Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Irvin. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Irvin. Sort by date Show all posts

Irvin Feeling Pretty Good


DeGrassi Jr. High was a great show. Sometimes I wonder who was what in high school. Jock, dweeb, drama club, volleyball team, skinny, fat? Who knows. It doesn't matter really, but you can always tell when someone has issues with their past. They peg you for something you weren't and they use the same old categories to define you now. But you can never tell.
Irvin here? I have no idea. Rural Oregon is pregnant with a lot of possibilities. Especially when you're Irvin.
Irvin & Cetma Racks, Soho

You might be tempted to call Irvin a hipster. Fixed gear bike, a few cases of PBR, a spare bike frame mounted jauntily on a massive bike messenger bag, panther tattoo, over-sized gradual-tint glasses. I guess all he needs are some skinny jeans and a pork pie hat. Hmm. I was going to write something about how he's not a hipster at all. About how he is too old to be a hipster. Too frenetic. Too smart. Too out of touch with anything approaching a cultural acquiescence. Which he is. And he lives in Harlem. But maybe the pros outweigh the cons. Maybe, because some self righteous yahoo from some podunk cranial noplace might look at him and, with a spittle tinged proclamation, label him hipster, he is in fact a hipster. And then, once being referred to as hipster he loses half whatever credibility he may have had prior. The thought has crossed my mind. God damn. I just can't get with people like that.

More on Irvin here.

23 Skidoo




Irvin Coffee rides around the five burroughs on one or two of those fixed gear bicycles. His legs are ridiculously long, as are his elongated gesticular fingers which always seem to be poking into some invisible silly putty floating out there just in front of his bicep. When Irvin is around the office we get an espresso at 3:30 on the dot everyday. Mine decaf with whipped cream, his caffeinated and straight. Wednesday, there was a bomb threat at Dean and Deluca up the street and they blocked of the whole of Broadway from Prince to Spring. We sat on a fire hydrants drinking our espresso, watching tourists blatantly cross yellow police tape just to get to the shoe shops. The same time the next day, as the weather turned suddenly sour, the skies getting very dark and the wind twirling about at an unnerving rate, we sat in front of our building on Broadway watching intently as women's short skirts flew up.
South Third Basketball, Brooklyn

I tried out for Eastside Catholic's J.V. basketball team my sophomore year of high school. My freshman year I wrestled. I was a far better wrestler than a basketball player at the time. I couldn't hit a lay up to save my life. My outside shooting was poor. Any understanding of the basic layout of a basketball play was non-existent. I had only played a couple years of Boys & Girls Club basketball in elementary school and it showed. I got cut. I tried going back to wrestling, but my heart wasn't in it. I never seriously tried out for an organized sport again. A couple summers ago, Irvin went to Kenya to work for Film Aid, an organization that helps local peoples make public service announcement films about pertinent issues. He worked in what amounted to a refugee camp for a couple months, teaching the kids how to film, edit and then project their films about sexual abuse and hygeine at weekly outdoor rallies. When he came back he gave me a photo of a Kenyan basketball hoop.

Irvin
Noise! at St. Marks

So now, Irvin's birthday falls on Michael Jackson's deathday the same way my mother's falls on the day the terrorists came to town. And all they'd play at the bar was Jackson Five songs, which are a mite better than straight MJ songs. Except for the one where he was in Pharoah's court. That was great. But Irvin treated me, in essence anyhow, to a real great meal somewhere great meals come freely to those who'll pay. I love this whole goddamn marrygoround and yes, I'm un petit drunk.

Irvin and Holle



Amagansett 2005, Irvin's birthday at the beach.
Behind Holle's house, right off the back porch there is a little patch of wilderness that is apparently infested with mites and chiggers and those sorts of bugs. The problem is that little patch is right underneath where we hung our shorts and towels and things. It was a little windy and my shorts kept falling off the railing and everytime I went down to pick them up there would be a litany yelling at me to be careful of the lime disease. It freaked me out and my wife and I left early.
Today I had to pay a large amount of money to pick up Lil' Fatty from the impound lot. I paid the money at a dingy marshal's storefront in Bay Ridge and picked up the car at a disorganized lot in Bushwick. The only viable subway route took me (there and) back through South Brooklyn, Wall Street, Chinatown, changing at Union Square, continuing through Williamsburg, depositing me a fifteen minute walk from the lot. Today I think the temperature peaked at 19˚ Fahrenheit. Once at the lot I turned over my receipt and car key to a very unpleasant woman and proceeded to wait, outside, with no wind cover, for an hour and some minutes. The commute was circuitous, the wait, long and frigid. I had quite a bit of time to think about certain things. I remembered things. I remembered and thought about a lot of things.
I read my brown paper bag book and thought about my clothes.
I bought the red canvas North Face jacket at an outlet sale in Carlsbad ten years ago. There was a red one and a blue one on sale out of a big cardboard box. Apparently they were design samples that "didn't make the cut." I chose the red jacket. I have been glad for it ever since.
I found the Carhartt overalls at a stoop sale on Driggs four or five years ago. Last year I wore the overalls to Mollusk surf shop where the owner, Chris, recognized me as the guy who bought the Carhartt overalls he wished he had never sold.
The blue loose wool fisherman's sweater is from a shop at Pike Place Market in Seattle, purchased in the company of my wife eleven or so years ago. It is thick and wide and can fit over almost anything as a sort of woolen suit of armor.
The green Swedish Army wool zip up sweater is from Kiosk. I remember seeing Irvin Coffee in one first. He has great fashion sense.
The t-shirt is sky blue and the Patagonia silky long sleeve shirt smells permanently of body odor.
Last year, I purchased the snug-fitting gray cotton long johns at the 99¢ store down the street. They were not 99¢ but were still very inexpensive.
My son gave me the striped socks for my birthday last year.
The waterproof Clark boots come from one of those black and yellow shoe stores that used to dot Broadway in Soho. I bought them a month or two before a trip to London and Belgium four years ago. They show remarkably little wear and tear.
My wife initially made fun of me for buying the heavy-linen woven dark gray scarf at Beacon's Closet. She thought it was ugly. This was a few years ago. She has since borrowed it multiple times.
The oldest bit of clothing worn today is the wool hat I got from a stall in Florence 18 or so years ago. It is black and white and tight fitting. I would see the African street vendors wearing the hat around Europe and when I found one I was pretty excited. I think I bought another blue one at the time and later gave it to someone. Maybe Kevin. Maybe not. Whoever it is probably doesn't have the same sort of affection for it that I do. It is called a Fezko and was made in the Czech Republic. I love that hat.
The wool gloves are of a rather heavy military variety. My wife gave them to me a couple years ago for my birthday or some other celebration of sorts.

212-629-1900

Irvin was calling a graphics house we are using for some spots and accidentally called this number.

I realized yesterday that I am becoming the kind of dick I never thought I would be.
I mean, I always knew I could be an asshole, or even was an asshole on some level all of the time.
This never really sat well with me, but at some point you just have to roll with it and do the best you can,
but yesterday I noticed that when I sit down to someone else's computer and turn on the Safari web browser and start looking at websites and I try to create a new tab and the person whose computer I am using doesn't have their "tab browsing" enabled I get really uptight. I think "Shit, this lunkhead doesn't use tabs?!!" and I change their setting to enable "tab browsing." I CHANGE THEIR SETTINGS FOR THE WEB BROWSER.

THEIR WEB BROWSER SETTINGS.

I CHANGE THEM.