New York is Dead? Nope. We're Still Breathing (Bated) City Smog...

I literally saw a medium-sized Christmas tree rolling through the somewhat empty streets of the sunny Upper East Side, I was reminded of depression-era "dust-bowl" photographs (and the last recession which hit my family hard in the early nineties). Then I thought about what could be drawn from those downtrodden ordeals - more from hindsight than any sort of experiential knowledge - I was around 11 at that time. The Early Nineties; the US was at some war in Iraq, the nation was preaching the gospel of recession, and just remember watching most of the people around me struggling. Luckily, the radio was kicking out the jams (all that angst had to go somewhere).

But I digress, as the point is not some saddo-whiny blogerhia, more a brief thought on financial crisises. The last one hurt me directly, and many close to me much harder. We are now all stronger, and far more interesting for it. As some asshole poet once said, "some shit about there's beauty in suffering or somthing." This world we revolve in is highly cyclical. Did you really think something can grow so fast, without some kind of reactionary fall - or collapse?

Guard your grills, stop spending that "free-money," and grind it out like the rest of 'em. I will try to do the same - but I'm not stressing. Lessons were gravely learned from '92...

maybe try Gilt.com and get some disco's on that Luxury you're dying to afford?

You can join here: http://www.gilt.com/invite/jamie82

Gilt Groupe provides invitation-only access, to men's and women's coveted fashion and luxury brands at prices up to 70% off retail. Each sale lasts only online for 36 hours and many items sell out quickly, so check it out before it's too late!

Tor Hamer: Gentleman, Scholar & NY's King of the Ring...

Recently I was at a Holiday party and found myself indulging in a little name-gaming, which can be very hard to avoid (especially this time of year). Next thing i know, this kid asks me, "so, do you know Tor?" Granted, many people in the city know Tor, if not personally for the sheer fact that he's a beast of a man, and his name is impossible to forget. I mean, his government IS really, TOR HAMER (i went to school with him, and have known him long enough to know that his name is NOT a stunt, more an omen). Anyhow, if Tor was not born to be a boxing titan, i just don't know who would be. Not only can he throw down in the streets (and definitely in the ring), but as far as I've seen he's completely fearless.

That said, this guy Chris sent me some photos of Tor's last fight, and i just felt compelled to show at least one of them. New York might be on the brink of having it's own boxing heavyweight! Look how Tor lays the HAMER down on this clown...

I'm not sure who took these photos, but they are pretty dope. Next fight, I'm going to take my own photos, because i really want to see Tor pummel the next guy in person (sorry but I do!). Also find Tor in the recent Village Voice, i guess people are finally starting to realize that this kid is the truth!

The KING of Brunch Gets Hollyweird with Debbie MATENOPOULOS

Seriously, who knew Debbie MATENOPOULOS was so convivial, off-camera at least - and, so boldly adventurous! Peep TEAM FACELIFT's "Fattest Jew" on his visit to the E! Channel out in LA-La-Land while to pitching a TV pilot, and the warm reception he receives.



Hey Jewther, she's newly single, and she can go toe-to-toe with antics. I kid, I kid! But in all seriousness she really did break it off with her man RIGHT before this was filmed. Hmm, maybe she has a thing for Grown-Ass-Babies with big hair (who rap)...or she's just mad funny. Either one works for me.

But seriously, this is vintage bloggart material...

thanks to beef for shipping-the-clip to me and for his crack cameramanly duties....later she discusses which of the items in her day's wardrobe would compliment his zoftig figure...classic-cut!

Frito Lay Killed Chevy Chase! Or was it Coke...

There was a moment, when I sort of remember watching the career of one of my childhood film idols, (and model for much of the zany antics i have in my repertoire) whither up and die, only to be seen again in minor bit parts and self-referential drivel. After a long and thorough investigation into the life and career of Chevy Chase, I have decided that it was the moment that this Doritos commercial aired in 1994, was the moment the music died - the day Chevy Chase - actor/comedian/cocaine cowboy as we knew him passed onto VHS.



Chevy had a good run with a great name, a quick wit and a can-do(drugs) attitude, and thankfully, he has whithered into obscurity rather gracefully, and yes i did kind of like him on that Law and Order where he played the curmudgeonly bigot, but that wasn't much of a stretch, was it now Chevy Chaser?

Pete Wentz' Chubby Cousin: LIT-ERALLY Mangled

NYU chil'en's have roamed the streets and bars of the village area for many moons, and for me (and many of my scumbag, dilettante friends) they will always be minor nuisance. On the other hand, NYUsters can also be a source of great entertainment, as they commonly get uncontrollably drunk and act like lost children. While this usually occurs when I myself am in the throws of a serious binge with my soldiers of fortune, we tend to maintain, usually preferring to egg-them-on and sardonically praise their behaivior, to fully taking of our own FACES in public (save that for the after-hours champ).

