KARI ALTMANN: Zoomed-in View From The Trenches

Kari Altmann's knack for illuminating technology and its psychic imprints is impressive. Her real-time gif collages for Double Dagger drummer Denny Bowen's solo dance/pop mashup project Smart Growth were elaborate and clever without being self-congratulatory -- only the tip of the iceberg. A prolific artist immersed in the narrative possibilities of ephemeral imagery, Altmann DJs as Blackmoth.org, creates videos, and shows her work regularly around the globe. Her epic collection R-U-IN?S highlights the intersection between permanence, obsolescence, and the alluring constructions of the unreal. R-U-IN?S is a testament to its own double meaning as much as it is a challenge; all comers are invited to participate in the catalogue, to submit or remix. Plans are currently underway for a R-U-IN?S kiosk at Shanghai's World Expo. Here, Altmann responds to a question that's been on her mind for some time.

What are you doing the most lately?

Reading a.aaaarg.org and making a lot of videos, mixes, and tumblrs, it's winter. I spend most of my time emailing and ftp'ing files - I want a long computer hiatus this spring and I want to run away to some facsimile of Ibiza this summer. But today I'm excited about the igloo we're going to build behind our apartment (I'm answering this during Baltimore's "Snowpocalypse 2010")

How does your location (Baltimore) affect what you do and who you are these days?

• Importing what I can't get locally to a city full of empty warehouses.
• It is more convenient to go to Manhattan than to the suburbs.
• Right now I think I attend more events in New York than locally, and I definitely seem to show my art everywhere else but here.
• People think I live in New York.
• I'm just bouncing between here and there, something more artists seem to be doing
• I want the world tour lifestyle that all these musicians have but only my files seem to get it.

http://r-u-ins.org/

I feel really lucky to have moved here in 2004 and witness some magical years, but I'm not in a musical act so the ride on the wave was a little different. Mostly it was a spectacle to learn from - an education. I think of it almost like a research residency on the culture industry: watching things be planted, cultivated, then exported to the world. I actually saw it happen from start to finish, with varying degrees of success. I'd seen a little bit of that before but never with this intimate social intensity. In a place this raw with currents this dark it seems like viruses have the time and space to grow very carefully, in a unique way - so that if they get swept away to other places or hit that exponential dispersion they are almost invincible.

While all this was happening I was at MICA learning critical theory and art history, trying to maintain some kind of perspective on it all but still wanting to participate. It was a tricky balance. After watching people around you deal with fame and self-branding so many times, you really learn what you want and don't want, but more importantly you see new possibilities for yourself. Baltimore has made me understand freedom. It has made me tougher in a different way than New York, by testing what I do with that freedom. Not everyone flourishes under these conditions.

DREAMCAPTCHA #006 from Kari Altmann on Vimeo.

I moved here from Dallas which is the opposite of Baltimore in a lot of ways, so it has always felt like an escape. When I came here I was definitely on the run. At first I took advantage of school loan money and the cheap cost of living and just travelled all over the world every time MICA was on break. The transition was a little rough. Eventually, though, I settled down and got more invested in Baltimore itself, which is when it rewarded me with an ideal quality of life. That tribal experience people fetishize - we actually had it for a minute, with all its ups and downs. I took a net hiatus and spent my time raving and surrounded by people. I didn't care about blogs or a career. It was like the ideal end of college situation amplified by 200 percent.

Now I feel pulled back out of that experience, more zoomed out again. My website went back up. This is a great place to get some projects done, but you basically have to export those products everywhere else once they're finished. It's like MVP/Bolt Bus and Wimax are singlehandedly responsible for more MICA graduates staying and surviving.

ADSPACE (2008) from Kari Altmann on Vimeo.

