Lucid Culture

[slightly edited repost from the DDDB email list]
In Monday’s NY Daily News, Forest City Ratner released new renderings of Frank Gehry’s designs for three buildings in the Atlantic Yards luxury housing disaster’s Phase 1 (the arena, “Miss Brooklyn” now renamed–simply–Building One, and one other building.) MAS’s “Atlantic Lots” renderings in the Post and the new Gehry designs were the substance of what NoLandGrab.org aptly described as a “Monday Morning Tabloid War“.

Described as “ridiculous,” “ugly,” and “awful” by experts and random New Yorkers, the new red, white and blue building designs have not been well received; the reception has been even worse than that accorded the poorly received earlier redesign released in May 2006. (The new Port Authority chief, Chris Ward, doesn’t like the redesign either.)

Most telling about the floundering state of the project is that though Phase 2 comprises the bulk of the project, the new designs only show Phase 1. Both Phase 2 and the building planned for Site 5 (where the PC Richards and Modell’s on Flatbush currently stand) were left out of the new renderings. Also absent is the existing and surrounding neighborhood — the model floats in a dark, decontextualized void.

Lucid Culture is one year old today, so it’s time to celebrate with some particularly lucid cultural news!

Just when you think you’ve seen it all, along comes Super Pii Pii Brothers, a video game designed for the Nintendo wireless system. A vaguely dildo-looking contraption is strapped around the player’s waist and is used to wirelessly direct the bright yellow stream of urine that sprays from what seems a distance of several feet toward the toilet or toilets onscreen. Every once in awhile a cat pops up from under the toilet seat. Piss on the animal and you earn extra points. If your aim is weak and you urinate on the floor for any length of time, the game is mercifully over.

The game claims to offer “100 different peeing environments with multiple toilet and urinal styles.”  And for the ultimate homoerotic experience, two players can compete with dueling pee streams. Supposedly the game is popular with Japanese girls who for the first time get to pee standing up. The lone American vendor offering it for sale at this point is selling it for $35 plus shipping.  Rumor has it that there is a version designed specifically for Williamsburg, Brooklyn due out soon, wherein the goal is to avoid the toilet and pee on the floor as much as possible.

When asked by a stock analyst if the Barnes and Noble bookstore mega-chain would be interested in gobbling up its biggest rival chain, Borders Books & Music, a spokesman for Barnes and Noble stated that though they had no strategic plan to acquire the country’s second-largest bookseller, they would be interested in speaking with Borders’ investment bankers. According to Publishers Weekly, this came to light in the wake of an almost ten percent dip in B&N’s net income for their fiscal year ending last month. The decline in earnings was attributed to the deterioration in music sales (which comes as something of a surprise, that music made up even this relatively small a percentage of B&N’s overall sales).

Despite perilous economic conditions, every poll indicates that those Americans who actually read are doing so at a record clip. Expect that to finally come to an end when books are only available at one central location who have complete control over pricing.

Imagine this happening under Jimmy Carter. Or Nixon, for that matter. It wouldn’t. Thank you Ronald Reagan for destroying antitrust protection for consumers.

Regular readers will recall that we’ve been following the baseball steriod scandal off and on, if only for some badly needed comic relief. When Congress creates such an entertaining distraction, one has to wonder what nefarious things the Bush regime is up to while the world holds its breath waiting for Special Agent Jeff Novitzky to lower the boom on Roger Clemens.

But people are getting bigger. Maybe Clemens, Jason Giambi, Gary Sheffield and the rest of the New York Yankees (and other teams’ players) implicated in the scandal really are telling the truth. Maybe it’s the hormones in the beef. A recent AP report examining municipal water supplies contaminated by prescription drugs cited one instance in Nebraska where fathead minnows downstream from a factory beef feedlot had noticeably lower testosterone levels and small heads. The cause? Trenbolone, the same anabolic steroid that the Yankees’ Jason Giambi used to bulk up so he could hit all those home runs. As it turns out, factory feedlot cattle - the source of most beef in the US - have implants in their ears which supply a steady stream of the steroid, making the cows bulk up in the same manner as the sixty-odd ballplayers named in the infamous Mitchell Report.

Have you lately been subject to fits of unexplained, uncontrolled rage? Get an overwhelming urge to drive three times the speed limit, even in a school zone? Has your hat size grown threefold in the past decade? Do people behind you at concerts always ask you to move because you’re so damn much taller than they are? Maybe it’s time you got your water tested.

