Outing #4: All American Tailgate Party 2009 by Bandwagon (Chad Stayrook & José Ruiz)

Saturday, October 24th: “All American Tailgate Party 2009" is an all-access outing by the collective Bandwagon (Brooklyn artist Chad Stayrook and Queens artist/curator José Ruiz). Assembling a car caravan from Brooklyn to Queens and ending at the far, expansive edges of Jacob Riis Park parking lot (at one point the world’s largest), Bandwagon will crown The Iron Maiden as collective member while honoring America’s most infamous pre-partying ritual. This family-friendly event will include baked beans, the hottest buffalo wings east of the East River, a 3-car sculpture, a 2-channel car stereo piece, and a tent. 

Plans started to change a few days before the outing as the forecast for a full day of rain seemed unavoidable. As much as I adored the idea of spending time in a parking lot that was once the largest in the world (5,000 parking spaces! For perspective, contenders for the current largest parking lot in the world range from 13,000 to 20,000, depending on one's definition of lot/structure/complex, with a 40,000 parking city currently in development in DuBai. To digress further, Robert Moses designed the park in the '30s as a beach getaway for poor immigrants, as it was close enough to the city to be accessible by public transportation. Then why did he build the big parking lot?), Jacob Riis Park seemed an impractical destination for both exposure and distance's sake. The great brain storming of Bandwagon (advantage of a collective brain) relocated the tailgate to the expanse of parking that runs underneath the Wiliamsburg portion of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway (BQE). Due to preparations and general casualness, the exact location was kept up in the air until we arrived.

José and I caravaned our European station wagons (his a black Mercedes) from Bedford-Stuyvesant to the entrance off of Union Street and chose a spot opposite Hotel Le Jolie, an oddity that sprang up in the last few years (hotels in Brooklyn are odd to me), and an abandoned gas station. We were concerned about drawing attention to ourselves because of open containers, reappropriation of space, and no visible football stadium next door. We had a few curious glances from Hotel Le Jolie staffers on smoke breaks, and shared the space with skaters and car service lineups. At one point, a car did a very slow drive-by, then back-up, and there was a brief discussion with Chad. It turned out to be undercover police (Chad noted the firearms in full display), and they were satisfied when he mentioned "film shoot." His earlier explanation of "art project" seemed to produce confusion.

Once Chad and his lovely assistant Katarina arrived (Chad's is a grey Volkswagon wagon), we got to work arranging the wagons, erecting the tent, setting up the tailgating amenities, and decorating the cars. Chad made banners for the hood of each wagon, emblazoned with the colors of Bandwagon (black, red, and yellow), with the outlines of José and Chad in a triumphant pose for their hoods, and an outline of my zaftig figure cheering for the Iron Maiden (emblazoned across my torso in heavy-metal-band font) for mine. There was also a Bandwagon flag that flew above the white tent, as if a little fiefdom were being declared.

Tailgaters began to show up at this point and helped set up the collective-color-coordinated cups, napkins, and plates, start the grills, open the snacks, and distribute the drinks. Bandwagon offered Dark and Stormies (so clever) and Bandwagon Juice that gave the added kick of Red Bull (ughhh). Once things got going, it all sort of blends together for me. I remember people coming and going, that increasingly I talked a lot about whoknowswhat, and anytime a camera was produced I had the urge to stick out my tongue and pretend like I was at a death metal concert. In short, I was drunk for an extended period of time and had a lot of fun. I can't account for much of it. I know Linn and Brian came, of The Last Days of the Iron Maiden Outing #1 fame, and I met José's friends Irvin, Mary, and Maria, and my friends Andrea and Jed brought their two year old, Clyde, who's experiencing a weird virus in his foot and now has a baby cast, and Brian Balderston and his sister and cousin, with whom we met up later in the night, and Stephen Crone, who's writing a film, and Sonja Blesofsky, of the beautifully curly black hair, and Raquel Hecker of the Hecker/Hacker Clan, and the JCAL curator, Heng-Gil Han. I know Raquel and I danced when Bruce Springsteen came on Chad's stereo (because there's photographic proof of it). I must have eaten a Tofu Pup, because Katarina did (they don't call it Bandwagon for nothing), and at some point three kinds of cookies were available where there had been none minutes before. Chad and José played dueling car stereos throughout; José found a particularly curious/obnoxious bastion of sped-up cover music that had the effect not unlike The Chipmucks joining Ken Kesey's roadtrip.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm only realizing now that the promised "mind-bending" on Bandwagon's original invitation really happened (also advertised as "free of charge"), which I'm attesting to from personal experience. Also part of their original invitation is this link to Wikipedia's entry on the "Bandwagon effect," a term coined by David Luder about the social phenomenon of doing things because other people are doing it, also termed "herd effect." While studied by behavioral psychologists, the realm of politics is where the phrase "jump on the bandwagon" was created, and it also plays a part in microeconomics. Usually it's used in a derogatory way, because of an absence of logic or individual thinking. But we're all subject to it, the social beings that we are. And I think Bandwagon, the artist collective, is using the name and concept to also look at the positive possibilities of bandwagonism.