More importantly though, it's a good place to experience the raw and hidden elements of America, if you can handle it. If you use it to educate yourself you become able to see the things at work behind a lot of the larger forces in the world. If New York gives you eagle-eye vision, Baltimore gives you the zoomed-in view from the trenches. And there are times I still get that dystopian/lost city/end-of-the-world feel from it all which is what seduced me in the first place. People here are creating their own utopias, whether productive or destructive, among the burnout. Those forces keep eachother in balance. These people are part of a network of post-industrial American settlers experimenting with a cultural "next wave" in cities all over the country, with the aid of the internet. Sometimes it's the second wave, sometimes it's the sixth. Since most of the music and art from these cities is accessible via internet, touring, or exportation to New York, you can actually feel the current of a "Post-Millenial American Frontier" which can motivate you. Not to suggest it's only coming from America though, it's happening all over the world and has been, in cycles, for a long time. It's just that the internet is uniting and diversifying it more than ever before. In 2012 my only dream is to have some huge mega-rave that pulls all of these art/music/party initiatives together, to actually feel this current frontier in one place at one time.

I don't know if I'll stay living here this year - a move is feeling more and more inevitable - but what I've learned in Baltimore, first-person, is invaluable.

What do you think of the future?

Look Up, Look Out

karialtmann.com

blackmoth.org

r-u-ins.org

netmaresnetdreams.net

TOM GREENWOOD: This Infinity Thing

Tom Greenwood was born in South Dakota which accounts for his largeness and blondness. He cut some teeth in Baltimore and upstate New York, did booking for underground clubs before it was cool to do so, and scooted out to Portland OR to settle for good and give his never-ending rotating-cast musical entity Jackie O Motherfucker a place to call home. He's been releasing handmade CDRs, serving residencies, and making exhibitions (including a solo show coming up in March at New York's Cue Foundation) since forever. Most recently, Jackie O Motherfucker's latest release Ballads of the Revolution is now available from Fire Records.



What do you do? What are you doing the most lately?
navigate, document, accumulate and edit. smoke a lot of cigarettes in between...
lately i'm editing... it's the fall, time to bring in the crops, see what's been collected this past year.

How long have you done these things? How have the things changed?
my whole life, at least since i can remember. maybe since 1970 when i was 4.
the territory i travel has gotten larger, the documents more precise, the accumulation- is getting smaller, as the editing gets more fluid... the transitions are smoother.

Why do you do these things? What's it like when you are unable to do these things?
i'm working on my line. something identifiable, to establish it's origin.
there are so many of us on the planet. i just want to work on something peaceful.
we're all very similar collections of cells, yet each of us has a different fingerprint.
it's worthwhile to me exploring this snowflake, infinity thing...


When was That Moment in your life that told you you would become what you are?
i was on top of mt. leconte in the smokey mountains, maybe 1987. i had found this salamander under a rock, it was beautiful, black with very unique spots on it. i think they were orange. i took it with me to the other side of the mountain, and let it go.
later on i looked under the same rock, and there it was again. so, i took it to the other side of the mountain again, and let it go. later i looked under the rock again, and there it was... i did this all day, and it became horrifying. this infinite identity of individuals in space... i guess i was tripping.

How has your life changed to accommodate That Moment's effect on you?
well, that was a very enlightening journey. it was summertime, and i was on the loose, hitch-hiking around. i discovered many things, and the darkness of it all overwhelmed me i guess. when i returned home, i became more politically active, making a lot of audio and film documents of local demonstrations against US activities in central america. i eventually got arrested and jailed for these documents, and many of them were destroyed by the authorities. when i was released, i had to let in some pretty negative allies in order to cope. they stayed with me a long time, maybe 20 years or so... finally i was able to remove them, and i was left with a really beautiful and complex skeleton which was formed at that time.

How has your work affected your life in return?
my work is the ground i walk on... it's given me a way to structure reality, so that i can exist in it. when i was younger i saw no way that i could be a part of all of that i saw around me, and it was scary. so slowly and slowly, i started to accumulate. i worked guided by intuition, objects next to each other create a new entity, and by documenting and editing with intent, you can create narrative, and build your own story...


What do you think of the future?
i feel incredibly blessed to be surrounded by so many creatively evolved, enlightened, and intelligent beings, who are doing their best to better themselves and their communities. for this, i feel hopeful...
however, for greater society, for people who have depended on an imposed structure and placed faith in the actions of dominate social leaders, i am not so hopeful. i don't really know what's in store for them, but i know change is possible, if you want something different.

