Dear Theo · 5 days ago

Just rocked out in a chin up contest. 2:30 am. I don’t go in but I often hang out outside of Gold Bar. I like the people who work the door. A crew leaves and one dude starts doing chin ups on the yellow Do Not Walk/Walk sign. He did 20 no sweat. I was impressed. His whole crew was watching and cheering. I had to get in the mix. One dude who I know I met at Irv Gotti’s birthday party a few years ago told me I couldn’t do it because I’d burst out of my pants. I thought I was Jimmy and told him I’d do it by any jeans necessary (I’m not a Kanye fan but I just said these words).

I have no gym membership but I practice pull ups in the park by my house. Chin ups are easier and I rocked out ten super slow, super slow. I was wearing a fanny pack and I heard people making fun of it. I’d make fun of a kid wearing a fanny pack too. My only thought is that the dude who did a bunch of chin ups is a boxer. He did another set that would beat any one else’s first set.

My brother and I were working out at the Hollywood Y and we saw a guy do at least 40 pull ups. 40 might not seem like a huge number but go try to do 40 pull ups. I did pull ups nearly every day for a year and I only got up to 21. Then my next set was 3. So, this guy had a crazy lisp. He was from Crenshaw and he’d ride his bike to the YMCA in Hollywood. Work out for hours and hours and only drink water. He’d say, “Any one who doesn’t work out shouldn’t eat red meat. They don’t need it. You walk down the street, see a sign advertising Carl’s Jr. and you say to yourself, I want a burger I want a burger I want a burger.” I don’t want a hamburger. He’d yell it super crazy though. Dairy, forget it. I think about this guy every time I exercise. He was a pro boxer, too bad I’m terrible with names. He looked 30 but was almost 50.

And this gets me to an awesome guy I met up with tonight and had drinks with. His name is Rey and he climbed to the top of the New York Times building the other day. Why climb to the top of a building in Manhattan, because you can, you’re a strong able-bodied person. There is a whole story here though.

Before that I sold c.d.‘s so I could finance another day of life and before that I hung out with Lucy in front of the Tsubi store on Mulberry. Do you ever walk by and think, “why is this 85 year old woman hanging out in some super hip store for?” Well, she used to own and run a candy store in that space. She’s always lived above it and she pays in the two figures per month rent. She had great stories about Gotti’s club up the block (not Irv) and she warned me never to live on Elizabeth Street.

Hey Chris Sikora, I wrote you a letter today and I didn’t write a lot of things on this computer so the letter would be a surprise. I ate a pound of broccoli today, an apple, cheese, an Odwalla bar and had some drinks. Gotta get some sleep as I’m looking forward to the Endless Boogie record release party tomorrow at Mercury Lounge. It is the most anticipated event in my immediate life. My birthday doesn’t matter yet.

And, when I was walking home tonight I imagined that all of my friends grew up in Norwood Park and that they had that influence in their lives. Unfortunately some of them never left Norwood Park and they never got to become my friend.

After those chin ups, every one got into Escalades. I’m not a car person. I’m not an air conditioning person and I’m not an American Apparel person or an H&M person. It’s all fake to me. And, Kool Keith is right, p-i-s-s on the N.B.A.

“True metal people wanna rock, not pose.” -Manowar On a broader scale this applies to everyone. Kool Keith said, “New York is Hollywood, everyone is sportin’ them shirts.” It wasn’t me.

Pictures are always fun. I hung out with these kids and four more. The mother was 27, my age now, two were adopted, Keisha wow. This was in Virginia, deep. A memorable day, I stayed at the house the entire day and drank more grape sodas than I have my whole life combined. Don’t invite me over because I might not leave. I don’t hang out with kids ever. I did teach one summer at a school for kids with learning disabilities but I felt like I was on the same level as the students. I could be myself. Other kids, I don’t want to be around. Kids aren’t cute to me. A monkey on television is cute or Homer Simpson when he goes, “Oh Oh spagetti-o,” is cute on some level, but I don’t know. I was swimming at the Soho house the other day and this little kid, maybe five years old rolls up to me and asks, “Who are you going to vote for?” I asked him who he was going to vote for and he said, “If I was of voting age, I’d vote for Barack.” First of all, how bored must that kid have been to talk to me and second, but he was awesome because he kept hitting the beach ball that me, him, Heater, and his mother were slapping around, into this dude wearing a speedo who took hid drink into the pool. You can’t take your drink into the pool. No second of all necessary.

My conclusion for the day is that anyone who feels disconnected from his or her environment works too much in a place that isn’t fulfilling. I love my block, whether it’s East Circle, Hayes St., Franklin, Perry St. or Little Clarendon, because I hung out hard right there, especially Perry.

And Nish, you did not see Joe on a dirt bike riding down Elston.

Oprah might want to have you on her show. Have you ever seen a designer of your caliber on her program? Maybe she’d put you up at the Drake.

And, I don’t know how much time you have to do something less important than helping someone cross the street but I love this video…

It’s a quest, give me a break.

