Art Handling Olympics: Controlled Chaos

The medals ceremony. "And the award for best beard goes to..."This past Sunday was one of those first pleasant, early-spring afternoons in New York--sun shining, birds singing, hipsters experimenting with warm-weather fashion. I, however, spent it  in a crowded basement space in Chinatown just off East Broadway, fighting for elbow room with a mixed group--half seemed like they were there for a bike messenger rally, the other half for an art school crit. This was the Art Handling Olympics, a one-day event for the New York art world's most overlooked and underappreciated workers, the art handlers, who crate and hang and carry the art and basically do all the heavy lifting to get those pretty pictures up onto those white walls.

The event, which must have started out as a stoned joke, gave the members of this anarchic fraternity a long overdue turn in the spotlight, as well as a chance to show off their very particular skillset for an appreciative audience. Nearly seventy art handlers, comprising 16 teams, signed up, and many more came to watch. As they competed in events built around packing and hanging art, the crowd and the judges, well lubricated with Budweiser and Colt 45, shouted jokes about dollies and tapeguns and levels and gloves, and I began to understand the real appeal of the event: it wasn't a competition, it was a convention, full of the same sort of insider jokes and jargon and general nerding-out that you'd see at any other gathering of likeminded people. Not everyone saw the point: Many handlers are artists in their own right, and when I asked one artist/handler I know why he wasn't competing, he shook his head. "Why would i want to glorify the day job?" he asked. Point taken.

But most of the Olympians seemed less interested in glorifying the handler's role than in taking the whole art world--themselves included--down a peg. "I think we all go back and forth between loving and hating our jobs," event organizer Shane Caffrey told me a few days before the Olympics. "The idea is just to have fun, and poke some fun at the world we work in, and at ourselves."

I had intended to write more about it, but there were plenty of journalists on hand and no shortage of coverage this week, including these articles, this slideshow, and this video. But even with all of that, some of the event's flavor was missing, as most of the comments I heard weren't likely to be published in the Times. Like this one:

"It smells like dirty artists and pot down here."

Atlantic Yards: Markowitz Cracks a Funny

Outside of Freddy's Bar, protestors donned oversized masks of Ratner & Co. Relentless Atlantic Yards chronicler Norman Oder has spent the past two weeks doing the work that a good metro columnist would have--if there were any of them left--by examining the circus of the Barclay's Center groundbreaking from every unflattering angle, drilling down on the underlying issues to expose what the mainstream press missed. (He even mentioned my nymag.com piece on the groundbreaking in one of last week's entries last week.) 

In today's entry, Oder focuses on how Ratner et al cynically used their celebrity guest, Jay-Z, to effectively blind the crowd with the reflected glow of his fame. The best thing about this topic is that it allows Oder to recount one of that day's most awkward moments, one that came courtesy of Brooklyn borough president Marty Markowitz. After brandishing snapshots of Jay-Z's wife Beyonce giving him a peck on the cheek at a recent charity event, Markowitz was finally able to deliver a punchline he'd surely been crafting for years. Addressing Jay-Z, he said:

"Now it's obvious she likes Brooklyn guys, we know that, and I really believe, I really believe, if I had met her before you, I could've been a contender," said the 60ish, pudgy, non-hip-hop BP.

Marty turned to the rapper for a response, but Jay-Z appeared not to be listening. A beat late, he managed a weak smile, a few guys in suits laughed, the rest of the crowd squirmed uncomfortably, and Marty moved on. In spite of Marty's efforts, it seems opponents of the project may win the humor battle, if this much funnier joke made at Ratner's expense this week is any guide.

Atlantic Yards Groundbreaking: Paterson Cracks Jokes, Jay-Z Wears a Hardhat.

Photo-op, with Jay-Z at center, as viewed through the catering tent's wavy plastic window.On Thursday, I had the opportunity to attend the groundbreaking ceremony for the controversial Atlantic Yards development in Brooklyn, which happens to be a few blocks from my apartment, and write about it for nymag.com (read it here). The project, which will include a new arena for the soon-to-be Brooklyn (nee New Jersey) Nets, has attracted lots of big-name support (Bloomberg, Paterson, Jay-Z) and become a lightning rod for criticism from local Brooklynites. So while the grandees massed in a slick white tent and munched lobster rolls before the groundbreaking, a group of protestors gathered a few blocks away at local institution Freddy's, the kind of dive bar you'll tell your grandkids about--or perhaps find your grandfather in.

