Bobby Fisher

Smutty Smiff


Smutty Smiff smokes smarlboro’s!

Eating Oahu with Chef Roy Choi


Woo Hoo…Oahu.
Food&Wine magazine out now…fuck the iPad…feel the paper between your fingers…

Chef Roy Choi & Anthony Bourdain

Stepped out last night with Chef Roy Choi and Anthony Bourdain, to eat and talk book. Eddie Huang buried us deep in his “House of Bao”, constructed of cilantro and crushed peanuts, Taiwanese red sugar… and Berkshire Pork Belly. Sweet Bao fries dipped in hot soy milk…the epilogue. I left in the rain heading West on 14th and 3rd. Grooved on that block in 85′ catty corner to Disco Donut. Spent many a wee morning there after a healthy night out doing that thing that comes before Y. Nothing better to make a ball of alcohol and other ‘stuff’ feel closer to undead than stale crullers with an ‘Anthora‘ cup of Jo,…paired with a nonsensical soliloquy from John the ex- FBI man. Nina Hagen at The Palladium = 2 glazed and an egg cream. The Cult at The Ritz = a cinnamon twist with a vanilla milkshake. The Pogues at Danceteria = fried egg on a bagel with american cheese…and so on. That was then this is now. Strange times. Tony left me with some advice ‘don’t vote for Mitt, he has embarrassingly small feet. You ever seen his feet?..they’re Barbie feet’. Shit, I wouldn’t vote for Mitt even if he had Ken feet!

Eddie Bauer

Recently in Leavenworth Washington shooting the FIRST ASCENT team for Eddie Bauer. I had a beautiful day that looked something like this.

P.S…Thank you Chris Coulter for drinking my Makers Mark, Lynsey Dyer for her mad sleeping bag skills, Lel Tone for her honest soul, Tom Wayes for kicking a bears ass with only a Tomahawk, Kyle Miller for being ‘right on’, Wyatt Caldwell for looking like he shreds even while drinking coffee, Zach Crist for his pristine back flip into the icy green, Reggie Crist for the badass ‘murder van’, Eric Leidecker for being…well…’LEIDECKER’. Last but not least, Caley George for rallying the troops and mixing volleyball to the tunes of Iron Maiden…seamlessly, or was it Slayer?


Back from Maine. Shot a feature for Bon Apetit while chewing a path from Belfast to Portland. Pemaquid oysters straight from the briny below. Cant Dog Imperial IPA…brewed by ‘groovers’ at The Marshall wharf. Moose jerky…gas station style, and the infamous Maine Potato donut. I’ll have to put that American Apparel unitard back on the shelf until I hit the gym again…sexy.

Curt Hoppe

Painter Curt Hoppe…slayer of dragons, Snus enthusiast…a Bowery realist. 35 years in the hood. Arturo Vega looms as he carries Richard Hambleton across his loft. Come Closer!

Bill McKibben for Outside magazine

In Vermont on assignment for Outside Magazine. Eating cheddar and drinking Longtrail…no wonder folk tip the scales here. Bill doesn’t have time for ‘design’ (he’s too busy trying to derail ‘The Apocalypse’)…if he did I suppose it would be like saying ‘Jesus Christ had a nice couch’…just doesn’t sound right.



Tim Tatman was a painter. A gifted alcoholic. The real deal. Self taught…self destructing abstractionist. If you dropped Bryan Ferry, Johnny Rotten, Errol Flynn, Pablo Picasso, Henny Youngman, Hugh Hefner, James Bond… and a 1/2 gallon of vodka in a blender, it would be Tim in cocktail form. He painted furiously. When he passed last year he left a trail, of art…40 yrs worth. He surfed 70’s era Virginia Beach on a beat to shit longboard when everyone else was surfing twin fins. In todays world this would be like riding a donkey to work with a smile, sans irony. I see him sometimes …gliding knock kneed and free. He never owned a cell phone, and electricity became a strange gift. The closest Tim got to a computer was listening to Kraftwork on a turntable. He tried to put a ciggy out on my face once…as Pere Ubu ripped through ‘Non Alignment Pact’ in a shitty southern ‘beach bar’. My fist to his chest…he crumpled. I lifted Tim…dusted him off and crowned him with a ‘shot and a draft for a dollar’ as advertised. Classy joint it was. He bought me my first bass guitar (a black Fender Mustang) from a pawn shop in war torn Norfolk Virginia…circa 1981. Norfolk, land of blacks, smack… and General Douglas MacArthur’s tomb. Tim was our Malcolm Mclaren without the english teeth and rubber clothing. His hair was perfect. I, LSD giggles…hunched outside his bedroom window in ‘the wee small hours’. He directed, donning a 1950’s tropical print bathrobe. Gitanes in mouth, Camus in hand. Jonathan Richman’s ‘Roadrunner’ is rotating. ‘Hey Bob-bob, here’s some spray paint’…’what do I write?’…my question…Tim replied, ‘Lenin wakeup, They Have all Gone Mad!’

R.I.P Timbob..xoBobbob!

John Lurie

John doesn’t like this picture I took of him, that’s o.k…I didn’t like his shirt.

Arnie Zimmerman

AZ…an Ainslie street artisan long before the beards, Nortons & Triumphs, coffee, glass and mirror frat houses, tattoos, and homemade pickles…well perhaps not the pickles.