— Young Philosopher

Comment [2]

Takahiro · 16 days ago

More photos

It took Takahiro at least 20 minutes to walk to the front of the Apollo Theatre on 125th street after exiting through the back door on 126th. First a girl who had seen him dance that evening stopped to congratulate Taka on his performance. Then a couple pass but only whisper to each other, “That’s the dancer.” A few more people pass and shout, “You’re the best,” to which Taka just smiles. Once we hit the street though, Taka is mobbed. A group of 12 guys who hadn’t seen tonight’s show, but recognized Taka, stopped to request an encore. Taka gave it, slapped hands, and bowed to his audience before walking to the front of the theatre where his mom, dad, brother, and sister waited. The family had taken the flight from Japan that their son had taken alone, ten months before.
Taka moved into the YMCA near Columbus Circle where he stayed for a month before moving to Harlem to learn about “Harlem’s people and culture,” to prepare for the challenge he had set for himself, winning the amateur contest at the Apollo Theatre.
His routine begins with Nelly and Karate moves then goes into the Super Mario Bros theme music and finishes with DJ Shadow’s “Organ Donor,” mixing Japanese and American cultures. Taka is the embodiment of a new era.

Young Philosopher: How long have you been living in New York?

Takahiro: 9 months ago I came to New York.

YP: What did you set out to do in moving from Japan to New York?

T: My dance style is new. I want to show lots of generations of people my style. But Japan keeps its customs. For example, if you are living in New York, if you did a good job, your age doesn’t matter, if it’s really good, everyone will admit it. Japan is different. You should respect the guy who is older than you even if he is a jerk. I wanted to show everybody my style but I couldn’t because of my age. Most of the choreographers in Japan are over 30 years old and I am only 25.

YP: You wanted to dance professionally in Japan?

T: Yes, but my style is a new style and they don’t like new style. But if I win a championship or title in New York they should admit [that I am qualified to teach].

YP: If you win contests in New York and then bring those titles back to Japan with you, you’ll be able to find work?

T: Yes.

YP: Is the Apollo Theatre amateur contest the first contest you entered in America?

T: Yes.

YP: Why the Apollo?

T: Japanese people think the Apollo contest is the number one contest, absolutely number one for dancing. Apollo Theatre is considered to be an old, classical, traditional theatre.

YP: Where did your dance style come from? What influences helped create it?

T: First, when I was a child I liked pantomimes. I’d watch videos; I’d watch TV and I practiced myself.

YP: Pantomime, like a mime, with white face?

T: Yes, exactly. I practiced how they moved.
Second, I see Michael Jackson. I get an incredible feeling and I think pantomime is very close but he is dancing. I think pantomime is good. Dancing is good. Oh, I want pantomime and dancing mixed style with (an accent) on the pantomime style.
Dancing style pantomime we already have, but pantomime style dancing we haven’t.
I wanted to make a new style.

YP: Would you describe your dancing style as ‘fun’?

T: No, but close. It is not fun every time. My dancing is like a film or theatre show, not just fun. Sometimes crying, sometimes happy. It’s a story, like life.
My dancing is like telling a story. Every time I make choreography I make a story.

YP: Would you be interested in making a show, like a Broadway show?

T: Yes.

YP: Would you include any dialogue in your performance?

T: Sometimes I would use voice but like music, no words. I would use my body to communicate. If I used words it would just be for impact. No talk.

YP: Outside of dancing, can you read people’s body language, and tell how they are feeling?

T: Yes. Even if I am watching somebody’s back I can imagine he feels like “this.” I am always examining the body and trying to figure out its movements, its structure.
I think I am a better reader of another person’s body than the average person.
Even if I don’t speak the same language as another person I can tell a lot from their posture and movements and emotions.

YP: Have you gotten a lot of support from family and friends in pursuing dancing?

T: I have so many people who have helped me. If I didn’t have the support of my friends I wouldn’t be here. I appreciate them so much.

YP: Did people support you by just being there for you or did people offer you financial support?

T: Some people helped me out financially but not too much. Most people come to see me and that makes me happy. Just them being there is the most important thing.

YP: How does someone know where to see you dance?

T: My homepage is takahirony.com. You can find information there.

YP: Have you suffered any injuries since you’ve been here?

T: In New York, two times. I hurt my back. I’ve started doing Karate.

YP: You started doing Karate in New York, not in Japan?

T: In Japan I did Judo and Kendo (you wear armor like a samuri and use a bamboo sword). In New York I try Karate. One time though I broke my back.
I got injured just before the first Apollo theatre contest. This was in June.

YP: And when was the Apollo contest?

T: June.

YP: Did you think about not dancing so you wouldn’t further injure your back?

T: It was my first chance but it was my last chance.

When I went to the tryouts for this contest I almost didn’t make the cut because I used my own music. I used classical music, very dark. The judges told me they liked my dancing but they didn’t like the music. After I finished dancing, they told me, “Change the music. This is a hip hop contest, it’s supposed to be entertainment. Your dancing is good but it is not entertainment.”

I was living in Harlem. I studied Harlem’s people, black people and black culture and hip hop. I know hip hop music but I tried to research what music is popular in Harlem so I could use that for my performance.
I asked so many people on the street.