It seemed there were as many reporters as attendees, both at the protest and in the tent, so there was no shortage of straight news coverage. (For a complete summary of the event and the press coverage of it, you must visit Norman Oder's Atlantic Yards Report, a years-long, in-depth look at the project and one of the finest pieces of local journalism on the internet.) Thus, I had to come up with a slightly more offbeat take on the proceedings for a post at New York magazine's website. Luckily, perpetually embattled New York Governor David Paterson obliged, seeming to nearly channel Fred Armisen's SNL caricature of him during his speech. The punchline came as he reminisced about being a Nets fan as a kid:

About how ecstatic he was when the Nets signed Julius "Dr. J" Erving in 1973, and about how heartbroken he was when, in 1976, the Nets traded him to Philly. "It was one of the worst days of my life," he said, pausing a beat before adding, "before I became governor."

And, scene. (Read the rest of the nymag.com piece here and check my flickr set for out more of my photos from both the protest and the groundbreaking ceremony.)

Knee-Deep Powder at Huntah, er, Hunter

Deep, fresh powder in New York's Catskills is a rarity, so when the weathermen started talking about a big storm headed that way the night of February 24th, I headed upstate to be in position to hit Hunter, Windham, or Belleayre. There was, however, a fatal flaw in my plan: there was just too much snow, and I got my car stuck. So as inch after fluffy inch fell--from just before midnight Thursday through late in the day Saturday the accumlation was over 30 inches--I could only watch and wait. (Well, that's not entirely true: I did a lot of snowshoeing and even managed a few sketchy tree-skiing runs in the woods behind my brother's house. And once the power went out, it was a perfect hermitage, just the kind of unplugged, snowbound retreat we all dream about.) When I finally broke out Sunday morning and got to Hunter, the snow had compacted and been tracked up on much of the mountain, but back in the trees it was still fluffy and knee-deep. I was lucky enough to hook up with a local, Jim Stracka, who showed me the right spots to duck under the fences and barriers, ditch the crowds, and get some fresh tracks. That's Jim skiing in the video above and, as you can tell, it's not exactly a managed forest--things can get a little hairy in there, and branch-to-head collisions are unavoidable. But on a day like that, it's well worth it. Check out more pics of my Hunter day here. More photos of my three days as a snow-bound hermit to come.

Gun Show: West Side Rifle Range

Bored in Manhattan on a weekend afternoon? Feeling the need to shoulder a rifle? Want to relive the days of earning your riflery merit badge at Scout camp? The West Side Rifle and Pistol Range has you covered. Sixty-five dollars gets you a three month membership, a shooting class, and 50 rounds with a .22 rifle. It's not going to have you living your Rambo fantasies, but for (legal) shooting within city limits, it's basically your only option. I went with some friends and we drafted teams and made a competition out of it. And not to brag, but look at that grouping.

New McConkey Film

As the X-Dance Action Sports Film Festival (the oddly-named outdoorsy version of Sundance) kicks off in Salt Lake City this week, there's one film in particular that drew my eye: "Shane and the McConkeys," a 16-minute short debuting January 21st. It was filmed by The Ski Channel's Zeke Piestrup over four days spent with McConkey and his family last March, just a week before Shane died in a BASE-jumping accident. "I feel incredibly lucky and fortunate to have been with Shane McConkey last March," Piestrup told Ski Channel. "The film is a snapshot in time of a family man pursuing his passions."

Other McConkey tributes abound. One of Shane's favorite runs, the Eagle's Nest at Squaw, an incredibly steep (68.5 degrees!) run just off the KT-22 lift, with views over the whole valley, has been officially renamed for him. And then there's the limited-run (500 pairs) of K2 McConkey tribute skis, based on the Pontoon design, of course. (You can try to find a pair of the $699 boards--proceeds go to McConkey's family--online, or you can enter a contest to win a pair here.)

