keepin' it crunk, from my hood to the trunk.
March 2ndSushi, Sun, and CDs: My Day In The City With Ryan D. Pants
by Erin Finnerty
Ryan and I were only supposed to meet in NYC for lunch, but ended up making a ten-hour day of it. We're friends by association and had never spent time without the relationship-anchoring party. Thankfully, we're both freaks, loudmouths, and showoffs so at the very least the competition for attention was sure to keep us occupied. Try as I may, however, Ryan undoubtedly prevailed as most outgoing, and I was (gladly) subject to many a hijink on the crowded streets of the Lower East Side. No strict agenda on hand, we wandered around snacking on dried fruit, looking in windows, talking about Outkast and their infectious groove, discussing how weird it is for so many 'young' people to be getting married, taking breaks in Washington Square Park for repetetive shoe tying and dog watching, and eventually ending up in various indoor venues -- a sushi restaurant, a record shop, a cafe, a movie theater, a bar, and finally a diner.
I'm sad to see him go, and worry about what's waiting for him on that wicked West Coast. Needless to say, any man enthusiastic about climbing into a large cardboard box on the corner of West Fourth and Waverly to call it his new home, is a man worth knowing. (Well maybe not any man) Good luck to you Ryan, and please visit us soon with tales of movie stars, silicone, earthquakes, and ozone.
March 2ndRyan Gantz: We Hardly Knew Ya
New Brunswick, NJ
David Fox and Brian Haskell
Today, the East Coast loses one of its greatest talents to the soul-sucking death-force that is Los Angeles. Will this be the end for the talented Ryan D. Gantz, or merely the beginning of a brilliant career in the porn industry? Only time will tell. Best of luck, Ryan, and come home soon. +
World Trade Center
As you approach the southern tip of Manhattan at 9AM, the E train slowly empties its passengers. By the time you get to Chamber street you sit alone in the subway car. Above ground, two blocks from the former site of the worlds' tallest buildings, the friendly staff of a small bagel shop sell you a muffin and an orange juice.
You descend below the street and step onto an uptown 1 train. Please stand clear of the closing doors. +
Friday the First
by travel d. pants
I could stand in Penn Station all day long. The commuting crowds at 5pm move as a living organism, starting, ebbing and stopping. The space beneath MSG: one giant airport terminal, bus station, food court, cell exchange center, mouse-maze of men caught In Between Places (work and home, home and work, Jersey and the Bronx, mid-town and lower-west, a rock and a charred place) and to watch the buzz below so many still-towering buildings is to feel this bustling center of earth alive
Pause. Be careful, love.
How to see New York for only $150 per day: NJ Transit - $5. MetroCard - $9. Coffee - $8. Butts - $10. Crashing at friends' apartments in Queens and Manhattan - $0. Sushi - $30. Internet - $1. Diner dinner - $12. Gin and Tonics - $9. Movie - $10. Four games of Ms. Pac-Man with an old flame at one of those sit down Atari tables at a bar called Johnson's on the lower-east side - $2. Guiness - $7. CDs bought at Other Music (new Cornelius, first White Stripes record, new Grandaddy comp, Neu #1, new liveMr. Lif album from the Middle East show I attended) - $75. Cheap-ass pizza and a Coke - $9. Security guard bribes to get Carson Daily's autograph - $67. Army-Navy store woolen hat -$4. Bagel - $3.
The Time Square marquees piled upon billboards atop ad screens beside tickers under posters above giant blinking network logo signs over screaming Linkin Park fans? Christless. +
by Faye Trapani
Fresh in newly purchased athletic wear. Fully stretched from my first yoga class- I meet Ryan at Flannery's on W. 14th and 7th. We drink beer to stave off hunger and reacquaint ourselves with each others faces. It's funny when you haven't seen someone in a couple of years- you forget people's faces and voices, but then just pick up where you left off.
We all have cell phones now. That's different.
Wander around Chelsea for about half a block, find a diner, eat a Rueben.
F train back to Queens, through tunnels, photos taken of shadows, people and bleary eyes. Our train is stopped, airless, then we get off at Rooselvelt Ave and take more pictures. Transfer, more trains, then a mile walk through the burbs but then we stop off for beer- thank god for my comfy yoga outfit.
Ryan sees the sub-lounge sign by my computer that I have dragged from apartment to apartment. We try to trap my cat Cava in a bag she's hiding in... who knows what will happen next with Gantz. I hope some naked girls fall out of my closet. +
the same day
Sometimes I miss college, I do. Jake may be feeling a little trapped here, but part of me always wished I'd gone to a small campusy liberal-arts school. Mostly I just miss cafeteria food. All you can eat, and it's virtually free! Good times. Structured learning. Interesting people you can't get away from. Dorm rooms stuffed with junk. +
by Jake Harding
Oh what a day. I was in the middle of a huge bout of depression, when magically ... the burst of light that is ryan peirced my cloudy ... er clouds. So Ryan shows up and we go and have the complementary Drew University lunch, consisting of pizza and salad. Then we came back to my room. It was a fun day. Then the skies turned dark again as it was time for Ryan to go. I recall weeping and listening to leaving on a jet plane as sung by the late great John Denver. Perhaps the most lasting moment of my 4 hours with Ryan, was during the homecoming kegger. I'm sittin in the livin room just tokin with my boys. When all of a sudden Ryan falls out of the closet with like six girls from the fencing team all in various degrees of nudity and heat. So, I think to myself, jeeezus, how is Ryan going to handle this one. Well, all he does is flash a smile, dash to the kitchen for a new beer ball and a bag of funions, then says, "catch you losers later, I gotta go make sure these fine ladies don't miss their train." I think, that wasn't very funny. But then, as he nears the door he spins back around and shouts, "A train of sex." With two fists proudly in the air, Ryan left my life. Ride on you noble noble beast. +
a new jersey bedroom
A pleasant pocket of urbana, this town. New Brunswick houses Rutgers and bills itself as "The Healthcare City". While Brian and David trucked off to work, I strolled around town, watching buildings, passing by folks waiting for the bus, listening to the rumbling commuter trains. They say it'll snow tomorrow, while I'm walking through NYC, and even now the wind's picking up. But today February got so hot that I had to take off my $8 sweater and white T-shirt it all day. Good traveling is knowing how to take advantage of your changing environments to create an enjoyable present
. Only sometimes, while I'm driving, do I think about the family I left behind or the grinning boys waiting to greet me in L.A.