How does David Lee Roth affect your life?
david who?

all images courtesy Tom Greenwood

JOMF myspace
JOMF WIKI

ROBERT RYAN: Baphomet & Shangri La

"Love is All", Robert Ryan

I first met Robert "Bink" Ryan when he set up a show for Crazy Dreams Band in his one-room studio slash gallery slash third floor walkup off one of Asbury Park's Cookman Street. His walls were covered in gorgeous framed works in a metaphysical-flash style and a third of one wall was entirely given over to a monochromatic cosmos mural by Daniel Higgs. Nobody at the party seemed particularly interested in our music, but Bink's fridge seemed to grow beer and everyone was pretty nice. The next day, I walked miles in a freak hailstorm to Robert's tattoo shop one town away where I received a rainbow ice cup and my clothing was dried in a laundry room filled with Chihuahua figurines. Asbury Park, New Jersey is sort of a magical wasteland in itself, and now Bink lives in the neighboring village of Ocean Grove, a plot of mansions and cottages on Methodist-owned land that closes its gates at midnight. He spearheads the musical entity Harmonize Most High and continues to execute dazzling works of art for flesh and paper.

What do you do?
I make paintings and tattoos and try to work on music as much as the painting and tattooing will allow for me to do.

What are you doing the most lately?
I feel like I have been traveling a lot lately and studying. I have been working with plant medicines and working on my posture and breathing. Of the aforementioned things I feel like tattooing has been occupying a big spot because that's what pays the bills.

How long have you done these things?
Tattooing for 14 years. Painting for about 16 and playing music for about 23 years.


How have the things changed?
Well I feel like its always expanding and contracting. Its always growing I'm always purging expelling all the bullshit that attaches itself to you on these paths. Earthly snares and such.

Why do you do these things?
For the Love

How does it make you feel?
Like my hero Sun Ra said "Music can be your greatest ambassador or your worst nemesis."

What's it like when you are unable to do these things?
I feel like I imagine a worried mother must feel like.

When was That Moment in your life that told you you would become what you are?
When I was young I used to live in an old house that belonged to Eugene O'Neal's widow and daughter, Agnes and Una. They lived there after Una divorced Charlie Chaplin. One night my cousin and I were playing in the yard and we both saw what we thought was Eugene O' Neal's

ghost walk past us. At that moment my mind was open to anything. I was Eleven.

How has your life changed to accommodate That Moment's effect on you?

Well I figured out right away that I wasn't taking the easy way out. To see ghosts and UFOs and consume LSD or live in Hare Krishna temple might be hard to explain to your friends and loved ones yet is still worth the experience.

How has your work affected your life in return?
I could be the poster child for what you should or what you shouldn't do with your life. It all depends on who you ask. Tattooing has shaped me as well as destroyed me, like my psychic baphomet. Music on the other hand is my Shangri La and painting might be the strongest of my personal connections.

How does your location affect what you do and who you are these days?

As you know I live between "Gods square mile" Ocean Grove & "The city by the Sea" Asbury Park. I feel as though I'm very lucky to work with some of the greatest people I know, I live four blocks from the beach and I play Frisbee with my dog almost every morning. The music scene here is so backwards and the art scene pretty much sucks despite the fact some of the best illustrators and painters I know live within 10 minutes of here. We all just exist outside our locale and I think there is something to be said about that.

What do you think of the future?
I think its an oblong oblivion.

What has David Lee Roth meant in your life?

He is like my favorite rock roll trickster. Giant Surfboards, Samurai Swords, Assless Pants, High Kicks, Monster Trucks! The guy is a Titan guarding the temple of Rock and Roll but then he gets busted buying dime bags of downtown julie brown ( middle school jersey weed slang) in Washington square park? This was a task I mastered in the 10th grade. He really is mystifying. I spent a whole summer surfing and watching the "Just a Gigolo "and "California Girls" videos on what felt like a perpetual loop.