YP: How did people respond to you asking them questions about their culture?

T: I learned that hip hop culture is not only dancing and fashion. It includes so much.
Living in New York made me realize that I didn’t respect so many things about black culture.

YP: You just thought about dancing?

T: Yes. I thought maybe I should learn more about black culture [in general].

YP: You moved straight from Tokyo to Harlem?

T: No. First I lived into the YMCA at 59th Street near Columbus Circle. Then I moved to Harlem.

YP: You live in Harlem now?

T: Now, I live in Astoria, Queens. One time I got beat up.

YP: Did the guys rob you?

T: They tried to take my electric dictionary, but I saved it.
I lived in Harlem for six months. I love Harlem but my family was coming to visit from Japan and I thought I had to change my apartment.
I wanted to stay but this was their first time staying in New York and they were targets, very tourist. I was scared for them so I moved.

YP: You like Astoria?

T: You can learn something from anything.

YP: How long do you plan to stay in New York?

T: I thought I’d go back to Japan in March but the Apollo contests will be shown on television and I am thinking about staying longer.

YP: Have you achieved what you set out to do in New York? Can you go back to Japan with your title and find work as a dancer, or as a dance teacher?

T: Yes. But now I have new goals. For the first three months I was sick. Everything was scary for me. I didn’t leave my room for a month. And, it wasn’t even dangerous around 59th Street, but I was scared. My only purpose in visiting New York was to win the Apollo contest. I focused on this. Then I began to think that New York is not so dangerous. I like New York, even though I got beat up.

YP: What advice do you have for up and coming dancers?

T: My advice is- everybody has yourself, your interest in something. In your mind you have something burning but that is not enough. You should learn other people’s culture. You should see other people. You should learn new things all the time. You should talk to all people. If you don’t like something you should still try. You can do it.

Takahiro on Showtime at the Apollo

— Albin

Comment [4]

Tess Njuhi · 16 days ago

Stress, being stressed, trying to manage stress, being targeted to buy products that help reduce stress—this is part of our lives. It’s a joke to Njuhi Theresa Wanjugu, not so much because she works to relieve stress, she doesn’t have it in the first place. Growing up in Kenya, the concept was foreign to her, one only imported through films. “In Kenya we think Americans are always stressed out. When we watch movies it’s always, ‘I’m so stressed. I’m so stressed.’ In Kenya, my friends and I started using that word, saying ‘I’m so stressed,’ because we thought it was funny. I’ve never understood it. Why would you be stressed?”
But what happens when a Kenyan moves to New York City? Well, it’s John Casablancas’ fault, sort of. Casablancas, one of the founders of the Elite Modeling Agency, went to Africa looking for talent. He found Tess.
You know that saying about some people looking good before they open their mouths and others not looking good until they open their mouths? Tess’ beauty comes through before and after she speaks. I challenge the city to try and stress her out.

YP: When you were a little girl did you dream of becoming a model?

T: No.

YP: What did you want to be then?

T: I had so many things I wanted to be. I wanted to be a fashion designer. I wanted to be a business woman. I wanted to be a nun. When the opportunity came [to model] I [considered it] because I had never been on a plane. I thought it would be good for me to go on a trip, like a one week thing, and I’d be finished.
We traveled and I ended up getting picked and joining the Elite Modeling Agency.

YP: How did you initially hear about the chance to model?

T: They advertised everywhere, in the newspaper, on the radio, in my school. People told me I should do it because I am tall. When I went, there were so many people that I thought I had no chance. I [placed] in the top sixty in my town. They went to different towns and picked another sixty girls. Then out of all the girls they had to pick three of us and I ended up being one of the three.

YP: Three from all of Kenya?

T: Yes. And then they went to other countries like Rwanda, Sudan, Ethiopia, Somalia and they had to pick three more from each of them. Then they combined us all and picked just one.

YP: And you were the one?

T: Yes. (laughs)

YP: Did you know any of the other girls?

T: No.

YP: You got a modeling contract after you won this contest?

T: Yes. That’s how I ended up going to South Africa.

YP: Were you under contract as long as you were there?

T: I was under contract for a year, but then I renewed it. They send you to other countries. They sent me to Germany and then to London.

YP: When you first left Kenya were you overwhelmed with what you saw?

T: Definitely. Most people in Africa don’t go to each other’s countries. We take [Africa] for granted. We just want to go to Western countries and see the tall buildings.

YP: In America kids have a summer vacation and they might take a road trip or travel with their families. Did you do anything like that when you were a child?

T: Some people do, but most of the time people go to see their grandparents who always live in the rural areas. I come from Nairobi. I am from Kiambu. We have 55 to 60 different tribes in Kenya. My tribe is the biggest; it’s called the Kikuyu. They are the ones who fought the British out of Kenya during Colonialism.

YP: When you’re walking around and you have a second to think or when you find yourself alone do you feel a sense of ‘I’m from Kenya,’ ‘I am Kenyan’ ?

T: Definitely. I don’t think I’ll ever feel like an American.

YP: Never?