Leave your mark on my changing environment by sending a text message straight to my mobile phone. I like this new uberconnected feeling. +
New Brunswick, NJ
My friend David has been kind enough to let me crash here on his living room floor... in the very same (but very clean) royal-green sleeping bag he used to set me up with when I'd stay over his Plymouth home in sixth grade. We've both changed so much since he moved away in eigth grade, but we've changed in such a similar ways. Same CDs, same major, same humor.
You can't lose a sleepng bag during the night the way you can use a comforter. You never fall out of a sleeping bag, though I suppose that body parts occassionally get caught in the jagged metal zipper. +
by robyn carliss
indeed gantz rolled in slightly after midnight when we were battling the emperor and the assassin or sleep or both. he missed the tacos. soon after, we learned that hudson is a police state. i introduced ryan to our $5 worth of kitchen chairs.
the next day: but nevermind that. ryan's stint in upstate new york was mostly defined by a sputtering conversation about the phenomenon of "a pickle mustache." this is not to be confused with a "pickled mustache" (whereby said mustache is soaked in a measure of brine). ryan rooted for the familiar dill spear placed upon the upper lip as the physical realization of a pickle mustache, while i rooted for a row of the small, round, crinkle-cut variety. at any rate: really, there is no better word, or, specifically, foodstuff with which to precede mustache. creamed corn is up there, but effectively (eventually) withers in comparison. it has become imperative, in fact, that i title my thesis "A Pickle Mustache." otherwise, i will be forced to revert to dreck in the order of "Unto These Dying Embers", or something involving either seven gables or an ivory coast.
synopsis: collaboration with ryan gantz has yet again saved my life, not to mention my appellative hope. +
the rolling commute of shrewsbury gives way to the rolling stoplit hills of worcester gives way to the splayed onramps and merges of the mass pike gives way to bounding freight trucks, tollboothing and lanechanging. The east side of my home state is mostly made of mountains.
my pockets, like the back seat, are now reguarly laden with too many items: the camera, cell phone, keys, smokes, lighter, pens, wallet. i am an identity composed of several Personal Items. i carry them into cookie-cut service areas. two bathrooms. one mcdonalds. one conveience store. small children stare up at me. you can buy coffee in the convenience store, or you can buy coffee at the mcdonalds counter.
"You Are Now Leaving Massachusetts. Come Back Soon." the taconic state parkway might be my favorite road in the country. it slinks skinnyquiet and mooful through tight tree groves. it offers no breakdown lane. separates from its northbound side, ascending then reconnecting. through blasted rock. sometimes smaller streets intersect its surface, yeilding. empty, at 11:30 pm, the road let me sip the cooling coffee. Stereo: Unkle, Rufus Wainwright, Talking Heads, Underworld.
today: Robyn and I ate mushroom soup in a small cafe. I took wide-mouthed bites of buttered bread and smiled, young. +
by Hollis Marek
After six years of living in the worcester area, the first time mr ryan gantz actually comes to visit me is on his way out of the state. fine. who needs him anyway? get out of here, gantz! we don't need your type around here! go to california then!
p.s. thanks for dinner +
Ahh, lovely Shrewsbury. A sleeper town full of commuters if ever there was one. There's something icky about Route 9, icky the way that much of car-cultured suburban sprawl America is icky, with its rolling strip malls, stoplights, car lots and Applebees.
The boys took me out and got me drunk last night. One IPA atop two Margaritas atop two big glasses of Merlot will get you puking and leave you 5 hours behind schedule for departure, but no matter. I stuffed my car full, said goodbye to Dave and Jonas, kissed my crying mother and sister, and drove off into the Carver sunset, listening to Pink, Spoon, The Strokes. It's not February, not really: I'm chasing summer all the way across the country. And now I've gotta get to Bard College by midnight... +
by Jonas and Dave
So that's it... Ryan's gone. Everybody's gonna hafta move on with their lives. Jonas and I have. For God's sake, we have no business operating a blogger. What the hell is a "blogger"? I'm a technological retard... a real window-licker. But now the site is OURS... ALL OURS. Well, until we give it back to Ryan. I suppose he'll revoke the awesome power he has bestowed upon us, and start writing back to all you web dorks soon enough from the road. Be patient... a '79 Granada moves slowly. Signed, the Very Temporary Management. +
Driving since Feb 24th
Read all about it.
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Copyright 2002 by Ryan D. Pants and friends.