COLLECTION: Something’s Fishy

Uh-oh, another fish themed post? Eesh… we’re playing with fire here, but it’s pure coincidence. Really, I swear. See this is my friend Corinne.



Corinne’s so cool, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Here are the bullet points though:
—She has a thing for guys in clown make-up. Really. Isn’t that odd? I mean of all the fetishes a person could have…
—She’s getting ready to go to hair-school to learn to color. You’re not going to believe this, but a top coloring school can cost up to $10Gs. Nuts right?
—And her new APT is ground level and, because there are a lot of clubs on her block, there’s a hot dog vendor that parks right outside. She can actually reach out her window and get a dirty-water-dog right from bed. That’s a dream come true in my book.


(NOTE: This picture wasn’t taken in her bedroom… but I love the faces she makes so I figured why not share)

Anyway Corinne recently broke-up with fiancé, a man whose name she’d tattooed rather conspicuously across the top of her butt. As she saw it, this only left three suitable options. She could cover it with an even lager tat. She could suffer through a painful series of laser treatments. Or she could buy a goldfish, name it Collin (that’s the Ex’s name) and insist she’d gotten the ink done in its honor. I don’t know, I’m sure there was more to it but ever since she told me about the hotdog cart at her new apartment I’ve had trouble concentrating on anything else. Bottom line though, I was recruited to escort her on her fish buying mission.


We went to PETCO.


Corinne loaded up on the ten-cent feeder fish.


I, on the other hand, invested in a $12 “bubble eye.” That’s right, a $12 goldfish. $25 in total with accessories.


Well worth it though, wouldn’t you say? He looks like something from South Park.


I did everything his care sheet called for, but two days later I was back at the store…


…he’d died in the night. Aaahhh, I know, I know, and right on the heels of the East River incident.


Luckily a $12 goldfish comes with a guarantee. I was back in business.


But as amused as I was exchanging a dead fish, Corinne was anything but. Oh, I guess there’s one last thing I forgot to tell you about C: If you see her on the street whatever you do, don’t call her Corinne. I repeat: DO NOT CALL HER CORINNE.


It’s Mistress Harlequin to you. Well, to me too on occasion… and when I told her about the fish, it was just such an occasion. See, as the name denotes, when Corinne, er, Harlequin isn’t shopping for fish or coloring hair, she's dominating men. Professionally. She’s a dominatrix.


Turns out the only thing she takes more serious than discipline and pet care is house cleaning. I’d like to think my debt has been paid to any and all fish who’ve ever been wronged, but I’m sure some of you out there would disagree.

And with that, let the frantic comment posting begin.

PS—A special thanks to another friend Jessa Blades who, on our very first night hanging out, was kind enough to take the last two pictures at Corinne's, er, Mistress Harlequin's dungeon.

Oh, wait, one more thing: I got a couple emails recently from people who say my pictures are too big and “heavy” (whatever that means, I guess it has something to do with the kb). Anyway, if you’d prefer smaller pictures on future posts, let me know, either in a comment or by emailing me. Thanks. Cool.

STORY: Alfa-Smart

NOTE: I hope you find this even half as interesting as I do. I know its kind of text heavy though, and there’s not much payoff. Just bear with me, I’ve got some fun stuff planned for later in the week.


Meet my good friend Karin. She’s an award winning travel writer and one of the people Grant and I went to Finland with.



Some interesting things to know about Karin:
—She described her ideal man as being some kind of wealthy oil typhoon (who am I to knock someone though, in the “Golden Penis” post I admitted I’d never been to colage).
—She’s a little loopy at times… she actually caught her head on fire while trying to warm her hands after snowmobiling.
—You can see her in the background of my “What an Icehole” post.
—Everything she wears or owns seems to have cats on it.
—She had a penchant for walking around in nothing but a T-shirt. I repeat, NOTHING BUT A T-SHIRT. Eesh.

But perhaps most interesting of all was her allegiance to her ALFA-SMART. It’s like a keyboard without a computer that Karin totes everywhere to take notes on. Then when she gets home, she downloads ‘em.