T: I didn’t grow up here. Sometimes I don’t get the jokes. Like if you came to Kenya, you wouldn’t get some of the jokes. The music, the country, nature, everything is different.

YP: Have your experiences of traveling brought you closer to people? Do you feel you have a wider understanding of people or can it still be difficult to relate to others?

T: I don’t think it’s difficult. Everyone has their own upbringing, their own beliefs. I’ve come to understand everyone as an individual.
When I moved here, when I met [my husband] and we’d go out for dinner people would ask me all these questions and I’d answer them, but they’d be like, ‘Why doesn’t she say much’? I would be thinking, ‘Why do they want to know so much. I told you what I want to tell you. I’m not going to ask you about your personal life; it’s none of my business.’ I find here people want to know everything about you so they can label you. It’s insulting.
In Kenya you can’t go to someone and ask someone, “So what do you do? Where do you live’? You just shake hands.

YP: And then some people are more talkative and they’ll tell you more and some are quieter and they’ll leave it at a handshake?

T: Yes, but you never talk about your work.

YP: People always want to know what you do…

T: And the places you go to.

YP: I wonder if people have always been like this in America.

T: I don’t think so. I’ve watched documentaries from the 60’s and the 70’s and people were so social. They didn’t worry about the things that people worry about today.
They used to bring us magazines and films from Western countries and that’s why so many young people want to travel outside the continent, to Spain or London. Once you get there though, you have fun for a little bit but then you start missing home.
I’ve never gotten attached to anything in America.

YP: What did you expect of America before you came here?

T: I wanted to see if everything they told me on the television was true.

YP: Is it true?

T: (laughs) Some of it is. In the movies they showed us that all the black people have guns. My parents wanted to know if it was true, if all black people had guns. It’s the same here though; when someone goes to Kenya she expects to see dying people with A.I.D.S. and animals walking around everywhere. It’s silly. You should just go to a country, see for yourself, and decide for yourself what you’re going to think about it.

YP: A friend asked me if I wanted to visit him in Israel and the first thing I thought about was all the negative stuff I see on television but when I got there I couldn’t get over how rich and beautiful the country was.

T: I feel bad when they report about Africa and it’s only about people dying. In Kenya, when we talk about other people’s countries we never bring them down; we just want to go there and see for ourselves. People are scared to go to Africa.

YP: Why do you think that is?

T: Too much media.

YP: I’d imagine most Americans think A.I.D.S. and going on a safari when they think Africa.

T: Yeah. It’s sad.

YP: What’s the difference between being a tourist and being a traveler?

T: I’ve been in New York for six years so I’m pretty used to everything but I’m not attached to anything, as I said. I don’t feel like a tourist.

YP: Why do you remain detached from everything in the city? Don’t you have any friends?

T: I do have friends but most of my friends are not from here. When I moved to South Africa I met so many people and I thought I was going to live there forever. Now we just communicate through e-mail. My best friend, who I met in South Africa, was from London. We both moved to New York City, but she didn’t like it so she went back to London.

YP: Did you feel isolated when you first moved to New York and you were living out in Staten Island?

T: I didn’t really care; I was happy to be in America.
When I moved here I didn’t move for work. I was so lonely in London and my friend who was living in Staten Island at the time asked me to come visit in the summer, because London was so cold, so I came here and never went back.

YP: (staring at her).

T: (laughs) My agency in London was pissed. They were calling and trying to find out where I was. I had a three-year contract. I was there for almost a year and I decided to leave.

YP: That contract is done, huh?

T: Yes, that was six years ago. I came here, the people were nicer, smiling all the time, and I decided to stay here.

YP: Have you left the country since you moved here six years ago?

T: Yes, I go to Africa every December and I stay for two to three months. I have so many relatives to go see, my grandmother, my cousins, everybody.

YP: Do they want to hear about America?

T: Yeah, they want to see pictures. They want to visit but it’s very difficult for them to come here. I prefer to go there because I have so many people to see.

YP: Have you ever had any problems with your Visa?

T: No, as soon as I came I went to an agency and they signed me up and they did my work permit. That’s how I’ve stayed.

YP: Where is the best place to work?

T: I like it here. I wanted to try Paris but I decided not to.

YP: Why not?

T: I’m tired of traveling; I used to travel so much. I even went to Libya and met Muammaar Gaddafi. We flew from South Africa to Libya to do a fashion show for him. All of his bodyguards were women.

YP: Did they have guns?

T: Yeah, that was cool.

YP: How many girls were in the fashion show?

T: We were four from South Africa and the other girls were from Paris. There were twenty of us and everybody was excited to meet him.

YP: Were you modeling a particular designer’s clothes or just having the show for the sake of having it for Gaddafi?

T: He didn’t even come because men are not allowed to come to fashion shows.

YP: So, who watched the show?

T: The men’s wives. Everybody has to cover up and all that, the clothing in a fashion show was weird to them.

YP: What did you wear?

T: I don’t remember but nothing provocative. When we went we were told not to wear tight jeans or short skirts. Everybody was decent.

YP: How has your style changed over the years?