And by the way, all that business about Clemens being at Jose Canseco’s barbecue? It’s true. See, we were there. At least that’s what Special Agent Jeff Novitzky said we have to say, or else we’re getting audited. All those free cds, free tickets, guest lists, wine, cheese and countless beers from everybody who wants to be reviewed here? That’s income. So unless you have a video of the entire Canseco picnic, don’t expect us to say we weren’t there listening raptly to Canseco’s and Clemens’ wives comparing the fine points of breast implants*.

*supposedly this actually happened

This past January, John Rossi, owner of Lowen’s Pharmacy in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn killed himself in the wake of a steroid probe. As the investigation uncovered, some of the customers purchasing steroids at his pharmacy were NYC police officers. The question of whether multimillionaire baseball superstars like Roger Clemens, Andy Pettitte or Jason Giambi are on the juice becomes pretty meaningless by comparison to how many members of the NYPD – or members of police forces around the country, or even around the world – may be addled from steroid abuse and suffering from “roid rage.” With this in mind, we uncovered a list of potential juicers whose possible steroid abuse may have proven fatal to several innocent civilians.

Justin Volpe. the NYC cop who infamously sodomized Haitian immigrant Abner Louima with a broomstick. Odds of being a juicer: high. Volpe was a mohawk-wearing, swaggering presence in the station house, and his behavior is consistent with roid rage.

Sean Carroll, Edward McMellon, Kenneth Boss and Richard Murphy, the team of NYPD undercover officers who may have been partying with cocaine in the minutes before they showered innocent African immigrant Amadou Diallo with a hail of bullets, 41 of which struck and killed him. Odds of being on the juice: pretty high. Roid rage causes extended, unexpected outbursts of violence and is a frequent “pathway” to the abuse of other substances, as the death of baseball star Ken Caminiti demonstrated.

Indicted but acquitted NYPD officers John Kostick, Anthony Piscola and Henry Boerner, who were initially charged in the murder of graffiti artist Michael Stewart, whom they arrested in the 14th St. L subway station in September of 1983. Odds of being juicers: slim, since this was 1983. But steroids were available in those days.  

NYPD officer Anthony Kianka, indicted in the strangling death of Dane Kemp of Brooklyn in 1990 following an arrest (the indictment was later dismissed). Odds of juicing: a little better. Steroids were just starting to get popular around the time Kemp was murdered.

NYPD officer Anthony Paparella, who was acquitted of strangling Frederico Pereira of Queens in 1991. Odds of juicing: even better, considering the violence of this particular crime.

NYPD officer Francis Livoti, who was convicted of asphyxiating innocent Anthony Baez with a chokehold in 1994. Odds of juicing: almost 100%. Livoti was five foot ten and 170 pounds; his victim was several inches taller and almost fifty pounds heavier. Only steroids give people the kind of superhuman strength it takes to commit a violent murder like this.

Donald Brown and Gregg Gerson, the NYPD officers who escaped charges of killing suspect Ernest Sayon the same year. Odds of juicing: less, but remember, this was when the steroid era was just getting started in baseball.

Atlanta undercover narcotics investigators Gregg Junnier and Jason R. Smith, who in a classic case of miscarried justice were allowed to plead guilty to “infringing the civil rights” of 92-year-old Kathryn Johnston, whom they gunned down after breaking down her door without a warrant in the middle of the night. Odds of juicing: high. It has been estimated the one in three high school football players in the southern US is on steroids, so, extrapolating that, it isn’t a stretch to assume that a similar contingent of southern police officers may be on the juice.

Officer Don Falks, who escaped murder charges after admitting to shooting 17-year-old Daniel Castillo in the face in another no-knock drug raid in the middle of the night in Wharton, Texas. Odds of juicing: same.

NYPD detectives Michael Oliver, Gescard Isnora and Marc Cooper, currently on trial in the shooting death of unarmed Sean Bell and the near-fatal shooting of the passengers in his car last year. Odds of juicing: same. Bullets were flying all over the place. At least one person here was really pumped up, possibly because of steroids.

Drug testing in baseball? Sure, why not. That way we can keep a handful of juicers out of the Hall of Fame and Roger Maris’ hallowed home run record will be left intact. But how about football? The 800-pound gorilla in this room is that virtually EVERYONE in the NFL is on steroids or human growth hormone or something equally maddening (just ask Reggie White. Oh yeah, you can’t – he’s dead). And while we shouldn’t ride rampant over the First Amendment rights of police officers, we also ought to devise a procedure that would severely discourage and punish those who are supposed to protect and serve but instead go on the juice and ride rampant over our rights, with deadly results.  