Before I knew it, Chad began to talk to the assembled about the history of Bandwagon and its future events (in Holland doing this at the time of this writing), and that they are gathering steam as loosely defined interventionists, fringe-artists, and social platformers (here, YOU look at their artist statement). As part of this ceremony, they inducted both the Iron Maiden and me as honorary members of the Bandwagon Collective, and presented me with a t-shirt with the Bandwagon logo and a neat checkered hat that reminded me of José. The Iron Maiden was already decorated with her hood tapestry. I had to give a speech. Fuzzy photos were taken. It was still raining and now dark.

People started disappearing. The food and drink supplies were depleted. José had to rejoin his carless family in Queens. As we packed up, Chad variously ran around with and waved the Bandwagon flag on its huge PVC pole, I acted out songs from the stereo and showed my appreciation for the Iron Maiden, and Katarina took pictures and video.

 

Though the hedonism of the afternoon was over, we couldn't stop the overwhelming trend of the day. Union Pool was a skip away, where we found a taco truck out back and a photo booth inside. Sadly, I lost track of the strange quartet of photos of the three of us, one involving tongues. We pressed on to Pete's Candy Store, where a man insinuated himself into our conversation and caused a serious intra-relationship conversation between Katarina and Chad. I think I wandered back to the car and ate more cookies. Before long we were on our way to a late-night dance party in the edge of Bushwick, scouted out by Brian. The music was really good, mixing good seventies orchestral dance floor music with hip hop. Many people were on the floor, making a scene. I drifted into some meta-dance stance, then Chad and I mimed cleaning the dance floor and interacting with the speakers in primitive-influenced motions. In the past year when I've found myself inebriated on a dance floor, I've been subject to a hubristic and meglomaniacal attitude, like I'm Jafar in "Aladdin" when he gets power over the Genie. It's funny, and it scares me, and I'm slightly mortified the next day. Sufficiently tired, I left with Chad and Katarina before unsettling patterns could take over.

Though these later activities were not a planned part of the tailgate event, the day felt epic in its foregrounding of the audience as participant. Having been to a tailgate-and-football pairing a few weekends later, I'm now reminded of the collective experience of a crowd watching helmeted, padded men giving each other head trauma. It can be a very exciting and vicarious experience, but I was a physically inactive participant sitting on cold metal bleachers, wishing for a hot chocolate. This Bandwagon outing pointed out that my conversations, peregrinations, and internal pathologies were the event, as were every other participants' experiences. It was like we were walking around for twelve hours with stage lights framing our bodies. Man, that was fun.

Change of location for Outing #4, Saturday 24th

All are welcome to join me, the Iron Maiden, and Bandwagon for their "All American Tailgate Party 2009" on the fourth outing of the Last Days of the Iron Maiden. 

A caravan will be assembling around 12 noon in Red Hook or Bed Stuy (not clear yet); call 415-307-8943 day of for details. Because of rain, we'll be assembling by 1:30 under the BQE along Meeker, somewhere between Lorimer and Manhattan. Again, contact me for details. 

The link to the Facebook invite is here. I highly recommend checking this invite for special details about the event. Food and drink will be on, as well as flags, well-t-shirted participants, and a humdinger of a good time.

This is a very present-tense outing!

Outing #3: Rockaways, Russian Baths, and Red Hook by Richard Alwyn Fisher

Saturday, October 17th: “The Rockaways, Russian Baths, and Red Hook: The End of Long Island and The Iron Maiden” will be directed by Brooklyn songwriter/actor/musician Richard Alwyn Fisher. An autumnal journey through peripheral southern beaches of Queens and Brooklyn, Mr. Fisher’s itinerary includes O'Donohue Park, Breezy Point Park, and will end at the Red Hook hideaway Sunny’s in order to usher in Sunday. The outing will be recorded for a future podcast series by Mr. Fisher. 