T: I’ve always been stylish, ever since I was young. I remember when I moved to South Africa, this guy Naije who used to be my best friend, told me I dress like people from the Village. I thought, ‘Oh, I dress that bad”?

YP: How did you meet Naije?

T: When you move to South Africa with an agency, every agency has a modeling house. They put all of you there so you get to know each other.

YP: He was a model?

T: Yeah. Most of the people I knew there were models. We were so isolated from the normal working people so all we knew were us.

YP: What was a typical day?

T: Going to castings, coming home and getting ready to go out in the evening. Every day doing the same thing. Work and go out and go home. I got tired of it.

YP: Do you find that ultimately you do the same thing over and over wherever you’re at in the world?

T: Not here. There was a time when I was just modeling and I thought I was wasting my time just doing one thing. I went to school and learned how to make jewelry.

YP: Where did you go to school?

T: FIT (Fashion Institute of Technology). First I did clothing design. I finished that; I got bored. I took up jewelry design; I finished. Now I’m thinking about [taking up] sculpting. When you asked me what I thought I wanted to become when I was young, I didn’t know because I was so interested in so many things. I want to try them [all] until I find what I’m really interested in.

YP: Do you often think about what is my thing?

T: No, not really.

YP: You don’t stress about it?

T: I never stress.
In Kenya we think Americans are always stressed out. When we watch movies it’s always, ‘I’m so stressed. I’m so stressed.’
In Kenya, my friends and I started using that word, saying ‘I’m so stressed,’ because we thought it was funny. I’ve never understood it. Why would you be stressed?

YP: What’s the most difficult thing in your life right now?

T: If I had the same opportunities in Kenya as I do in New York I’d be in Kenya. I’d go home and do the same things I do here.

YP: I bet there are people who grew up in Minnesota and Iowa who live in New York who feel the same way.

T: I’m so happy that I get to go home and see my family and hang out. So many of my friends can’t do that. They are stuck here because they don’t have visas to go back.

YP: Do you have any brothers or sisters?

T: I have three brothers and two sisters.

YP: Do you talk to them often?

T: I talk to them almost every day. The only people I can’t talk to are my grandmother and grandfather because they don’t use telephones. They’re very traditional. My grandfather refuses to wear shoes; he says it’s a Colonial thing. He never wears shoes but he’ll dress in a suit. If you say, ‘You’re wearing a suit, that’s a colonial thing.’ He’ll say, ‘No, it’s made in Kenya.’ Those are the things I miss the most.

My little brother, he’s 21, he’s very smart. He was going to be this big accountant. He was among the top ten students in Kenya. He went to college for three days and he decided to come home and meditate. That’s what he does and he’s happy. One day he might go back. Everybody in my family accepts it. He stays home and meditates. That’s his life.

YP: How does he pay his rent?

T: In Kenya you can live with your parents as long as you want. He lives at home.

YP: What can we learn from Kenyans?

T: To take it easy.

YP: Are you going to keep modeling?

T: I will until I’m bored of it. I’ll do other things too that come into my mind.

YP: What keeps you interested in the business? What do you like about it?

T: You get to play different characters. The other day I did a shoot for Target and I was supposed to be a librarian. How do you become a librarian? They made my hair into an afro and put me in a suit. I looked very mature and I had to act it. It’s fun to be different characters.

YP: Do you often find that they only want white girls for jobs?

T: Yeah. In South Africa, black, white, we were all working. But here, in my agency we only have three black girls. There was a time I went to an agency because I wanted to change the one I was with, they told me, ‘You’re very beautiful but we have enough black models.’ I looked on the wall [at the pictures of the models] and they only have two. There are fifty other models and they’re all white. (laughs) That puts me off sometimes.
You’ve seen it in fashion shows, there’ll be one or none [black girls]. You’ll never see a fashion show of black girls and just one white girl. It’s never going to happen.

YP: Anywhere you need to travel that you haven’t been?

T: I still want to travel Africa. I’m Kenyan but, I’ve only been to South Africa and Uganda because that’s where my [modeling] competition was. And Libya for Gaddafi. That’s it.

If you can afford it it’s very important to go and see different kinds of people. It’s a very good experience. Everything they show you on television is a lie. They just went to a small part and that’s what they write about, [as if that represents] the whole country.

— Young Philosopher

Comment [2]

Go All Out · 25 days ago

Been studying a bunch lately but there’s always time to check out a great video, and you have to make time for the Ace of Base website.

— Young Philosopher

Comment

Brothers · 38 days ago

(I found this photo while looking for a used book store. The woman caught my eye.)

