I am writing for a new blog called Fucked in Park Slope. Don’t worry, it won’t disrupt the madcap pace at which I post on this blog! But head on over and check out my inaugural post.

THESE RED VELVET PANCAKES FROM BROOKLYN

COMMUNE REQUIRE A SIDE OF INSULIN

This is the first non-Russia Christmas I have spent away from my family, and even though I got to see them all just a few weeks ago, I am sad not to be with them today, but so happy for all the joy and progress in their lives.

I thought John Dehlin could express it better than anyone (I even like his macabre aside towards the end).

I love you all and have yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

Sending rays of love from the heart of Brooklyn.
(I apologize profusely for the budweiser ad, what can you do?)

The Mountain Goats cover “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas”

I am going to see The Weakerthans tonight. I was going through their new album which I don’t know so well and was entranced by this simple yet devastating little tune called Bigfoot. Enjoy this live version and the lyrics and I promise I will enjoy them as well this evening.

Bigfoot

I changed the oils and oiled the squeaks,
Patched the holes and fluid leaks,
Left dusk beneath a diabetic moon

And way to take the TV crews across the creaking ice
The news is howling to the timber wolves and soon

I’ll go through it all again
Watch their doubtful smiles begin
But the visions that I see believe in me

So praise the things I can’t forget with burgers and a silhouette
On t-shirts at the council general store

I’ll listen to the south winds sigh with rumors and regrets
And I don’t want to talk about it anymore

I’ll go through it all again
watch their doubtful smiles begin
When the visions that I see believe in me

Or the visions that I see that will believe me.

Patrice O’Neal died today due to complications from a heart attack he suffered last month. I had been thinking about him a lot recently. I listened to his interviewon Marc Maron’s podcast WTF. At a time when people like to push buttons, Patrice seemed uniquely skilled at it. His outlook on life was overtly sexist, racist and offensive, and he made no qualms about it. His stand up had a meditative quality to it, yet the blows it dealt were devastating and hilarious.

Patrice had scored big points with his performance on the Roast of Charlie Sheen and was starting to work his way into the popular culture. This happens with comedians for some reason. They begin to gain momentum and it somehow it leads to their death. It’s sad, but maybe it is just how it has to be. Whatever the reality, I am sorry that he died. Check out his special, Elephant in the Room streaming on NetFlix right now.

Thanksgiving by John Currin, 2003, The Tate Collection, London.

It was lovely spending time with the fam. I found this on the site Your Daily Art.