Burning man at Burning Man Nov 20, 2019
  • Nov 18, 2019 A didgeridoo full of goo Nov 18, 2019
  • Nov 16, 2019 Two thousand words from the future Nov 16, 2019
  • Nov 14, 2019 Every scar is cool Nov 14, 2019
  • Nov 12, 2019 Daily affirmations and anonymous encouragement taped to the back of a stop sign Nov 12, 2019
  • Nov 10, 2019 Willem de Kooning’s women have jacked-up teeth Nov 10, 2019
  • Nov 8, 2019 Flames, bikers, bras, jaws, Jack, Lemmy and liquor Nov 8, 2019
  • Nov 6, 2019 I met a German vegetarian in an Italian butcher shop Nov 6, 2019
  • Nov 4, 2019 Art + money + object = fetish Nov 4, 2019
  • Nov 2, 2019 Ferried on the fingertip wings of an angel Nov 2, 2019
• October 2019
  • Oct 31, 2019 Cyclops @ night Oct 31, 2019
  • Oct 29, 2019 Nietzsche was wrong about almost everything Oct 29, 2019
  • Oct 27, 2019 A singular reason to hate social media Oct 27, 2019
  • Oct 25, 2019 Mindfulness, meditation, chance and The Village Vanguard Oct 25, 2019
  • Oct 23, 2019 Umbilical Oct 23, 2019
  • Oct 21, 2019 The curve of a single elegant line Oct 21, 2019
  • Oct 19, 2019 Five Boro Flamingo Oct 19, 2019
  • Oct 17, 2019 Mistress and wife to the same musician Oct 17, 2019
  • Oct 15, 2019 A python named Tom and a Toyota test drive Oct 15, 2019
  • Oct 13, 2019 Sweetie pie and the sugary fire Oct 13, 2019
  • Oct 9, 2019 A great artist doesn't need to leave a single great artwork in his wake Oct 9, 2019
  • Oct 7, 2019 Eleven effective ways to control the tempo of negotiations with a car salesperson Oct 7, 2019
• September 2019
  • Sep 28, 2019 What to expect from the dealer trade vehicle evaluation Sep 28, 2019
  • Sep 24, 2019 Three stories being told at once Sep 24, 2019
• August 2019
  • Aug 24, 2019 Thirty years away from the Blues Aug 24, 2019
• July 2019
  • Jul 22, 2019 Ten hours in Madrid Jul 22, 2019
  • Jul 11, 2019 When life slows down to let you take a look Jul 11, 2019
  • Jul 6, 2019 The Buddhist Manager Jul 6, 2019
  • Jul 2, 2019 The perfect, hopeful, subversive headbanger Jul 2, 2019
• June 2019
  • Jun 27, 2019 Scribbleheads Jun 27, 2019
  • Jun 24, 2019 Myth of the Knotdog Jun 24, 2019
  • Jun 19, 2019 Dream of the Zen Blue Hat Jun 19, 2019
  • Jun 16, 2019 Sleeping dogs and the power of forgiveness Jun 16, 2019
  • Jun 12, 2019 Skate Hog Jun 12, 2019
  • Jun 9, 2019 I type with two middle fingers Jun 9, 2019
  • Jun 5, 2019 Hillbillies love Salvador Dali Jun 5, 2019
  • Jun 1, 2019 The single most important thing a prospective Fordham University parent needs to know Jun 1, 2019
• May 2019
  • May 31, 2019 The accidental copywriter May 31, 2019
  • May 28, 2019 Five 70s albums every Millennial should listen to this weekend May 28, 2019
  • May 15, 2019 Five secrets to writing a moving love letter May 15, 2019