Do you have anything you'd like to ask me?
I would like your advice on my retirement idea. Dig it! A small shack, One man (or woman) in a hazmat suit and a dogbowl on his head. He makes burritos named after the famous songs of one of the most important rock and roll bands of our generation DE EVOLUTION BURRITO! Customer: " I would like one Mongoloid with medium salsa please and can I get cheese on that? Burritista: "Yes sir we can whip it." Customer : "Oh then whip it good"

All images courtesy Robert Ryan.

www.sanitaryelectric.com
www.myspace.com/americancloudsongs

Robert Ryan works at Electric Tattoo
314 Main St. Bradley Beach NJ 07720
p: 732- 988-8882
www.electrictattoonj.com

ERIC ALLEN HATCH: Separate Violent Accidents

photos courtesy Eric Allen Hatch, shown here behaving allegorically

Eric Allen Hatch was an original member of the Red Room. Which sort of makes him partway responsible (along with many other unsung and semi-sung heroes) for Baltimore's Cultural Landscape in The Naughties today because, musically speaking, The Red Room opened the floodgates for modern experimentalists and improvisers to enter Baltimore, and thus for Baltimore to enter them. He was part of the trickle that opened out, decades later, into a rich, rank, silty delta of radical. More recently, his Free First Thursdays Film Series (Oct 2006 - Aug 2008) at the Baltimore Museum of Art was "a mixture of truly adventurous films ... focusing particularly on the visionary film explosion of the 1960s and '70s", with a programming emphasis on the rarely-screened. These days he programs the Maryland Film Festival, ever hot on the trail of helping out the city he calls home by watching movies all day and being nice.

"this is me and my friend evan 16 years ago"

What do you do? What are you doing the most lately?

I’m a film programmer; my year-round day job is with Maryland Film Festival. I sort through hundreds of entries from filmmakers to select films for our festival in May, and travel to other film festivals over the course of the year (like SXSW, New York Asian, and Toronto International) in the hopes of luring gems back to Baltimore.

Prior to this I founded, programmed, and hosted the Free First Thursdays Film Series at the Baltimore Museum of Art (which ran from ’06 through ’08 and favored ‘60s and ‘70s world cinema).

Some people also know me as a former music and film critic for City Paper, and/or as a former manager of the Charles Village Video Americain.

Back in the day I used to DJ around town. In case you missed out on that, spend an evening listening to “Push It,” “It’s Tricky,” “The Humpty Dance,” and “Me So Horny” in a continuous loop, and it’ll be just like you were there.

Most often in my waking life I am listening to music (5-10 hours a day), watching movies (1-4 features a day), walking (3-10 miles a day), record shopping (all my $$$), or reading (data fluctuates wildly).

l to r: Eric Allen Hatch, Scott Braid, Skyzz Cyzyk, John Waters

How long have you done these things?

The BMA series launched almost 4 years ago (R.I.P.); I started working for MD Film Fest full time in January 2007. Before that, I’d done a spot of programming here or there (see “Moments,” below).

Why do you do them? How does it make you feel?

It makes me feel great to connect positively with other people, and one way to do this is through my cultural tastes.

"this is me playing dr dude"

When was That Moment in your life that told you you would become what you are? What happened?

Lots of slow-burn, lowercase-“m” moments: curating a 16mm film night at the Red Room nearly a decade ago; working as a member of the MicroCineFest screening committee under Skizz Cyzyk (one of Baltimore’s real cultural heroes); discovering the work of favorite directors like RW Fassbinder, Frederick Wiseman, and Claire Denis; attending double features at the Orpheum and the Satyajit Ray retrospective circa ’96 at the Charles; watching an average of 3 movies a day, 365 days a year from 1998-2004.

How has your life changed or not changed to accommodate that moment's effect on you?

With both film programming and critical writing, my life has become about connecting other people’s artistic accomplishments with audiences. My life’s goal had previously always been to find a way to make a living, however meager, via writing fiction (or maybe screenplays). In the long-term, I’ll have to figure out if that dream has been scrapped or just put on hold.

How has your work affected your life in return?