Rain seems to be plaguing these October Saturdays, so we revised the schedule for a night version of this outer-reaches-of-southern-New-York-City crawl. Which had an unexpected, spectacular effect on the trip. And, at the end of a very cold, wet week, we inserted the Russian Bath for a much needed core-warming. 

The rain also made me seek repair of my windshield wipers with a new mechanic. While they weren't fixed by showtime, the garage figured out the tricky reason why they weren't working, and the owner explained everything to my satisfaction. Why are these simple qualities so difficult to find in a mechanic? I don't ask for much... alright, I'm a high-maintenance car client. But I don't believe my need for a clear explanation of what's going on should be a part of the bill. I guess if I am selling this car, working windshield wipers should be a standard amenity.

Given Richard's location in Carroll Gardens, I asked if we could indulge my curiosity in the Reanimation Library, which is located in the Proteus Gowanus complex. Nestled amongst other niche projects like the Fixer's Collective, "the Library reanimates books that have, for whatever reason, fallen out of use," to put it simply. I was too distracted to get into the books, and wandered over to another space that turned out to be Cabinet's event and exhibition space, whose walls were covered with scads of head shots and introductory letters in the exhibit "Hopeful" by David Levine. The gallery person was couldn't answer most of our questions, but I think we got him on a bad day.


Curiosity satisfied (for the moment), we set off for the most southeastern point of Queens, as far as you can go without calling it Nassau County or Long Island. Night was falling and Richard turned on his digital audio recorder. He's interested in having conversations, as opposed to more formal interviews, with artists, musicians, writers, and other "creative types,"

and making a podcast series from the results. He later reported the prominent presence of the Iron Maiden herself in the conversation, so I don't know if any jewels from that session will make it anywhere. 

Richard was well equipped with a walking map book (though no indication of one way streets) and directions on his phone device and proved to be an excellent navigator. A lot of this outing involved conversation, so I'd be distracted telling some story and Richard would assiduously point out turns. On the other hand, I had no clue where we were going most of the time, just a curious and willing driver, learning about the boroughs and Richard. 

We stopped on a dead-end street in Far Rockaway, and walked onto the beach at O'Donohue Park. Trying to orient me, Richard explained that though we were looking southward, the strip of land on the other side of Reynold's Channel was in fact Nassau County, its most southwestern reach. Everything felt strange, like I was in some small beach side town with weird high rises. Who lived here? But why do I live where I do? Even stranger, a think reed mat/walkway atop the sand extended towards the water, facilitating our walk to a certain point. We didn't linger long.

A nice thing about conversing with Richard is that I felt like he was listening (when he wasn't navigating), and subsequently I gave time-worn stories a fresh approach. We get used to telling stories from our lives in situation-appropriate sizes: the cocktail size (a witty sentence or two); the outing size (a fuller but streamlined version told when on an outing with friends and acquaintances), the car/plane trip size (the epic version intended to burn up minutes and hours, all details and digressions included and maximized). This was somewhere between the outing and the car trip version, and because Richard is a relatively new person to me and attentive, I was more conscious of the telling of the stories, a process of revealing to your tellee and to yourself. 

We headed westward, traversing the length of the long spit of southern Queens, through quiet wet streets alongside the LIRR, past Jacob Riis Park, Fort Tilden, and to the end of the road at Breezy Point Park. Signs forbade us from parking without a valid fishing permit (oh well), but we didn't seem to break any laws by walking down the quarter mile stretch to the beach. Again, it was a foreign place made even more foreign by the fact that we were a few miles from home. Light pollution and an overcast sky allowed us to see our way easily, feet plunging into sand, surrounded by scrub brush and mysterious barrack-like structures. It was so quiet and removed. By the time we got to the beach, I thought I was primed for the ocean, but was still blindsided by its overwhelming force and grace at night.


Richard and I have had two conversations prior to this project; we know each other through friends of friends of friends. His outing proposal appealed to me because it was based on conversation and exploration, and I liked the podcast element, that the outing would beget another project. Friends of mine pointed out that it sounded like a date. This amused me and added another point to its appeal. I knew this was not his intention, nor did I place my expectations as such, but the subtext of situations like this are unavoidable, especially when I find myself standing on a beach at night, a large city behind us, an indescribable scene in front, and I wanted to touch another human being, an affirmation this was real. I don't think I wouldn't be able to enjoy it alone, and I feel like I shared it with Richard. But there are different ways of sharing. Even when you're with someone you feel very close to, sometimes the experience doesn't go the way you imagine it might.