Apparently, one of the things Karin likes taking notes on best were the conversations Grant and I would have between activities. She let me have a look… and it’s really fascinating. It’s a candid look at me and my man, as seen through the eyes of a sixty-something-year-old woman who only half knows what we’re talking about and can’t type fast enough to get the details. Still, I think it’s kind of funny. And, if I didn’t think she was super-cool before, she definitely won points by letting me post this. There are parts where I have no idea what she’s talking about though, but I still think it’s funny… anyway, without further ado, check it out:



We're traveling in a van to the Finlandia plant, it's a 45-minute drive out of the city and the scenery is becoming pure white. I'm listening to 2 of the young fellows amusing each other with their conversation. I feel somewhat privileged to be privy to the inside world of the male mind and cannot believe how Juvenile it is. The other guys are sleeping, but these 2 are amazing. Topics have included crapping in pants, changing the shape of their penises, Willy Wonka, rock stars, all of course interspersed with women. Ali G Show.

After inspecting the Finlandia bottling factory, and dining at the Finlandia Guesthouse, we're back in the traveling van. Once again the conversation reverted to cocks: iron cocks, soft ones, big ones, small, growers and showers. The sky is a gray vail over whiteness that is the only thing that brightens the dull landscape and it's beautiful. Ok, now the men are telling stories. Currently, Jake is telling his blanket story. Basically he shaved his entire hairy body because we're going to Lapland to and we'll all do a polar dip. He left the hair on a blanket, couldn’t wash it, put it in a bag, his roommate had a picnic on the hairy sheet.

Next story: Jake 's first use of a nose clipper was using a woman's nose clipper that she uses on her bikini line.

Story 2: We went into the Mnnix Club in Boston.

New singing groups: Velvet Revolver, The Prince of Media.

On this gray day we went dog mushing. It was so much better than the time in Canada. It was in the forest and we were completely covered: jumpsuits, long johns, jeans, 2 socks, boots, scarves, facemask, hat, and more. After all, it's -55F. Dressed like that, you don't feel a thing. The dogs went crazy when they saw us coming--barking and jumping about 2 feet high. All the dogs are chained to a stake and each has it's own little doghouse. Our dogs were harnessed to our sleds, 4 per sled.

Jake said sneaker collecting is hot now. Fat Joe has a huge collection that he keeps in a humidor. Sneakers are bought in three's (one to wear once, one as a trophy and one to wear. A Life Rivington Shoe Club for very fancy sneakers. The Museum of Jurassic Technology in NYC. In Philadelphia, Mutter Museum of deformities. He once drank a whole bottle of hot-sauce on a dare. It burned just as bad on the other side. Screaming. Baby-wipes. Grant can’t listen. He’s going to be sick.

Jake's success was being at the right place at the right time, no college education, but street smart. He was a temp at playboy, and part of his job was to monitor the executive bathroom. His boss, Henry Marks' was paranoid about anyone using his bathroom, so Jake had to see if anyone used his bathroom while he was gone. He had to sniff out the bathroom after someone passed by. He also had to buy mustache wax for him and comb his mustache. And he didn't trust email, so Jake had to print it out, Henry typed the answers on the page and Jake had to fax the answers back to their original senders.

We're in a 4-hour drive south to the Arctic Circle. The sun came out today and hung just above the horizon. /the sun looks large and yellow but it has a veil over it. The sky remains gray above it and below is the band of blue sky'. A Dutch oven is when you fart under a sheet then force your lovers head under.

Look at Ikeepadiary.com nerve.com fuctcompany.com

Toilet paper man lives outside Jake’s home. Flophouses were called that because if there was no room at the house, they hung a line and hung the drunks over the line.

Tonight’s restaurant is called Mecca. Black cubic, pink lit ceiling of squares. Most interesting was narrow strip of fire locked between large glass, not like a fireplace, but individual flames in a row.

Guy talk at the restaurant. Ever been pushed? (pushing a guy forward while they're peeing at the urinal and see what happens) Grant just did it to Jake. Jake used to pull guys back on roller-skates at the roller-skating ring. Most guys cant stop peeing. Jake got pee on his hands. Grant said he deserved it for throwing a yellow snowball at him.





PS—If you made it this far, you deserve to be among the chosen few to know that I’ve added some fun new stuff to the Polaroid section of my web-site jakebronstein.com. Check it out. I’m working on my portfolio all this week and next, so there should be some changes going on over there as well…

COLLECTION: Swim boy, Swim!

NOTE: Once again, these pictures were taken of me… not by me. Ironically, the big thank-you this time goes to Erin Ness—one of MAXIM magazine’s photo editors! (You did know I work for FHM, MAXIM’s only competition, right? Well I do… SCANDALOUS!)

Anyway, you know when people talk about having “one of those days”? Well I’ve just had one of those weeks. Really, stressful doesn’t even begin to describe what’s been going on. The only way things could’ve gone worse is there’d actually been shit and fan. And at least in that situation I would’ve had good pictures….