I have enormous amounts of free time in the summer and absolutely no free time from late February through early May. I get to New York more often and I’ve gotten to know Toronto fairly well. I drink a lot of coffee at Red Emma’s. I’ve met a lot of filmmakers, most of whom are really cool (with a couple of douches in the mix).

What do you dream about constantly?

Launching a gatefold-cover, 180-gram vinyl record label devoted to new Baltimore music; programming and managing a restored single-screen movie theater such as the Parkway on North Avenue or the Playhouse on 25^th Street; living in the Bernal Heights neighborhood of San Francisco; becoming a Hollywood script doctor to raise money for any/all of the above; making a living as a novelist in Baltimore or even New York City; experiencing a Baltimore City with a subway system as extensive as DC’s Metro.

"this is me when a monkey visited the film fest office"

Some true, little-known facts about you?

• Both of my grandfathers lost pinky fingers in separate violent accidents, decades apart.
• A friend of the family named her child Eric Hatch Kim after me, shortly before the entire family was deported.
• I was reared without a television from birth until, fortuitously, the month “Twin Peaks” was first broadcast.
• My middle-school English teacher took a letter grade off a paper for my use of the phrase “Tom Sawyer was raised…”, and asked to see me after class – at which point she angrily shouted at me, “Human beings are REARED; livestock is raised.”

What advice would you give David Lee Roth if he was in the midst of an existential crisis and he came to you and only you for help?

He’s only a name to me, but my gut says move to Baltimore and start a band with Lexie. In general I am happy to listen to people’s problems.

MICKEY FREELAND: Mo Fresher Than The Produce Section

MICKEY FREELAND aka Mickey Free aka Bow N Arrow is a very talented young man. Lately he's been working in his brother Chris' studio Beat Babies recording, mixing and engineering Baltimore bands like Noble Lake, Sri Aurobindo, and most recently Jana Hunter. Some might say that he is personally responsible for recommending that all of Wham City relocate to Baltimore from SUNY Purchase. He is definitely responsible for running in a Baltimore rap-pack including but not limited to Jones the Rapper, Height, PT Burnem and AK Slaughter, and for mastering a turn of phrase that would embarrass your mother even when his mother is in the audience.

What do you do? What are you doing the most lately?
I'm a producer/rapper/mix engineer. But the most fulfilling thing I do is waiting tables. I'm just now finishing up producing/mixing the new Height record.

How long have you done these things?
About 12 years.

Why do you do them? How does it make you feel?
Well, I don't really want to do anything else, and aside from making people laugh, there's not much else that I'm naturally very good at. I'm not stupid; I'm sure I could do other things, but i have actual nightmares about going back to school, you know? This is the the thing for me.

When was That Moment in your life that told you you would become what you are? What happened?
Actually, I kind of had that recently. Last fall I had kind of a nervous breakdown after my first big music "break" fell through. It tour me up and I thought I was gonna be a failure. I was on some "....and I never even graduated COLLEGE!!!" type shit, real miserable, defeated and scared. Anyway, I started to come out of it, and started playing more shows again. I played an awesome show at the Zodiac in spring I guess, and the crowd reaction was just great. I got off stage and I had that glowing feeling. I was watching the next group ( I believe it was AK Slaughter), and they were great, and I felt great, and I just thought, "THIS is what I do. It's really all I'm gonna do (music in general, that is)". And that felt fine. I mean, I'm still scared about the future all the time, but now I feel like I'm just going with my DNA, you know?

How has your life changed or not changed to accommodate that moment's effect on you?
I'm REALLY trying to worry less about the future and just do what I feel like I have to do. if I feel like I'm loosing steam, I'll try to remember that we only get ONE shot at this life thing. Thats really amazing (and scary) if you think about it. So you have to make a big attempt, you know, even if it ands up as a big failure. It's pretty good just to try in a lot of ways.



How has your work affected your life in return?
It's a double edged sword. The more I focus and get done, the better i feel about what I'm doing and the path I'm on. But the stakes get higher, too. The more you believe in yourself, the more it hurts if your dreams get dashed.