This one looks like a chubby Pete Wentz.

Your dude was literally knocked out in the back of Lit - one of my favorite places to call it quits when i am running in the streets on weeknights, (i don't really fuck with them on the weekends, it's jammed with tourists, transients and trannies) for a night anyway. Say what you will about the assholes who pass through it, but Lit is a downtown institution of debauchery and excess. An establishment owned by a 'friend of the family' and anyone in the local 212, frequented by scummy hipsters and the girls who love them, Young Turks and Cocoas, Graf kings and the jocks who follow, drunks, drugsters, the delinquent, and the decadent, Lit lives up to it's name. This kid is proof. When the face comes off, the demons come out...

I wonder if dude knows that those "fur" hats they sell on the block are fashioned from rat pelts?

Note: in no way is this infant in any way related to Pete Wentz, if he was, he'd prob be comatose at Anglos and Dragons or whatever Wentz's LES watering-hole is called.

A Walk to Remember: South Bronx Addition

Don't get me wrong...at night, this part of the south bronx would have me shook, but i like to drive around the outer bouroughs and see whats popping in the fringes of New York City. It enables me to wander around aimlessly without being mistaken for a mark-ass-buster...Nah Mean? I roll around in a old school big-body Benz, the hood obliges.

What a lovely day for a bike ride.

BUSH dodges Shoe(s), I am Amused

I mean really, who throws a shoe?!

The Answer: An intrepid (and disgruntled) Iraqi journalist aware of both the power of YouTube, and the apparent shortage of eggs in Iraq and the fact that he did anything further, he would be spending the rest of his life in sunny Guantanamo Bay. In one of the funniest political statements ever made on the global stage, an Iraqi journalist threw his wing-tips (yep, both of them) straight at the head at ol' Georgia W. Bush at a press conference to announce god knows what. Apparently his reflexes are much quicker than his wit, because deposed bush was able to dodge both shoes with the ---- of a boxer (don king agrees (thx TMZ ).

Not only was this a striking blow to the final days of the Bush regime but one of the greatest political media moments since the great bush-pukes-on-Chinese-dignitary incident of 2001. While I'm not sure how quickly the next administration will be able to stabilize out bumbling economy, anything is better than bush...

I mean, don't you love how him and his handlers basically abandoned the white house the day they realized the good ol' party was over - the next day, Obama comes strutting out onto white house long. Finally, some really entertaining politics...

Prince will be Prince, Whenever He fuckin' feels like it: Watch him JACK the Stage from Q-Tip, for half a song...

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Prince (aka the man once known as a symbol) remains one of the most enigmatic, and prolific ROCK gods (alive) - a pioneer of acting creepy-weird and doing it his way, all day - a throwback from the excesses of high-excess that was the eighties.

It seems Q-Tip was keeping it funky out at the House of Blues with some thin, boring live band, and Prince, who must have been playing the slots nearby must have noticed a need for some lead guitar, or he just took it upon himself to alleviate the boredom that is a Q-tip show in this day and age.

Check out Prince jump on stage during "Vivrant Thing" grab an ol' guitar and provide a swanky little guitar riff, then jump right of the stage and recede into the back of the club (or, possibly out the door). That is like, SOOO Prince. Also, upon trying to link the man's website, I came a cross the interesting fact that it seems PRINCE DOES NOT HAVE A WEBSITE - now THAT, is gangster...only if your absurdly famous.

This my friends, is how you become a Rock Legend, and not just some corny pop-icon. You're killing it Prince. Q-Tip, Eh,keep it moving...

i saw it on Miss info , (thanks beef) definitely one of the funniest youtube things ive seen all week. Besides the crapped my pants song, which I'm assured everyone is blogging.

NO Photos at the Photography Show? Please...

So i went to the William Eggleston retrospective at The Whitney last week and was shocked when some asshole security guard told me that i was not allowed to take pictures at an exhibit by a man who became known for taking pictures of everything - everywhere. I had also chatted-up some pr chick beforehand (who said nothing of this), gotten a comped entry and have been taking photographs (sans flash, obvi) in New York museums since the Giuliani regime. I mean, if Eggs was deceased, he'd be rolling in his grave - okay, maybe not for my petty infraction on museum justice, but you get the idea. The show is called Democratic Camera, but it felt a little more Stalin-esque in it's environs.