Breeze coming through my open window. A daisy in a clear glass bottle along with a French tulip scented candle that my former boss gave me for Christmas are on my desk. Listening to some some heartfelt tunes. Saw Chad Muska walking up West Broadway and then saw Shaq getting into a Denali on Broadway. Shaq was wearing the biggest Vans slip ons I’ve ever seen. I found a coffee shop near my house with 65 cent coffee. It’s my new spot. Sitting outside the shop, lingering, day dreaming the day away, I saw a young girl and her mother step out of a mini van and I was a little confused. Then a Chinese lady got out. The mini van was full of belts and handbags. All three walked to Canal St. Less than one minute after they got out, a guy walked by and dropped a quarter in the meter, then walked toward Canal St. They were probably waiting for me to leave before exiting but I was posted up. I read the spring/summer issue of Purple magazine (the Damien Hirst and Jay-Z interview was worth reading) and the latest issue of Japanese Dazed and Confused. And I wrote a letter to someone trying to convince him to let me help him write his memoirs. Then I saw a woman who works at a restaurant I often go to on Bleeker and Seventh Ave. She was with a guy who works at the same restaurant. I also read that Scott Weiland’s girlfriend burned over $10,000 worth of his clothes. This is only two hours of a day. Man, I miss my brothers.

— Young Philosopher

Comment [1]

Sea Birds Flying Through this Hazy Place · 38 days ago

(this photo, and all of the site is for the #1 Blake Thomas)

Reading The Beautiful Fall by Alicia Drake helped me rediscover the genuine kindness buried within me. The love I have for humanity, not a focus on material wealth or for possessing people or things, is apparent, and it feels great. I loved reading about Karl Lagerfeld too. What a driven person! I saw so much of myself in him. Walk into a boutique in NOLITA or into the Prada store, a whore house or a corner store for a beer, smile, think of me. I was there. It’s all part of this world, my world, your world. Just because someone has had it hard, or had it really good…I’ll let you, the person reading this, finish the sentence.

Following are some lines from the story I’d like you to read because they are important.

Karl Lagerfeld worked with Graziella Fontana at Chloe. “It was during Karl’s time at Chloe that the rumour began making the rounds of Paris that Gaby Aghion was the inspiration behind Durrell’s magnetic heroine Justine.”

Antonio Lopez
“What made Antonio’s vision radical was that, for him, ethnic, blonde, black, working-class, homosexual, transvestite and transsexual, man or woman could all be glamorous and beautiful. His fantasies were not limited to well-bred white ladies. Paris fashion had never contemplated this possibility before.”

Fashion changing from hemlines to attitude

167 According to Patrick Hourcade, ‘Karl is by nature someone who needs to evolve, that is why he is so at ease in fashion, which is a world that is in a constant state of evolution. He doesn’t want stability; change is his life-motor. He is not unstable, he is insatiable, hence the need for nourishment all around him.’

227“The epiphany of the young child seeing before him the possibility of another life is a key construct in Karl Lagerfeld’s life story.”

236 ‘I have no opinion whatsoever about my influence; who cares?’ ‘What is important is what I will do, not what I did in the past.’

p.245 ‘Thadee liked to mix up a line of coke and a line of heroin and take them together. ‘It’s very nice; what’s nice about it is you don’t have to drink, you are in such a good mood you don’t actually take anything else for the rest of the evening. So it’s quite economical and healthy in a way.’

307 “It sounds so obvious now, over 20 years later, now that so many designers rely on a similar formula for success. But it was not so obvious in1983. Karl created the blueprint for this post-modern process of fashion design and for breathing new life into an existing but moribund fashion house.” Re: Chanel

310 ‘I have my spies…my sneaks and antennae who are out there picking up information for me, but who themselves don’t know how to give concrete expression to that information,’ said KL in 1984.

310 “It seemed the only way Karl progressed in a friendship was by severing it completely.”

320 ‘Fashion eats people up,’ says Patrick McCarthy, ‘and you know what? It attracts people that are willing to be eaten up. It is a very self-destructive industry, which is probably what keeps it alive. It eats its young.’

— Young Philosopher

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Brother Rick Curry, S. J. · 39 days ago

Brother Rick Curry’s father sent Rick to theatre school when he was in first grade and every year on his birthday he’d drive Rick from their home in Philadelphia to New York City to watch a Broadway show. His mom never pushed the acting thing, though she herself was an actor, and his father never really pushed the acting thing either. Rick’s dad saw the acting classes as preparation for the career as a lawyer he envisioned for his son.

Rick Curry was born with one arm. He’s been physically handicapped since birth yet one of his superiors once exclaimed, “You weren’t handicapped until you went to New York.” This came after Rick told the man that he was not going to the University of Georgetown to oversee the building of a new theatre, opting instead to stay in NYC to found and run the National Theatre Workshop for the Handicapped (NTWH).

Through his theater Rick supplies an arena for physically disabled men and women to discover their sense of worth and beauty through the creative processes of writing, producing, and acting in original works. He’s also taken his theatre to Maine where he runs a summer program for newly disabled veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. While he’s providing a tremendous service he’s quick to admit that he benefits from the experience as much or more than the men and women he teaches.

Young Philosopher: Where did you grow up? Did you have a mom and a dad, brothers and sisters?