Can you tell me a little more about your relationship to rap music?
I started rapping at about 11 as a joke, cause my brother Chris began a novelty rap group and I said "that stuff is so dumb, any one could do it" he said "prove it" and I came up with this: "I'm running for Rapper, in the next election, cause I'm mo fresher than the produce section". he was impressed and I joined the group. With in a few years myself, my brother and my best friends Dan Keech, Bob Sherin and Mike Romano had all begun listening to rap seriously and started rapping seriously. I guess because we were already music geeks we appreciated rap for how great it was a bit earlier than some of these other white motherfuckers in the game of life.

Is it how you started making music in the first place?
In a way yes, but I started playing guitar soon after and that was my main instrument until the end of high school. I was in a couple rock bands with my brother and the rest of those previously mentioned dudes. We were actually all in the band SUPER BASS QUAD which in ways was a precursor to Oxes, my brothers popular math rock band. He played drums in SBQ.


How does rapping make you feel? Do you find you are able to say things that you couldn't otherwise?
Well, I tend to say whatever it is I'm thinking most of the time anyway. But lately in particular, I'm finding that I like to put even more of my own thoughts and opinions into my tracks. Rap is a great medium for putting your own strange take on things out into the world, because it follows a pretty rigid structure in general, but the subtleties you bring to the table are what really sets you apart. For a long time I just focused on flow and snappy lines, but now I'm really making an effort to put as many of my own personality quarks into a track as possible. I was/am scared to do this, cause the things I think about the most are Race, Sex, Depression, Comedy, History... topics that are either controversial, disgusting or just plain boring. But I think I can maybe say a lot with a little, which is what you're trying to do in a rap verse. So instead of just finding different ways to say I'm awesome, I'm hoping that if i put enough honesty into my rhymes, even if people are put off by the subject matter, they'll be able to dig where I'm coming from cause the format/delivery is inherently entertaining. Hopefully.

To answer the first part of your question, rapping makes me feel pretty great. I struggle alot over lyrics, but once I'm satisfied and I'm actually performing it's the shit. I guess you kind of feel like you're a bard that happens to be rocking the fuck out of the king's court while telling a cool story (that totally made sense so just keep reading). Plus if I perform well I might get to blaze sex with an impressed female.

Tell me about your relationship with your brother Chris Freeland and what you've been up to with him lately.
Chris is the milkman's son. He's four years older. He is absolutely, 100% the person most responsible for getting me into music and developing my own sense of humor, which is how me and him first became close. Around the time that I was in middle school, I think he saw that I was finally smart enough to have a not-totally retarded sense of humor, and also to appreciate music for the first time. It was like a project for him. He took me to shows and let me hang out with his cool friends, who are now my cool friends. Since then I think we've really both been sounding boards for each other. We're closer than ever right now, in large part due to the studio that chris has started. We've both been into mixing and recording our own music for a while now, but since Chris got a Pro Tools rig 2 years ago, that aspect of his creativity has really taken off. At this point, he's basically recording bands full time. I began assisting him this past year, after learning some of the basics interning at Lord Baltimore Studios. I believe us working together in his studio (called Beat Babies) is really opening up a whole new chapter for us creatively. I never really learned music theory, but I know what sounds good. Me and Chris come from the same perspective that way; we just love production. We both kind of see it as a part of the creative process to mix/engineer/produce an artist. It makes me feel like I'm in the band for a few days, offering what I can. I get a HUGE thrill being able to help someone get the sound they have in their head to come out of the speakers. It's great. I'm just impatient with myself and I always want to be better than I am. But I guess that's good? Anyway, Chris and I really work well together because we see eye to eye on music; we hear a song and in many ways we already know how it should sound, and often times we're thinking the same thing. He is also insanely diplomatic in a recording situation, which is fucking crucial.