In all seriousness, whether or not you're a self-proclaimed art fag, a dilettante, a charlatan, or a connoisoir (ugh, the worst), this is one of the best photography shows i have seen at a major museum in years - and i basically see them all (guess im all of the above). But, enough about my of my own character deficiencies, and back to art-snobbery...William Eggleston was one of the first photographers i could ever sink my teeth into as a kid, he takes pictures of anything that interests him (literally anything) from a light bulb on a gritty red ceiling, to a disoriented old woman in the warm summer sun. He is considered to be one of the godfathers of color photography, and helped propel it from the doldrums of magazine print and hobby photographers, to the cutting-edge of contemporary art.

This show is a great testament to the half-decade Eggleston has been taking pictures (as an artist), and basically be seen pro-bono on PAY-WHAT-YOU-WANT FRIDAYS....if you're credit's crunched.

Now that i have sufficiently flexed my pretension, aired my grievances, and displayed an ability to memorize art history, i will tell you simply - go to the whitney and see the eggleston show, before it closes in January.

Why not check it out if you're craving some (high) art (aren't we all? Not-so-much), bored - or spending inordinate amounts of time receding into your couch, waiting for take-out.

get cultured - stay fly

TOP CHEF is a Traveshamockery, at least for an epispde...

Okay, so Top Chef is most certainly Tom Colicchio's gift to food porn, and generally, a pretty entertaining form of entertainment (one of the only things i try to watch close to when it airs, thank you DVR). But the episode I just watched, where Kathy Lee spits out surfer-Jeff's shrimp dish, kinda made me sick. Not sick because of watching Kathy Lee Gifford and her old leather/ vinyl hybrid skin gag on shrimp on the today show, but that it seemed to me to be a complete sham. I mean, a little impartiality would be nice Tom. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for giving a Jersey-girl some business at her little CulinAriane, but to feed those hags from the Today Show, with their seemingly unsophisticated pallates all sorts of exotic flavors in the morning and then allow them to pick a winner? Really Meridith Viera, and friends? How refined are your pallates, because tv is tv, but none of you seem to have any taste. My guess is the send the pencil -pushers (i know who uses pencils anymore, except carpenters) in to crunch the numbers and the Today Show demo just made the most sense....right, Dick?

And unfortunately for the poor blond boy who cooks at Dildo grill in MeeYami, most people will always remember him for being the guy whose food made crazy ol' Kathy Lee Gifford gag (wouldn't be the first time, would it Frank?). Notwithstanding the fact that she probably eats a warm chicken salad for every meal of the day, like most boring old women on the Upper East Side.

Way to go Colicchio, you're a superstar, but your show just lost some serious credibility in my mind... What do you think? Again, big up to CulinAriane in dirty jerz...It's really a fantastic name for a restaurant in New Jersey. Really?

Oh yeah, and did anyone else find it ridiculous that they draged them all the way up to Rochester last episode? Fuck you Dave Grohl. You killed Cobain, took all his good ideas, and turned them into schlock rock, way to go... What does Rochester or the Foo Fighters (aside from foo's proximity to food) have to do with judging a cooking competition set in New York City? Oh yeah, and the smart moneys on Fabio, the swarthy Italiano. Okay, I'm done...
traveshamockery i say!

feed your own damn ego...

blogging is for the gays...?

It may in fact, be true, that blogging is the pastime of the lonely queer-as-folk crowd, but I really could give a shit. I write, you read. If you hate it, you can hate on me, but you're just another asshole looking at my tiny space on this god-forsaken inter web, and that time you spend hating, is probably benefiting ME in some way.

The way i see it, this is just another outlet to vent my boundless frustration with the world around me and this constant need to get some of these thoughts rattling around in my head, out. So read on, go fuck yourself. Have a great day, and do something better than this. I mean, it couldn't be that hard, and I'm sure you have plenty of bright ideas. Don't you?

TEAM FACELIFT is coming to your one-horse town...

Those edgy hunkamaniacs from Team Facelift continue their trajectory as the complete anomaly in the New York City rap-game. They're known in the streets, enjoy eating twelve-course meals at Garden Parties in the Hamptons (only during the high-season, of course) and have all been to the tombs, if not for a weekend, at least a night - and no, the Tombs are not a new boutique hotel in the LES. Now, when they're not out chasing down a TV deal, their jumping out of vans and setting-up guerilla-style shows at colleges across the Eastern seaboard.

