Coney Island Mongoloid
Sunday breakdown:
Kim Rancourt popped round HQ at noon, and soon we were racing down the Westside Highway for a tour of Coney. Outstanding!
Slight downer vibe at the onset, however. KR took us to Woody Guthrie's former residence on Mermaid Avenue, a now decrepit, abandoned, slowly disintegrating structure. No historical marker, plaque, commemorative hypodermics from the local junkhounds, nuthin'. I was stunned. (Dylan writes of the home in his remarkable Chronicles autobiography.)
Hit the sideshow, walked the strip, gawked at the bathing beauties slogging through the slime, and marveled at the young women casting their crab nets (baited with chicken parts) into the fetid Atlantic. Fathers proudly instructed their daughters in this arcane art; I found myself grinning with delight.
(A sturdy young lass readies the lure; soon, death will come calling on crustacean cousins...)
Our finale, a ride on the genuinely bone-jarring Cyclone. Got too much air on the second descent; lost my camera case. Well worth it.
(One is advised not to attempt to saddle up to the mighty Cyclone. In all but the heartiest, death will surely ensue...)
(The ever stylish Mr. Rancourt pouts seductively on the lip of the sideshow, July 10, 2005. Pop mavens know Kimbo best from When People Were Shorter and Lived Near the Water and After That It's All Gravy. To know is to stalk...)
Kim Rancourt popped round HQ at noon, and soon we were racing down the Westside Highway for a tour of Coney. Outstanding!
Slight downer vibe at the onset, however. KR took us to Woody Guthrie's former residence on Mermaid Avenue, a now decrepit, abandoned, slowly disintegrating structure. No historical marker, plaque, commemorative hypodermics from the local junkhounds, nuthin'. I was stunned. (Dylan writes of the home in his remarkable Chronicles autobiography.)
Hit the sideshow, walked the strip, gawked at the bathing beauties slogging through the slime, and marveled at the young women casting their crab nets (baited with chicken parts) into the fetid Atlantic. Fathers proudly instructed their daughters in this arcane art; I found myself grinning with delight.
(A sturdy young lass readies the lure; soon, death will come calling on crustacean cousins...)
Our finale, a ride on the genuinely bone-jarring Cyclone. Got too much air on the second descent; lost my camera case. Well worth it.
(One is advised not to attempt to saddle up to the mighty Cyclone. In all but the heartiest, death will surely ensue...)
(The ever stylish Mr. Rancourt pouts seductively on the lip of the sideshow, July 10, 2005. Pop mavens know Kimbo best from When People Were Shorter and Lived Near the Water and After That It's All Gravy. To know is to stalk...)
(TLASILA's fearless compartmentalist stands before the photo-op prop for which he was made. Snap by K. Rancourt, July 10, 2005.)
Russians everywhere. I was in pig-eye heaven. Demurred a dog at Nathan's, but after eating their fries (likely dunked in lagpunkt lard) my vegan status should be permanently revoked.
Returned at 4:00. Worked on the album until...
TS
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