What does humor mean to you? What does humor mean?
Sometimes I wonder, if I could only be funny, or only make music, which would I choose? And I think in a way I'd rather be funny. If I couldn't joke around I'd go nuts. There are people I know and admire for whom making music is like breathing; they can't help themselves, their understanding of melody and song structure is that strong. Jenn and Andy from Wye Oak, Dave Heumann from Arboretum, Cass McCombs. I look at them and wonder where that comes from. I never felt like I had that. I've got a basic feel for music that I've built upon, but it didn't really come that naturally. Humor is different for me. This sounds big-headed I guess, but since I was fairly young I just felt like I knew what was funny about a situation. Something happens and my brain just says "say this, it'll be awkward as hell!". I guess I just see how every situation, no matter how mundane, is totally ridiculous on some level, so why not have fun with it, you know?

A sense of humor is so important to me because I think it's really a window into someone, and society in general. By sharing a joke, or observing one's reaction to an off-color comment, you learn a lot. You learn what their hang-ups are, you may learn what their turn-ons are, you can tell what their politics are or if they're practical or a dreamer. I love to make leap-of-logic, abstract kind of comments and see who picks up what I'm putting down. Usually it's one of my best friends who's on my page already. Humor is like mortar to a friendship, at least with my friendships. It's what makes my brother and I so close. When we were young, The Simpsons molded us and made us realize that comedy is high art. I think if you can joke about something, it's like the easiest way in the world to find out how you really feel about it, and that is invaluable. Plus, it's easier than reading a dumb book.

First ten words that come to your mind when you think of David Lee Roth. Don't think, just write. David Lee Roth: GO
Paramedic. Blond. Sunglasses. Leopard. Hair. Hot. Wild. Happy. Strong. Satisfied.

Do you have anything you'd like to ask me?
Do you think success makes people like us, artist types, happy? Do you think most creative people feel they need recognition to be validated?
I think the thing that makes creative people truly happy is the freedom, time and space to achieve their desired ends, with true success as a measure of how much of this type of freedom one is able to sample within their lifetime. Success is completing a project to your own satisfaction: you feel happy because you were able to do it your way, and maybe sharing it with others brings happiness. Sometimes not. Happiness is not always the thing to shoot for; speaking for myself, these days I'm happiest doing a crossword puzzle or listening to people talk about Huey Lewis & The News. Sometimes happiness feels like something else entirely, like nausea or vertigo. As for validation, some people want to be acknowledged elaborately, some people would rather just do their thing and wear sunglasses and not make a scene, and some people won't show the world their gifts until they've penetrated the veil. Its a matter of taste as well as a matter of survival; whatever it takes to get you through the month. The good news (slash bad news) is that, these days, recognition of things and people is at an all-time high.

Mr. Sunday Afternoon Special

I wait tables at A Restaurant. Like many other establishments looking to kill you slowly, we serve a dish called "The Elvis"; two slices of thick-cut, applewood-smoked bacon is cooked into two gigantic buttermilk pancakes, whereupon they are topped with bananas sauteed in honey and butter, a blob of peanut-butter butter and powdered sugar. This coronary is served with a side of pure maple syrup. For those looking to dip their toes into the experience without committing fully, we also provide a single bacon-pancake-banana-peanut-butter pile to those asking for "The Lisa Marie" (pictured). It should be noted that most of our guests have a hard time cleaning up a plate of even the latter.

This weekend is the anniversary of the day Elvis entered the next world largely thanks to food, so it seems only fitting that The Restauranteurs AKA Bosspeople of The Restaurant crafted a menu of special foodstuffs honoring his demise and, at the same time sort of accidentally, honoring the capacity of our cuisine to interrupt one's life cycle.

One of the items on this weekend's menu of death is a $35 crash course in diabetic shock called "The Graceland." We do sweeten the deal, aha, though: if you can plow your way through its SIX bacon-laden pancakes, THREE bananas sauteed in a pint of clover honey and clarified butter, THREE BALLS OF PEANUT-BUTTER BUTTER THE SIZE OF A TEENAGE FIST and a bowl of maple syrup, we will award you a bona fide Restaurant Logo tee shirt.

Luckily the only t-shirts we have left these days are Large an Extra Large. Also, you have to eat the whole thing in 30 minutes or under.

This morning, the restaurant is quiet. A little too quiet. At about 10AM, a lone gentleman arrives. At my mercy. At our mercy. He carries with him a backpack and a plastic bag, through which a bottle of something and paper currency is clearly visible. He is in my section. He is fine with only water. Pointing at the specials menu, he looks up at me. He has one eye.