We didn't talk as much walking back, returned to the Iron Maiden, and she took us to Sea Gate, next to Coney Island, via the Marine Parkway Bridge and the Shore Parkway. At the end of Mermaid Avenue, we found the Mermaid Spa, a Russian bath and another place I've never been. I was completely unschooled on the etiquette and customs and spent most of my time observing or asking Richard questions. While I was observing, I was also sweating profusely. A sizable and varied crowd was assembled on a Saturday night: twenty-somethings, teenage girls, large overweight men; all were Russian. We switched from the dry heat of the sauna to a wet sauna where sturdy girls in bikinis poured cold water over themselves, then to an overpoweringly hot sauna that I mistakenly made hotter by pouring water over the stones. This necessitated plunges in the cold pool outside, something I hate, but hate less when I'm an overheated mess. Fortunately there was a restaurant in the open area where we retired. 


Over large plates of herring, crispy potatoes, beet salad, and steaming bowls of soup, we continued to talk about Richard's most recent and difficult year. He seems to be going through a mid-life crisis on all fronts and is desperately but tenaciously trying to hold on. From an observer's standpoint, it's amazing how depression strikes people differently; with some you can see it physically change their appearance while they're in it, while with others it's like a light flashing off and on. They're still able to laugh and carry on a semblance of normalcy for little periods, and then the conversation turns, their energy deflates, or you see it come over them. Of course there are degrees of it, and the person experiencing it has a completely different take. But with Richard it's not glaringly obvious. Then again, I've never known him otherwise.


Richard is able to talk about it freely, which was something that took me in upon meeting him, because I'm shamelessly curious. He's turned to therapy and yoga, but still sees an opaque future. He can't follow his passion for music in the manner he once did—it's a young person's world. How to reinvent yourself on the brink of 40? I place myself in his position and am bewildered—if not art, what then? I spent so many years dithering about, just getting here. But on the other hand, I've recently had thoughts that I've narrowed my focus to such a specific thing that I'm shutting out whole other worlds of myself that lie fallow and I've become quite boring. But maybe that's the whole idea behind "untapped potential," because it will never achieve fruition. It exists in that state and taunts us. 


The bath was another context in which to feel the first-dateness of the outing because we were talking in our swimsuits, thoroughly aware of our bodies because of the amount of water pouring out of them. In another way, I was glad to be reminded of my body; I've been tied to the computer doing artwork when not at money-generating-work, and deprioritizing exercise. I went for a run at the Y the next day, but that practice hasn't lasted this week. 

After another few sessions in now-emptier rooms, we set out for the Shore Parkway, our cores heated, stomachs full. The last destination was Sunny's Bar in Red Hook, a grand old dame of a place, accessible by car but little else. The Saturday Night Jam was in full swing in the back, and I think I caught sight of a guy I dated last November. Richard found a perfect corner at the bar (the only one), and Katarina and Chad came in soon afterwards for a few drinks. They had just finished the video they made at the Venice Biennale, where they put themselves on the map (literally). Conversations weaved in and out of art and acting and ducks as an appropriate bar decoration and how that duck made us all want to spend Christmas or New Year's Eve at Sunny's. I think we stacked hands and "go team!"'d on it. 

Katarina and Chad left and eventually our energy flagged as did the conversation. It was 2:30ish and time to go. I dropped Richard off in Carroll Gardens and drove home through the dank streets. It felt a little strange saying goodbye to him because there's no assured way we'll see each other again after an intense little outing. Which feels very New York to me, at least in my experience of it: there's no reason you'll meet up with someone again and there's no reason you won't meet up with him again.

Join us for a tour of Queens and Brooklyn beaches this Saturday the 17th!

There are still seats available for the third outing of The Last Days of the Iron Maiden. Join me and Richard Alwyn Fisher for a creative jaunt through beaches, parks, and a few bars thrown in for good measure. Contact me at hotfruitcompote@hotmail.com for information or to reserve a seat!

Outing #2: Plus One Dinner Theatre by TJ Hospodar & 0H10M1KE

Saturday, October 10th: "Plus One Dinner Theatre: One Composition in Nine Parts" is part of Brooklyn photographer/performance artist TJ Hospodar and his collaborator 0H10M1KE's experimental performance series involving meals and their social elements. The Iron Maiden will be used to pick up guests (who have reservations) for one-hour in-transit picnics. Diners will be dropped off on the way to the next diner's location. 