Here’s revenge:

http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1797440

Citing unidentified law enforcement personnel, the Albany Times Union reported yesterday that corporate black pop singer Mary J. Blige, hip-hop artists 50 Cent, Timbaland and Wyclef Jean, and comedian/actor Tyler Perry may have purchased steroids and/or human growth hormone. Paradoxically, law enforcement sources also stated that it does not appear that any of these performers have violated any law in connection with their alleged purchases.  Given what we know about steroid usage in major league baseball, the NFL and the NBA, we can extrapolate who else might be juicing,

Take L’il Kim, for example: she’s tiny. Less than five feet tall and topheavy, she could use a little something extra for those strenuous live shows she used to do before she went to jail. Foxy Brown, punching out that girl at the nail parlor? ‘Roid rage, plain as day. Naomi Campbell brutalizing one nanny after another? Gotta be the juice talking.

Bob Marley died of cancer, young. Very common in steroid abusers. And steroids are legal in Jamaica. Eazy-E? That wasn’t AIDS, that was his body breaking down from all the crap he was shooting up. Wilson Pickett and Nina Simone? Juicers often turn to drugs and alcohol. Ike Turner? As classic a juicer as there ever was.

And while we’re at it, what about Richard Wright? How did he get the energy to write Black Boy when he was sweating behind that dishwasher for 80 hours a week? He died young, too. Donald Goines? If you read between the lines, you’ll see that heroin is really just code for steroids. Zora Neale Hurston? She kept her looks for a real long time. They had HGH back during the Harlem Rennaissance too.

And in case you were wondering when we were going to get to all the white steroid abusers…well, white people don’t do steroids. Just ask Roger Clemens.

From a Dave Matthews fan:

I guess they cant sell any tickets!! i am against Dave doing this concert, so I have forwarded you an email that I received from the Fan Club:

 ”Greetings from theWarehouse: We are pleased to invite you to join Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds for a once-in-a-lifetime concert experience this Saturday evening, July 28 in East Hampton, NY. As many of you may have heard, Dave and Tim are performing a semi-private benefit for the Ross School in East Hampton. We have just been offered a limited number [ha - see below] of specially priced tickets for the benefit concert which we areoffering to Warehouse members that have purchased Randall’s Island VIP tickets. The all-inclusive ticket includes luxurious seating, world class food featuring the BBQ stylings of executive chef Adam Perry Lang, a top shelf open bar, plus pre and post showentertainment. The tickets are extremely limited and will be sold first come-first serve at $250 per ticket/$500 per pair. All proceeds from this special ticket sale will benefit charity with half of the proceeds to benefit Dave Matthews’ Horton Foundation and the other

half to benefit Ross School. Dave and Tim tickets may be purchased by calling (800) 803-6644 and mentioning the access code “Trax”. For more information about the concert, please visit www.discoversocial.com”

Now for the back story: Social is a five concert series in the Hamptons this month designed to rope in all the Wall Street trash at vertigo-inducing prices, to wit, three grand a ticket. A five-concert pass was going for what must be an alltime record, $15,000…except as you can see from the above email, tickets have now been discounted at over 90%…and they’re still a ripoff. Maybe the new robber barons aren’t so stupid after all: money may be no object, but nobody likes to come off as a sucker, which is what anyone who’s just plopped down $3 – I mean $3000 – for Dave Matthews looks like.  

Big Papi – My Story of Big Dreams and Big Hits, by David Ortiz and Tony Massarotti

 St. Martin’s, 288 pp., hardcover, $24.95, ISBN-13: 978-0312366339

Also available in Spanish as Big Papi – La Historia de Mis Anhelos y Mis Grandes Batazos

St. Martin’s, 288 pp., trade paper, $16.95, ISBN-13 978-0312366636

The truth in any contemporary book by a sports hero is always in the ellipses, what isn’t said, what’s between the lines. No doubt this was vetted before publication by an army of lawyers, so as not to offend anyone associated with Major League Baseball or, perish the thought, sully the game’s reputation. You assuredly won’t find anything revealing here unless you look for it. Suffice it to say that the days of hilarious tell-alls like Jim Bouton’s Ball Four or Sparky Lyle and Peter Golenbock’s The Bronx Zoo -  or Jim Brosnan’s thoughtful, introspective The Long Season - are long over, gone with the days of affordable box seats, a single best-of-five pennant playoff series, and ninth-inning beer in the bleachers.

