The Seattle Cardboard Tube Fighting league hosted a tournament: Saturday in Philadelphia on the Art Museum steps (made famous in Rocky),and Sunday in McCarren Park, Brooklyn, New York. It was a free event, and the League provided the lightweight cardboard tubes. You want your tube to survive the duel while your opponent’s is destroyed. This is a pretty random process, as when tubes clash yours is as likely to break as the one you are striking. The real agenda is to have fun. I came home with a few scrapes but was otherwise unharmed.
Armor Cam: I made hole in my cardboard breast-plate so I could safely place the camera beneath my armor to capture the action. Unfortunately I had my camera set on the lo-res setting. Oops!
The Melees, a free-for-all after the competition.
My epic battle, see me cower from the vicious tail slashing dragon. Captured by Anonymous Agent:
Update: Now with more Santas, part 2 of the video is embedded below.
Both videos are mildly NSFW, mostly for language.
I regard Santacon and other roving gatherings as street art, people expressing themselves in public. I was torn between capturing the event on video and dancing down the street. This year I pretty much sacrificed the dancing for the capturing. Maybe next year I’ll attach my camera to a Santa helmet and just go for it. Though if I wasn’t having fun shoving my striped pole in the air like a crane, I would have put the camera away, had a drink or two, and joined the dance.
Bill Cunningham in the New York Times stumbled upon the event and has an audio slideshow. He was greatly amused.
Part 1 finds the Santas in midtown completely covering the steps of the General Post Office on Eighth Avenue,
and then traipsing over to Grand Central Terminal.
Full Screen (Link to YouTube, click play in high quality and then hit the full screen button on the player)
Between March and November, 2006, Richard Howe systematically photographed each of the island’s roughly 11,000 street corners. At the moment he has approximately half of the photos on his site. Accessing a specific corner is difficult, but you can take virtual strolls up and down the various avenues until you get to the corner you want. The Manhattan Street Corners
What that durn red nosed dog placed on the Brandie Bailey ghost bike’s seat is an irreverent but not totally unaesthetic addition. Those artificial flowers, still vibrant from the memorial in May, have tarted up the bike of late, possibly drawing the attention of the dog. Previously real flowers were used and when they faded, the dried remnants gave a more solemn air.
I rigged a harness to hold the camera firmly against my chest while I rode. I figured this would be the steadiest place to put it. It worked adequately. This event was a lot of fun. I hope the city does this more often.
Has anyone else in the neighborhood (East Village, Lower East Side) noticed the proliferation of bundles of stuff, often on piled-high shopping carts, loosely attached to parking poles. I know a Chinese woman is associated with the shopping carts. This huge pile on East Second Street seems a bit overblown. Big enough to live in, but it doesn’t have the feel of habitation. Could it be the sad result of someone’s eviction?
May 8, 2007 the second anniversary of Brandie Bailey’s death.
A couple of days later someone used the left-behind chalk to leave the message. “Died on Fixed Bike.” There is some controversy concerning the safety of fixed gear bikes, braking is accomplished by pedaling in reverse. This seems a harsh thing to say at her memorial, seemingly blaming her choice of transportation on the accident. All chalk messages were gone the next day, after a heavy rain.
I’ve been noticing hard bangs vibrating through my apartment building for the past hour. It’s not that unusual for this building to shake from heavy truck passage. Looking out the window, a pothole is forming, no wonder from all the salt they’ve been putting on Houston Street lately. An early evil thought was set up my camera, this constant parade of flats would be a great Youtube video."
But instead my inner adult called 311, the system NYC uses to drain the strain from the 911 emergency system. First you listen to a heat complaint message that tells you to push 1 to make a heat complaint or wait for an operator. An operator comes on, I report the location and severity of the pothole, and suggest that at least an orange cone is needed, fast. The operator then asked me if I want to report a pothole, a bit stunned, I reply yes. She then proceeds to mumble in monotone some script that goes on and on, and at indeterminate points require some sort of answer from me. I determine that she is reciting some obscure legal definitions that distinguishes types of potholes. A few increasingly incredulous questions from me later, she asks me if I want to talk to an expert at the department of transportation. I ask if this is what I need to do to report a pothole. She says yes. Shortly, I am able to talk to someone off-script who knows what a pothole is. He also seemed to understand the concepts of location and and severity. But It’s been about a half hour, the cars are still slamming into the pothole. No accidents yet, but I’ve heard several tires hissing tales of upcoming flats.
Update: After writing the above, I got out of my flannel pjs and dressed for the outdoors. A bunch of orange cones are on the street reserving parking for some damn film shoot tomorrow. I took one of them and put it next to the hole. I had to document of course. Angel Orensanz , out for a stoll noticed my flash. I told him a shortened version of my 311 tale, he asked me if this was my work of art. No, I explained, it is a pothole. As he walked away I said, "art as well."
Morning update: The cone worked, it’s still there and the minor earthquakes have ceased.
I think you can see how the hole is just the right size to nicely knock up a tire.