But the most moving tribute is undoubtedly the ten-minute McConkey segment that Shane's friends at Matchstick Productions (MSP) put into their 2009 film, In Deep. Alternatingly inspiring, hilarious, and heart-wrenching, the tribute includes some footage from Shane's final jumps, along with an emotional voiceover from friend and jump-partner J.T. Holmes, followed by a montage that, in classic Shane fashion, will have you laughing your ass off. (Keep your eye on MSP's website for news about their upcoming, full-length McConkey tribute film.)

[To make a donation to the family or peruse the thousands of comments and memories left by Shane's friends and aquaintances, and even strangers, you can visit shanemcconkey.org. You can find my Outside article on Shane's life and tragic death at Outside Online.]

Skiing New York not unlike Skiing Indiana

Get the flash player here: http://www.adobe.com/flashplayer

When I was in high school and junior high, the closest ski hill to us was a tiny place called Big Birch in Patterson, NY, just 70 miles north of the city off Route 22 in Putnam County. When I arose to a beautiful, crisp, bluebird morning this past Saturday, I was itching to ski, but it was already too late to contemplate the two and a half hour drive from Brooklyn to Hunter or Windham. So it seemed like the perfect time to indulge my fascination with mom-and-pop ski areas by revisiting this place. An hour and a half later, I was making turns.

Big Birch is now known as Thunder Ridge, and while I'm not sure when this rebranding occurred, it reeks of a bunch of olds trying to figure out how to attract today's video-game-addled youth to their hill. It turned out I wasn't the only one who preferred the stoicism and, uh, overtones of the old name. As one guy I rode the lift with put it, "Big Birch is a great name: simple, masculine. Thunder Ridge sounds like an XFL team or something." Other than the name change, the place remains precisely as I'd remembered it, down to the no-frills base lodge locker-room (bring your own lock), the creaky lifts, the wobbly first-time skiers, and the friendly staff. In other words, skiing Big Birch is a lot like skiing in Indiana (see below).

I spent most of my day on "The Face," the one pitch with enough slope to allow you to get up to speed and make three or four nice turns before you're back at the triple chair. Not much, but it was enough to stretch my legs and prepare for bigger things later in the season. And it's the perfect getaway for those days when the most important thing is just getting out of the city and into the fresh air for a bit. Metro-North even runs a ski-train to the place, with a shuttle right to the hill. If you've got your own wheels, be sure to stop by the classic (opened in 1964) Red Rooster Drive-In, a few miles south of the hill on Route 22, for some pre- or post-skiing cheeseburgers, seasoned fries, and milkshakes.

Indiana Skiing piece and slideshow online.

For those who missed it in the January issue of Skiing Magazine, check out my piece on Paoli Peaks, Indiana, for an education in midwestern skiing, now available online here. And while you're there, be sure to check out the slideshow they posted, featuring shots from photographer Ilja Herb as well as some that I took during my visit, including the one above. (More of my Paoli photos can be seen on my flickr page here.)

Stand-up Paddleboard, Maine-style.

You might think that an air temperature approaching single-digits and a bone-chilling wind would make surfing prohibitive. Not so for the hardy (crazy?) surfers of Maine, who capitalize on the occasional clear and calm winter day by donning a walrus-blubber-thick wetsuit and heading out to their local breaks. The sport's been growing all over New England (scroll down through this article I wrote in 2007 for an account of New Hampshire surfing), and Maine now boasts a handful of surf shops located mostly along the coastal stretch south of Portland. There's even a website dedicated to Maine surf forecasts. I came across this intrepid stand-up paddleboarder just north of Fortunes Rocks Cove in Biddeford a few days after Christmas. I never did get his name, since he was still riding when the cold forced me to move along.

Brooklyn Extreme.

This weekend's epic storm had Brooklynites dusting off more than just galoshes and snow shovels. In Fort Greene Park, just over the hill from where a teeming horde of kids were sledding themselves silly, parents and dogs looking on, I stumbled upon a slightly different scene: a crew of snowboarders--that's one of the ringleaders airborne at left--had built up a little kicker using a wire trash can for a base and were taking turns speeding down the 100-foot approach, launching the trash can, pulling a grab or a 180, and landing, all to the bewildered stares of pedstrians. Nicely improvised. Check out some more of my pics from Sunday here.