I was getting ready to repaint my place as a way of breaking the spell. That’s what the orange jumpsuit I’m wearing is about. It’s my work outfit. But before I got down to business, I figured I’d go to the Chinese supermarket around the corner to load up on snacks. The way I see it, any project worth doing is worth loading up on snacks first. It’s just the way I am. I’m not sure why I was posing though. Oh well.


They’ve got these crazy big fish there in these tiny tanks just waiting to be butchered in there. One in particular, the biggest of the bunch, had caught my eye some time back. I don’t know why, but I make a point of visiting with him every time I go shopping.


Today though, he seemed sullen. I couldn’t even get his attention. It was like we were in similar moods...




I walked the isles looking for snacks, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about him.




When I found myself in the trash-bag isle it seemed like fate. It was obvious what had to be done.


“This one… he’s coming with me.”


I don’t think they believed me. For a brief second I considered doing the whole Jerry McGuire scene (“Everybody thinks I’m going to freak out. Well I’m not. Who’s coming with me?”) but it probably wouldn’t have helped anything.


They called attention to the price per pound… and that this was a supermarket, not a pet store… but I wasn’t swayed.


I mean, look at the sadness.
“I’d take you all with me if I could boys…”


I kind of had this vision of walking out the door with him in a big clear bag filled with water—like a goldfish—but they said this wasn’t that kind of party.


Even a black bag wasn’t enough. To make this flight of freedom work we’d need a bag/box configuration.




When we went to get him out though, all that fight, the vim and the vigor I’d seen on previous grocery trips, came back.


Erin missed his frantic flopping (I was too preoccupied for photos)… but apparently these guys are known as Buffalo fish because of their strength.


Look, it’s like putting a condom on.


Getting him to hold still for the weigh-in was no simple matter. My happiness was building though…


twenty pounds times two dollars per… fuck it. You cant put a price on freedom. And if you could it’d be a lot less than $40, plus tax.


Into the box boy. Let’s get.


Homeboy made a big deal about the price. I tried to tell him the price our forefathers had paid for freedom… they wanted cash.


Then it was time to go.


Check out that goofy look. I’ll bet my dad made a similar face the took me home from the hospital.


Only he didn’t have a twenty pound son (26 with water) or 20 blocks to the nearest waterway.


Step one was getting him to the nearest park…. And wresting my arms.


He kind of went crazy when I tried to pick him up again. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but looking at this picture now, I wonder if he didn’t think the other trash bags were filled with fish too.


A little petting seemed to calm him down.


I was running low on funds, but I figure it you come to New York and don’t ride in a single cab you’re missing out on the experience. Ideally he would’ve been able to look out his clear bag at the city as we drove… we could’ve even taken a victory lap or two around the neighbor hood. Oh well.


Our cab driver didn’t react when I told him to take us to the water, but once I explained the situation, he put the gas on.










Just twelve minutes after our daring escape and I could already smell the water.


But I needed another rest.


Do I have an under bite?


If my dad sees this he’s going to kill me. I’m definitely lifting from the back.




So close.


If I fell now it’d be a travesty. I don’t think he could jump the last few hundred yards. Can you imagine, getting so close, only to fail?


Needless to say I was careful.






One big heave and he’d be free. “Smell that boy? On three… One… Two…”


Gotcha! There was never a fish. Who do you think I am?
































OK, that was shot later… to shake the EPA (I’ve been in trouble before). Did I fake you out? How? Didn't you see that cheesy face I making? Anyway, back to business.


"It’s alright little guy. It’s not just about us anymore. This is for everyone who’s ever felt like a fish out of water… everyone who’s ever felt helpless… like life is out of control…"


The pep talk went on for a while.


Then, though I’d planned a moment of silence… I went for the pose-down instead. Projects begin with snacks… greatness begins with a pose-down.


See how I’m saying something in this shot? That’s me telling Erin not to miss the shot. As the official photographer we need to capture the moment for posterity. If Scaly had the Internet, he’d want to see the money-shot too.








Erin said she was ready.


Freedom is like a 20 foot drop….


Gently…


“Go boy, go!”


Erin really fucked that up…


But our little man was happy.




See him?


Oh well. Time for me to go home too. This week, a promise though: There will be no less than 3 new posts over the next seven days, AND I’ll get the archive buttons working, or I’ll pack it in and call it day. Wish me luck. The way I see it I cant loose though, not with all the good karma I just earned anyway…