This book seems to be based on a hastily conducted series of spring training interviews, most likely translated from Ortiz’ native Spanish (he’s Dominican). For those who’ve somehow managed to avoid the hype, David Ortiz is the most feared slugger in the American League, a large man with a devastating lefthanded swing who last season led the league in home runs, setting the Boston Red Sox single-season record in the process. Three years ago, his extra-inning heroics led the Red Sox to a historic comeback against the Yankees in the playoffs, followed by the Red Sox’ first World Championship in 86 years. Perhaps most notably, the Red Sox got him for free when the power-starved Minnesota Twins, fearing that Ortiz’ considerable girth would increase his already significant penchant for injuries, gave him the pink slip after the 2002 season.  All this is contained in the book, along with the following:

- Ortiz calls everybody “bro” or “papi” (hence his nickname, “Big Papi”),

- He grew up poor but not destitute, more fortunate than his friend Pedro Martinez, the great pitcher and Dominican folk hero who he credits with saving his career

- He was very close to his mother, and losing her in an auto accident was understandably traumatic (though he glosses over it)

- Like many other Latin players, he used another name (David Arias) during much of his time in the minor leagues

- Dominicans in the Major Leagues share a loyalty to each other beyond any team affiliation, bonding together because they can’t stand the blandness of American food

- Ortiz likes to cook, and one suspects his popularity with his colleagues stems from his fondness for working the grill (though, sadly, we don’t find out anything else about his gustatory talents or predilections: no recipes, no favorite foods, no guide to the best Dominican takeout joints around the majors).

Other things you learn from this book, although its authors might not want you to:

- Although Ortiz seems to be universally well-liked among his peers, he comes across as a fiercely proud, impetuous character who does things his way and his way only

- In the minors, he won accolades not only for his hitting but also his fielding (which makes sense: contrary to conventional wisdom, he remains a perfectly adequate first baseman).

- He’d much prefer to play in the field than serve as the designated hitter

- He explains away his mysterious hospitalization for a rapid heartbeat during a crucial series against the Yankees as being due to “stress” (come on, this is the guy who almost singlehandedly vaulted the Sox into the World Series with one crucial clutch performance after another, and he’s talking about STRESS???). While Ortiz seems to be the least likely guy in the majors to be doing steroids (he’s too fat – although he insists he isn’t), there may be other plausible reasons, including but not limited to the little things that ballplayers have been using to get a little extra pep since the 1950s.

There’s next to nothing in here about the legendary camaraderie of the Sox’ 2004 World Championship team (and its subsequent demise), nothing about Ortiz’ friendship with teammate and fellow Dominican Manny Ramirez, nothing about his vaunted swing, opposing pitchers or for that matter any juicy tales from the clubhouse, the backyard barbeque, the strip club or wherever Ortiz and his pals hang out. 

To offer enough heft to justify its pricetag, the book is puffed out with “appreciations” of Ortiz’ talent as well as a tortuously long mea culpa by Twins General Manager Terry Ryan, explaining how he let the most feared slugger in the American League walk away, getting nothing in return: you end up feeling really sorry for the guy, listening to him go on and on, reliving one of the worst errors in judgment that any big league exec ever made.

Strictly for diehards: one suspects that the Spanish-language version is the more popular of the two editions available.

posted by Sarah Mucho

Rose’s Turn is the best bar ever. Any night of the week you’ll find the greatest, funniest, most talented people gathered there making music, drinking, laughing, enjoying life. This has been so for over 50 years but this Sunday, the 22 of July, 2007 it will all come to an end. Our venue for joy and mayhem is closing it’s doors for good and a much needed real estate agency will take its place. What a shame. I have had the best times of my life in that little shithole but aside from that, it’s an historic spot on an historic street and legendary performers have appeared there including Barbara Streisand, Richard Pryor and Joan Rivers. We are all losing something very dear and I encourage everyone to go this week before it’s gone just to have the experience, one that is unique to NYC or, at least, what NYC used to be. You will have the best time and you will hear some of the best talent in the city and you will be part of something special.

Rose’s Turn is located at 55 Grove St. at the corner of 7th Avenue.