I have always sought a place to call my own. A place where I fit in. A place to be somebody.

Well, I have good news! This weekend a homeless man told me I belong in the pictures!

These are so old:

Here are eight exquisite corpses by Craig, Mark, Matt and myself, though not necessarily in that order. They measure 18 by 24 inches each.

Iced coffee isnt so cool without a straw.

Two Washington Post articles about bootleg and black Bart Simpson t-shirts. They are remiss in failing to note there are no black members of the rap-group Young Black Teenagers:

This is my bootleg / black Bart Simpson shirt, with Marcus Garvey quote and Fila sneakers:

On the train today some random dude that looked like Malcolm-Jamal Warner circa Malcolm and Eddie sat down right next to me — sitting the wrong way across the two seats that stick out perpendicularly — on a mostly empty train. He was drinking a very large off-brand cola and stammered a lot. I nodded in agreement when he bitched to me about New York’s subway system, which he seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of. He was surprised to hear me say I walked over the Williamsburg Bridge during the strike.

In one of the stations there was a poster for some television museum with the gang from Cheers on it

“Cheers. I hate that show. Men drinking in bars. That’s bullshit,” he repeated several times.

Then he made an amazing observation…

“The back room. That was bullshit.”