Not yet 17, I disobeyed my parents and drove to the police barricades at the far end of Osage Avenue after nightfall, as close as I could get to the bombing – I needed to see it with my own two eyes. The overwhelming memory I carried away with me, though, was olfactory, and not visual: I promise you that nobody within a five-mile radius of West Philadelphia that night will ever quite be able to get the smell of that murder out of their nostrils. It’s 38 years gone by and it feels like yesterday.
Me and the troops in Central Park 1986 Futura, Fab 5, Steve Sprouse, Debbie, Charlie Ahern, Keith Haring and others pics by Andy Warhol
the only king I recognize
Last class of the semester is coming up, and I’m looking for an appropriate send off for the students, many of whom have been with me for a year. I usually go with a “don’t forget to write!” type of a goodbye, where I tell them that I hope they’ll contact me if I can be helpful in their careers, or otherwise if they just want to talk. That’s fine and all, and i’ll do it, but I want something splashier.
Because one of the things I like about this site is that it’s silly and whatever, here’s a video of me deadlifting.