While I knew that I committed to a 12-hour day, I banished my morning anxieties with "last week was a breeze, it's going to be fun." Relaxed, I forgot TJ's number and wandered around what I learned to be the wrong part (and neighborhood) of Meserole Street, effectively setting the schedule a half hour late. My role had shifted from project creator to being a driver within someone else's project, and it took me a while to adjust.

When I reached TJ's Williamsburg apartment, a sleep-deprived TJ and aproned 0H10M1KE immediately loaded in their supplies to the Iron Maiden. In went several coolers, a Hello Kitty toaster, a portable battery (discovered to be dead), and cases of Capri Sun. The menu for the day was a choice of Curried Chicken Salad, Tuna Salad, and Hummus sandwiches served with pickles and potato chips and chocolate chip cookies for dessert. TJ had been testing the recipes all week, and their final night's preparation explained his lack of sleep. TJ took the role of Picnic Facilitator/Manager, and 0H10M1KE became the Maitre D'. Earlier versions of their "Plus One Dinner Theatre" collaboration involved inviting successive degrees of friends to dinners that they might not have known were happening. TJ told me he saw this version as an exercise or composition, a departure from their structure, carried out in nine parts, each part variations on a picnic. From what I've known of him, he's been excited to work with food and strangers. He's in his first year at Brooklyn College's Performance and Interactive Media Arts (PIMA) graduate program, and several of the guests/diners through out the day were his fellow students.

The weekend was a particularly chaotic one for the MTA, with numerous track work projects throwing most train schedules into an unpredictable mess. This played a role in consistent revisions of our schedule, as pick up and drop off locations depended heavily on people showing up or being able to travel from where we dropped them.

Part One: "Bring the Picnic to You/Picnic on the Side of the Road": Newkirk and New York Avenue, Flatbush, Brooklyn. We picked up Jean Ann and Grace at the subway, where the Picnic Facilitator and Maitre D' served coffee from the sidewalk. Jean Ann was enroute to a nine-hour Robert Lepage performance at BAM and appreciated the preparatory cup. We chatted about Providence and art gatherings while the sandwiches were being prepared, then set off for an impromptu dessert at a small church graveyard at Church Ave and Flatbush. I stayed in the bustop-parked car.

The Maitre D'  became dispatch and arranged the next pick up. We dropped both guests off at Grand Army Plaza, who were left to their own devices to get to their personal destinations.

Enroute to Greenpoint, the Maitre D' took a smoke break.

Part Two: "Take You to the Picnic": Manhattan Ave, Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Laura and Gary piled in, giggling and psyched. The Maitre D' entertained them while the Picnic Facilitator gave me excellent pointers on how to enter the Queensboro Bridge without losing my mind. Soon we were in Harlem at 103rd Street and First Avenue in the parking lot of a White Castle. The staff availed themselves of White Castle foodstuffs and the bathroom. The La Mega 97.9 DJ stationed by the entrance door proved friendly and willing to power the Hello Kitty toaster, and construction at the intersection provided a dusty atmosphere and filled in acoustically once La Mega DJ packed up. After we did the same, we found a subway to drop off the guests and headed for 110th Street.

I started to realize I wasn't getting to talk that much with the guests. But I was relieved I didn't have to entertain people I didn't know while driving. It was a further reminder that this wasn't my project while simultaneously being so. I was hungry but didn't want to deplete the tuna supplies.

Part Three: "Take You to the Picinic": 110th Street and Lenox Ave, Harlem. Deborah distinguished herself at her pick up location by gyrating to the music that several teens were enjoying across the street. She's a dancer I know from a previous job and was happy to see her newly shorn head. We decamped at the steps of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Deborah was served a fine vintage of Capri Sun, and we caught up on recent personal events in the sun. I have no clue where they came from, but two tuxedoed men were suddenly part of our photo shoot. 

Deborah had some time to kill before attending a William Forsythe workshop, so the Iron Maiden ambled down Manhattan until the wind made a headlight cover flap into my line of vision at Lincoln Center. The Picnic Facilitator jumped out to inspect and secure it, but it came completely off and was crushed under the Iron Maiden's tires by Columbus Circle. I guess it's a non-essential piece of the car, but I couldn't help but feel like the Maiden was crumbling before my eyes, willingly giving in to my future intentions. Oh, car anthropomorphisms.