Brother Rick Curry, S.J.: I’ve had all of that. I just celebrated my birthday last Sunday and then I celebrated my vow day as a Jesuit on Monday. I was 21 on the 18th of March and I was vowed on the 19th of March, 43 years ago. I grew up in Philadelphia. I have an older sister who is 18 months my senior and she is a nun and I had a brother who was 18 years my senior. He was an attorney, married, lived in Mundelein, near Chicago, for a while, had nine kids, seven sons, a girl at either end, and he has died, along with my sister-in-law.
I was born with one arm, which was a shock to my family, not because I was born with one arm but because they didn’t realize I was going to be born with one arm. It was a surprise.
I went to a parish school in Philadelphia, then to St. Joe’s Prep, which is a Jesuit high school in Philadelphia. I fell in love with the Jesuits and wanted to become one after high school. I’ve been a Jesuit ever since. They trained me as a baker and as a cook. They eventually sent me to school where I got my bachelor’s degree in English and my master’s degree in Theatre at Villanova. I went to India and came back, taught at St. Joe’s University, started a theatre program there. I came up here [New York City] to do my doctorate. While I was doing my doctorate I founded the National Theatre Workshop for the Handicapped, which is now 30 years old.

Young Philosopher: Where did your love of theatre come from?

Brother Rick Curry, S.J.: When I was in first grade, my father sent me to acting school. I think he did it because he thought I was losing self-confidence. It was a great jolt for me because I had been raised in a very secure environment. There was no children’s theatre so I went to an adult acting school. I loved it. He really sent me there because he thought I could become a lawyer.
I couldn’t be a soldier and in those days I couldn’t be a priest because you needed these two fingers [thumb and pointer finger] of both hands to be a priest.

YP: Why did you need fingers to be a priest?

BC: These are the fingers that are anointed and it’s actually Jewish and not Christian [law]. The book of Leviticus says that no priest can have a blemish or a physical defect.
My dad used to bring me up to New York to see a Broadway play every year for my birthday. Although my mother was an actress, she never pushed the theatre, but my father did.
When I entered the Jesuits I thought, that’s my end of theatre. Oh, contraire.

YP: Starting anything is difficult. What kind of opposition did you face in starting your theatre company?

BC:I think the Lord guarded me from a lot of adverse criticism that was out there. More personally, when you’re born with one arm you have to learn how to do things on your own. You can’t look for models. I adored my older sister; I adored my parents, but they had two hands so I thought there were areas where they couldn’t teach me how to do some things. I had to figure it out on my own. So, when I started the theatre I thought, I just have to figure it out on my own and I just went and did it.
It wasn’t until years later, when it was successful, that I began to hear that people said that starting the theatre was a stupid idea and that it was going to fail. I didn’t hear it.

YP: What do you mean the Lord protected you from the criticism?

BC: It was out there but I didn’t feed into it or walk into it. I’m sure in some areas, the Lord deflected them, I don’t know. I think it’s really stubbornness.

YP: Jesuits are men and women for others but when you were starting the theatre was it something for you, for others, or a combination?

BC: It has to be a combination. You can’t be a person for others and totally diminutive toyourself. That’s bullshit, to be honest with you.
Would I love to be as self-effacing as John the Baptist, I must decrease so Jesus increases? Yeah, of course. Is that my prayer? Yes. Is that my hope? Yes. Is that my reality? No.
I felt that I was gaining a voice, gaining a pulpit that I never had as a brother, and that the disabled were a people I could really speak to and for and with. The more closely I got to know them, they were empowering me. Although I was born with one arm I didn’t really know what it meant to be disabled. I didn’t go to a one-armed school. I’ve always kind of lived in a two fisted world although I knew I was disabled but at the same time I couldn’t really celebrate it. What the disabled were doing was allowing me to celebrate my differences. It was for me. I was getting a lot out of it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the courage to keep doing it. It was enhancing my prayer life. It was enhancing my integrity. I saw it was helping other people. You give people theatre and you have to turn your eyes because what they do with it is extraordinary. The program is unbelievable. Did I found it? Yes. Am I responsible for it? Absolutely not. The arts have a creative energy unto themselves. What I’m doing is providing it. That’s all I’m doing.

What a good educator does is just provide the atmosphere where a student can learn. I don’t think we teach anyone anything. We can open it up and spell it out. All education is self-education. We create an atmosphere where the students get so excited about something that they start devouring it. You can coach them but you can’t teach them.
When I founded the theatre I founded it out of a Kennedy-esque model, an Ignatian model. I was going to give a group of people who had been denied something, that which they had been denied. And, that’s all true but what I wasn’t ready for was how much talent there was. I thought: ‘Holy shit, now what do we do’?
So, we started doing plays and getting scripts and writing stuff. It had its own life. It was and does continue to be very simpatico.
I’m generous by nature but I’m not selfless.

YP: Did you have your mission statement when you began or did it develop? [“The National Theatre Workshop for the Handicapped believes that the integrity and growth of the disabled artist is in direct proportion to the artist’s acceptance of his or her disability as a gift.”]

BC: I actually saw it. The students who couldn’t accept their disabilities were getting no where. I was shocked to see the students who did accept their disabilities; the gates would open up. I was absolutely shocked.

YP: Do you think that holds true for actors without physical disabilities?

BC: It holds true for any one, about anything.