"This come with a t-shirt?"

"You have to eat the entire thing. In a half and hour or less. Its alot of food!"

He smiles. "I'll take it!"

I ask him if he's sure; he says he's sure yes. The kitchen goes nuts, the manager is joking did he ask for a bucket too. Twenty minutes later, I place before him a pile of flapjacks and slime weighing over five pounds, dripping goo from a height of eight inches. The previous evening, four people working in unison could not conquer this dish. He says "Can I wash my hands?"

"The restroom is right around the corner, first door on your left."

The Graceland is thus allowed a moment of repose. Diners gawk, whispering, and capture its steaming, wide-shouldered form in their memories. We take pictures of it with our digital cameras and inside the tiny image within the tiny screen The Graceland makes everything around it seem to contract in size. The man returns, hands still wet. From his backpack he produces two rubber gloves and fits them awkwardly, squeakily, over his fingers.

Turning around, I leave him to his work.

Momentarily, a coworker gasps "He's eaten a whole ball of peanut butter butter!" Suddenly we're all watching again; he's working on the banana chunks, getting them in there. The peanut-butter butter globs are mostly gone. The topping is going down first. He requires more water. He has not yet engaged the silverware.

He drinks a glass of water, sixteen ounces of cold water. Our cooks are emerging one by one from the kitchen to satisfy their curiousity about the man who bragged he could do it in less than thirty for sure. They can't believe it. He cuts the entire pile in half with his silverware, then again. This will be the extent of his cutlery use for the duration of the meal.

Ten minutes down. Toppings gone, syrup undisturbed, pancakes a pile of shrapnel the color of vehicle upholstery. He has food all over his face like a postcard of a baby, and is hoisting jagged wedges of pancake halfheartedly into his mouth. He needs more water.

Fifteen minutes down. He is starting to reel, eye half closed, sitting up from his meal, from his intense pancake-ingesting hunch.

"You better bring a bucket, I'm gonna throw up!"

At this I sort of laugh and pour him some more water and then head into the kitchen looking for a suitable container for what would be, at this point, about a gallon of foamy tan vomit. It occurs to me that we should probably not cater to his immediate whim or perhaps fantasy of barfing in the middle of a restaurant but I sort of feel like I'm going to vomit myself and I momentarily fear that if I return to his side I will either vomit or be vomited upon. The host is ashen; he, too, has got the puke fever.

No. At eighteen minutes, we have to address the situation. A half-dozen tourists are watching him intently, having just finished their comparatively miniature breakfasts, and it would not do to encourage their accidental regurgitation either.

I return to the table.

"These are the worst pancakes I've ever had!" He is swirling in his chair, gloved hands coated with pale muck, fingers wiggling slowly.

"Sir, are you ok?"

"You better bring me a bucket."

"Ha ha! Well. Lets get into the restroom, then. Can you stand up?"

He rises, teetering, and I guide him as gingerly as I can towards the men's room. He stumbles through the partially opened door towards the urinal.

"Sir! The stall!" I exclaim, alarmed. He changes course, heading for the toilet instead. Once more, I leave him to his work.

Twenty-two minutes. An intrepid dishwasher volunteers to check on him. The report back from the front is there's no mess, he wants some more water, and now he's in the hallway. The manager is concerned about whether or not we've landed him in the hospital later today. We decide he's earned The Graceland, now an assortment of cake nuggets and melting ice cubes waiting moistly for his return. This one will be on the house.

Thirty minutes. At a table in the bathroom corridor, head in his hands. I fill his water glass and at the sound of ice cubes hitting plastic he looks up. I give him antacid tablets and he chews them like dinner mints.

"I don't know what I did to myself!"

"Its on us. Could have been the peanut butter butter, right?"

"I'll be fine I'll just have a cigarette. Want to have a cigarette with me?"

"No thanks."

He gathers his belongings and reemerges into the balmy heat of the day. We think, Ah! If he comes back we should give him a t-shirt anyway.