We waved goodbye to Deborah at East 30th and Second Ave, and I headed for a vegetarian/vegan pizza joint at East 12th before I got completely snippy. The crew debated scheduling possibilities and changes.



Part Four: "Bring the Picnic to You/Rockstar Picnic": Beaver Street and Locust, Bushwick, Brooklyn. We brought the picnic to a music video shoot for the Brooklyn band Black Taxi, where my friend Katy was hanging out and taking pictures. Set in the courtyard of a loft building, the video crew lent a perfect context for a Rockstar Picnic, with actual rockstars joining us for conversation and hipster cred. 

 


Finally negotiating the next appointment, we took a breather at TJ's house before returning to Manhattan.


Part Five: "Picnic in Transit on Canal Street": 14th Street and Seventh Avenue, Manhattan. I started to feel a little fagged and demanded hot chocolate. This was becoming a test of endurance for me; the Picnic Facilitator and Maitre D' weren't showing signs of wear. Uma bounded out of the subway, fresh from performing at the Bronx Zoo, ready for an audition in half an hour. She gleefully ate her Curried Chicken sandwich with Hummus on the Side (new term: HOTS) as we inched along Canal Street. A short picnic, she was handed her dessert upon exit. The Maitre D' almost coaxed in two tourists before the light changed.

 














Part Six: "Picnic in Transit/ Homework Picnic": DUMBO and Gowanus, Brooklyn. Ridiculous diversions by the police, traffic, and further subway shenanigans made the next appointment difficult to coordinate, but we successfully found Jessie in DUMBO and Leda in Gowanus, PIMA classmates ready to eat and do homework with the Picnic Facilitator. Revisiting traffic on Canal Street yielded this photo. 

I'm not sure but I think the homework meeting proved fruitful. Jessie and Leda were exchanged at Columbus Circle for a new set of PIMA students.

Part Seven: "Picnic in Transit/Tudor City/Mews": Columbus Circle, Manhattan. Lisa and Phil, long limbed and willing, joined us from helping Emily Mast with an art installation. The Picnic Facilitator directed me to Tudor City, an East Side "city within a city" apartment complex, where he was in search of the location of The Doors's "Strange Days" cover. Instead, we found a woman at a corner who was perturbed by our long pause at the stop sign. Our indecision was invading her private space? Intrigued, we circled around to catch another glimpse (unsuccessful), and instead parked to demonstrate the spirit of the famed album cover.

What we were looking for was a mew that was located a few blocks away. Almost there, the Picnic Facilitator tested the flash out at a traffic light and elicited the wrath of a Caribbean cab driver. He shouted that he was calling 911 with our license plate number, to which the Picnic Facilitator replied we were reporting his number. I was completely confused on what charge he was bringing against us and worried briefly that the Iron Maiden would receive a citation in the mail for some obscure code against representation. But then there was the mew and the location for a dessert picnic. We dropped off Lisa and Phil at the next appointment.

Part Eight: "Picnic in Transit": West 34th Street and Broadway, Manhattan. The Maitre D' disappeared into the crowd for a while before emerging with Kiko, a Japanese artist who has collaborated with TJ and 0H10M1KE in the past. Her accent was thick and I was looking forward to the advent of the last appointment, so I missed much of the conversation. I got us to Crown Heights without a problem, but shuttered once outside Kiko's party destination and demanded the Maitre D' accompany her inside. Which he did and punched out for the night. 


Part Nine: "Picnic in Transit/Picnic at Art Exhibit": Bergen and Franklin, Crown Heights, Brooklyn. The Picnic Facilitator became the Maitre D' (with a bit of grumbling) and ushered well-dressed Chloë and Gabriel into the vehicle. Chloë is also a PIMA student, and I know her from an art project this summer. The picnic began in transit, but transitioned into an apartment gallery in Bushwick called Homestead. Leah, co-founder and an artist in "Get My Flash On," toured us  around, including the rooftop installations. Many things glittered. Dessert was served on the way to 3rd Ward's big party, where our guests disembarked. The Picnic Facilitator and I dutifully unpacked the Iron Maiden, changed to our dancing clothes, and punched out on the way to a birthday party in Greenpoint.




Here's a rough Google map of our driving day. Note: if you go beyond the letter Q in your list of destinations on Google, everything disappears and you get this text: We could not calculate driving directions because your query had too many addresses. We exceeded Google's capacity for a continuous trip. Successful (if utterly exhausting) driving day, I'd say!