In my experience and in my belief, in my faith, I truly believe that we are called by God, by name, and as Christians, through baptism, to be exactly who we are. That’s tough because the “who” has lots of “whats” to it. Many of the disabled wanted to be disabled; that is to say they were identifying themselves as disabled. It’s who they were. That’s bullshit! Disabled is what they are. The “who” is so much more wondrous, so much more extraordinary, so much more exciting, but in regard to their calling, they are called to express the “who” through their disability.
I believe that in minorities all minorities are asked to express their “whoness” through their minority status. So, I believe that African Americans in the United States are called by Jesus to be African Americans, to celebrate it. I believe that people who are gay are called to be gay and to celebrate it. I believe that people who are disabled are called to be disabled and to celebrate it. I don’t think that we should accept it or be passive or that God is allowing us to be fill in the blank…I think we are called to be that.

YP: That’s difficult because it’s not like there is a Platonic ideal for gayness or African-Americanness. How do you know how to act as someone who is of a minority?

BC: By shutting up and listening! But you shut up and listen as a black person or as a gay person or as a disabled person or as a distraught person or an angry person or a horny person or a young person or a gifted person or a confused person or a scared person. That’s how you do it. Look it straight in the eye. It’s great stuff. It’s a great invitation. It’s a great vocation. We’re all called to know, love, and serve God and to be happy in this life and happy in the next. But how do you do it? You do it the same what he created you. You can only praise the creator with the face he gave you. It’s the only way. I am not apologetic for people becoming disabled, nor am I saying, “Oh, God allowed this evil.” I don’t think it is evil. I think it’s an opportunity for great goodness. It is an opportunity for their salvation.
There was that wonderful poster from the 60’s of that little black kid from the ghetto that said, “God Don’t Make No Junk.” That’s profound in many ways.
This Albin kid grew up in a family in Chicago, skateboards, finds his way to San Francisco, goes to the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. There are no accidents, this is the divine plan for you; you have to reflect on it.
I was getting my doctrate and I was supposed to go back and teach at Georgetown. I was actually locked in to a tenured position at St. Joe’s University. The provincial wanted me to look at Georgetown because they were going to start a new theatre. Tim Healey was the president at that time and he was going to build a new theatre. He wanted me there at that time so I could direct the whole building of the theatre. They wanted it to rival any other theatre in Washington. But, I just backed in to working with the disabled. It was a total embarrassment to my superiors because they never dealt with me as disabled. My provincial called me up and said, “You weren’t disabled before you went to New York.”

YP: Is The National Theatre Workshop of the Handicapped only open to people with physical disabilities?

BC: No. We have able bodied college students who come to work with us and they take classes too. Our mission is to the able bodied who want to learn about the disabled in the arts, the disabled who want to learn about the arts, and the military who want to learn about what it means to be disabled.
This war is awful my friend. It is a total human failure. Kids are coming back maimed and lame, for the rest of their lives, when they’re 18, 19, 20 years of age, joining the ranks of the permanently disabled, which is a group they would never have wanted to join. But, now they’re a part of it and they have to learn to accept it and find joy after disability. That’s our job, to teach them that there is joy after disability. Tough job. Disability is everyday. It’s not like you take two aspirin and call the doctor in the morning.
I don’t wake up and say, another day to have one arm. That’s absurd. It does inform the day though, especially in New York. People stare at you all the time. People talk louder to me, (screams) Hello. It’s hard for me to shake hands, shoe laces are tough. These are so minor though, and I was born this way. I was graced with this at birth. Can you imagine if at your age, you were to lose an arm or leg or both. What would it do to your self-image, your sense of prowess, your sense of attractiveness to other people, your sex life, even your intellectual affirmation of what you can do? What I’m saying is that the arts have a chance of enhancing the human spirit. Then, the body becomes secondary to the human spirit. In theatre there are no physical boundaries. In softball there are physical boundaries, in skateboarding there are physical boundaries. In theatre, you use your imagination; there are no physical boundaries. You can soar. It’s unbelievable what that does to the human spirit.

— Young Philosopher

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NYGz · 44 days ago

Listen to this song

This is the best song I’ve heard in a while.

— Young Philosopher

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Real Talk · 61 days ago

From an Interview Magazine interview where Bianca Jagger asked Yves Saint Laurent the questions.

Binaca: Aren’t there qualities you look for in people?

Yves: No, because ultimately the qualities I see in people are what I perceive them to be. It is my own vision of people that counts. It’s all projection. If I am deceived it’s my own doing. What interests me is my vision of others.

This is reprinted in the book The Beautiful Fall by Alicia Drake.

I read this book for at least seven hours today but I can’t stay awake any longer and I have to be at a job in five.

— Young Philosopher

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Cedric Bihr · 64 days ago

Cedric is a photographer, a writer, and a model. The first time I met him was in Paris, a few years ago. He was living near Pere Lachaise Cemetary with Scott Bourne. This was my introduction to Fantastic Man Magazine. We hit up Le Baron, ate toast, and walked the streets. The next time I saw Cedric was in New York and the third time was in Tokyo. Ai, his girlfriend, had work that happened to take them to Tokyo while Craig and I were there. Craig had previously met Cedric in Paris, different time. Kool Keith could write a song about the third photo; it would be a hit.

— Young Philosopher

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