Team Facelift, aside from repping the gruff and tumble streets of the upper east and upper west (respectively) with wreckless abandon and the grandeur that could only be expected from the hood that raised the gossip girl, is also fast becoming the soldiers of fortune in the new-media music market. That is to say, they’re bombastic form of dance-rap might seem absurd to the lame, or culturally sophisticated, but its cutting edge, honest-to- goodness insanity that makes you want to rage-in-the-cage, or stay up for days on Crystal Meth in a trailer park in the dessert, a la Breaking Bad. Team Facelift makes music to rage and make babies to, fast-tempo dance-crack that could only be fueled by muscle milk, and amphetamines. Music that fuels your habits and induces still-born pregnancy. Get that NEW WORK from TF (consult your cardiologist before viewing the videos)...

...shout outs to LaFonda and Milton Soliemanpour at Red Bull for signing checks (giving wings, etc.) to make these men into martyrs (or, at worst, myths) across campuses across the country…. Banned on the Run is an epic event, what you going to do when the Fat Jew comes out the back of the paddy-wagon for you?!

Check local listings and frat-house community bulletin's for dates and locations...

Night Moves

photographed by Jamie Newman - StarvedArtStar

saturday night special - birds fly in any weather

Antik has been around for a little while and is located on the Bowery - it's low-key on some nights, and raging with party people on another. Some people have problems with their lack of a formal bar-area at Antik, but there's a bar downstairs and it's mostly bottle service upstairs on the big nights. Antik is a nice (somewhat dark and "clubby" space) to get beligerantly drunk or just take it easy with a couple friends, it would all depend on the night you choose to go.

Marion's, which is next door and owned by the same people, and is in my mind more what i look for in a drinking destination. It has big, comfortable lounge seating, a big enough bar-area and has a small back area for the fam to get wet (excuse my slang, please). I like to go to Marion's on Saturdays, at the moment, but this changes with the wind, as it does with many New Yorkers). Staying under the radar on the Saturday night special is where the smart money is if you want to avoid (as much as humanly possible) the weekender warriors who use lower Manhattan as there own personal frat house. Luckily for us, many of these unfortunate souls will hop in their late-model Japanese cars and go back over the bridge or tunnel they crawled out of by Sunday morning.

this momentary impulse of office drones and greasers helps fuel the economy of said metropolis, so i really have no problem with it. I either stay in and guard myself and loved-ones from the sea of hair gel, or I go to places like Antik/Marion's on the Bowery. We have it sewn-up, there are enough attractive people to not make it feel like a Monday, and the scotch flows freely.

As an Apache warrior once told me before he drove off in his pickup, "the eagle soars under the radar...." I would have to say this is not a bad place to do it, though of-late its becoming more popular.

i'll eat your food, kid....

JG Melon's - Hamburger to NYC stars

J.G Melon's has been a mainstay of my diet since i was a wee tyke running around the upper east side. i frequent it whenever possible (usually when it is overrun with cougars, housewives and alcoholic executives - the best time to beat the rush and to see the UES breathe). Hands down, they make the best hamburger in New York City. In fact, as far as I am concerned, the only one better can be found at Louis Lunch in New Haven, and they LITERALLY invented the damn thing. So, if your not too bauhaus to venture up to the capitol of venture capital, try the burger at Melon's. Like some of New Yorks best, you may have to wait, and they don't tend to play favorites. Practially everyone's a regular.

get your money up, they don't take that plastic.

photo above of Baron Von Fancy at Melon's on the upper deck

starved for attention? or ordained access...

tired of serving the servants to our corporate culture of conspicuous consumption and disgusted by the deluge of mediocrity being passed-off as genuine prose, i have decided to leap back into the shallow shark-tank head-first, so as to make maximum impact - or at best manage to decapitate or dismember myself on the way into this media circus.

Writing was always a labor for me in my early years, but after years in the trenches of a pinko progressive education i realized that i had mistakenly become somewhat or a warrior poet; a genuine incarnation of some dead Greek poet, or at least one capable of expressing myself in words without weighing them down with the rules and maxims of language that create the barriers between what we say and what we mean. I write what i mean, however based on fact or farce it may be is up to the reader, but it is hard to deny the fact that i have a voice - a voice that tends to have the subtly of a velvet hammer. That being said, why not pawn off this crafted ability to mix words as a marketable skill? Why cant i make a few shekels for my eloquent use of literary diction, or the simple fact that i can speak on anything, even if i hardly know what I'm talking about?

In this day of the inter-web and technological extensions of the body and mind, i believe the information is utterly accessible, all that's needed is a proper wordsmith to craft it into something worth reading - worth taking the time in your work-a-day world to absorb, maybe even enjoy...

Let me be this cultural attache, this warrior of decent and deranged culture, this minister of information, a priest of the populous.

hungry like a little kid