This is the first time I've been injured in awhile, and although I'm certain it did not happen while drunk, I still can't remember how I BROKE MY FUCKING ANKLE!

The Reverend Joseph Lowery, 87, Southern Methodist preacher-turned-early civil rights leader, gave the benediction to end today's inauguration. His prayer concluded:

"Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around ... when yellow will be mellow ... when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen."

...

"Eat lightly. Drive carefully"

This inscription accompanied two $50 bills in this years iteration of Grandma's Christmas card. It is the pure distillation of 85 years living with the trauma of poverty and forced migration.

I marvel at the clarity of thought and prudence with words exhibited by the aged; especially those increasingly rare individuals indelibly marked by their experiences in times of great crises.

Upcoming at Factory Fresh:

A MAZE

STIKMAN, LA II , CELSO, INFINITY

(& introducing: C-Beauty)

November 14 – November 30, 2008

Opening Reception – November 14 from 6pm -10pm

I'm stoked to check out Keith Haring's The Ten Commandments at Deitch Projects this weekend. Haring semms to be quite in vogue lately. Earlier this year, Deitch restored Haring's short-lived 1982 Houston Street and Bowery mural:




Then just last week The Universe of Keith Haring opened at Cinema Village. From the Times review:

Keith Haring was not a great artist. He might not even have been a very good one. But he was the right person in the right place at the right time, and he had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of just the right energy: a radiant, joyful enthusiasm that he shared with unflagging vitality first on the streets of New York and then on the world stage.

Madonna called him a friend back when that would have been cool. The guy was like a neon reflection of New York, an illuminated text; the city glowed in and through him. Sometimes this is how the city feels to me:

I've been thinking bout my roots lately, and some of you may not be surprised to hear that my roots grow towards the shade.

Haddix. I get lots of compliments on my last name. H-A-D-D-I-X. Double D's and an X. Recently a Beautiful Young Lady informed me that it's kinda a rock star name. True.

I've always believed that the name derives from Haddock. The haddock is a medium-sized member of the cod family. A 'sad, English fish,' it is popular table fare througout the UK. The mating call of a male haddock sounds like a motor bike revving its engine.



Haddix. Haddock. Derived from the haddock, a handsome fish, I'd say. So I've got fisherman blood coursing through my veins. Swarthy genes. Like the mythical Archibald Haddock, Merchant Marine, whisky loving Captain of the Karaboudjan, and famous wit. Captain Haddock's talent lied in alliterative insults: Two-Timing Tartan Twisters, for instance.

The maritime connection abides. Haddix, Haddock. Good enough for a Navy submarine, good enough for me. That's right, the USS Haddock, "served her country in the effort to keep the world free of communist tyranny and helped bring about the demise of the Soviet Empire, 1967-1993." But a bit of a shining light for a Haddix, eh? Well, my uncle piloted a boat, mos def.

I don't feel the need to prove the point, but my people are down home folk. We've been around for a bit, but made our way west starting on the South Haddix Trail, West Virginia. South Haddix Trail runs parallel to the Cheat River, no shit. Follow that trail far enough, and maybe you'll end up in Haddix, Kentucky, that great, white beacon of rural poverty. But yo, this is where my people are buried, and we shan't talk ill of the dead.



The W.W. is for William Washington. William Washington Haddix. A strong Appalachian name, no? William Washington wed Orlena. These names! My grandmother's name is Virginia. She has sisters named Ruby, Wanda, Zell, Crystal, and probably eight or nine more I can't recall. Admittedly, she's a Stewart from Missouri, but the tradition for pastoral names is the same. My mother's name is Mary Jane. You'll recall from The Grapes of Wrath the Joad's daughter, Rose of Sharon. Rosasharn.

White, Anglo-Saxon, and Protestant, indeed. But you'd never mistake a Haddix for a WASP. Hell, we got men named Moonchild and Leeland Ray, and we shoot on sight. Grifters, you say? Well, I don't disappoint. We came west along the Cheat River and set up shop in the Great Central Valley of California. Bankruptcy troubles in Modesto? Contact my brother at the Haddix Law Firm. This mope's got your back... for a price!

Maybe a bit rough around the edges, but our shining star's a softy. A kitten in fact. Harvey 'The Kitten' Haddix, lefty pitcher for several teams during the '50's and early '60's. He was a three-time all star, and won two games for the Pittsburgh Pirates against the Yankees in the 1960's World Series. Haddix got the victory in game seven on the back of Bill Mazeroski's 'Shot Heard Round The World.'



But Haddix's greatest moment was also his most heartbreaking. In 1959, against the Hank Aaron-led Milwaukee Braves, Haddix pitched what many have come to consider the greatest game in Major League Baseball history. The Kitten retired 36 consecutive Braves batters, 12 perfect innings, before giving up a hit and a run in 13th. His Pirates teammates, despite collecting 12 hits, were unable to score. He lost, 1-0, after 12 and 2/3 innings of one-hit baseball. Don't feel sorry for Harvey Haddix. Since his death in 1994, his legend has grown, and he has even been memorialized in song.

Are there people who don't appreciate the beauty of small things?

It strikes me that the surrounding surfaces of our everyday world are covered in a language most of us don't understand.





I don't think we could make it without a bit of mystery.

As you probably already know, Banksy's in town for a gallery opening by his dealer. I like Banksy's work, but I'd like to add an additional 'K' to his name: Banksky. It seems to roll off the tongue better, I think.

Had some time to kill before the debate last night, so I set off in search of clues.


Look familiar?

Last night was Thursday night, opening night at the galleries. I'm walking through Soho, Tribeca, looking in the corners, in the shadows, camera in hand, aware of the natty crowds getting drunk on free wine, wanting to ditch my backpack, wanting to join them, wanting to "hob-nob." But they're mainly poseurs, and they're missing the sublimity of finding an equation scrawled on a wall.



Wow, yesterday and last night were big in terms of the Search for Cieso. Checked out Artkraft Strauss in the afternoon, and though there was no new work, there was a flyer for Chashama, an organization that had opened the buiding last weekend as a space for artists to show their work. One of the artists featured on the flyer was El Celso. Holy Shit! Nobody ever suggests that the 'i' in 'ceiso' was, since it appears as a single line, an 'l'? Here's a link to his Flickr stream: celso nyc.

Well, I'm going to get together with El Celso soon. Maybe he can help me with these little robots I've been seeing everywhere. I hear they kill.