So there I was: standing in some empty corner of Bushwick, blood soaking through my green shirt, crazy-eyed without so much as a cigarette or a clue to what the fuck just happened. I had a pink NYPD citation slip in my hand, which I put into my pocket to keep it from getting bloody. My hands didn’t hurt at all, but exuded varying amounts of blood from the half-dozen cuts and tears I had sustained. I didn’t know if I was still drunk, and my wrists were sore, as from handcuffs too tight.

I walked back to my friend’s birthday party, where I was greeted with a chorus of “what-the-fuck”s. I proceeded to explain, some people high-fived me, others turned away when I tried to say hello. This is what I recalled:

After spending the better part of the day drinking, I arrived too early and began drinking a Ballantine’s 40 immediately. I briefly talked to a very pretty girl with dyed red hair that looked like she was from The Great Gatsby or something. I was rather underdressed for this party, wearing a mint green button down like some sort of sitcom extra from the mid-nineties.

More people came and I found myself sitting next to this girl, talking and bumming cigarettes from each other and shit like that. Long story short, we went outside for a walk. She began telling me about London, about having voyeuristic sex in public with her boyfriend. I saw an empty lot, some abortive construction site, an, without even mentioning it, we both climbed over. We explored this strange environment: weeds, gravel, plywood… it was lightly drizzling and we were both already wet. We had sex and it was most excellent; as soon as we finished we saw flashlights shining through the fence.

“Alright, put your clothes on and come over to the sidewalk now.”

“Fuck,” I thought; some of the cops were giggling.

There turned out to be six police officers… six. The girl squeezed through a gap in the fence, but I’m pretty tall so I was forced to climb over. Very drunk and flying like a cokefiend off of all these adrenaline explosions going on, I just tried to keep my cool and be polite. I cut my hand on the top of the chain-link fence, a barb fucking impaled itself into my wrist. When my feet hit the ground I was bleeding profusely, freaking the cops out a little.

“Nah it’s cool, I just got this now, I…”

They put gloves on and asked me if I need an ambulance, which I may very well have. The girl and I were handcuffed, asked for ID (only I had one), and questioned. Now, It might have been the blood or booze or some divine lightning strike of inspiration, but this is when my survival instinct kicked in.

I asked if I could smoke a cigarette, which the officers obliged. I contorted myself into lighting it with hands cuffed behind my back, and like some real Houdini shit I started talking us out of the handcuffs. I joked, I kissed ass, and I tried my best to make myself seem not worth arresting.

“Seriously though, no hard feelings, I know you guys are just doing your job. This is a dangerous neighborhood, etc.”

“So where were you guys? Where’s the party at?”

Fuck no asshole, you’re not busting this shindig.

“Oh a couple blocks away like over there somewhere… would you like a smoke? Ah, got it, can’t do that on the job, it’s cool.”

“If she keeps crying, we’re gonna have to take you guys in. She doesn’t have ID? Well,”

I looked over: there was ten cops now and this felt fucking surreal: like some Kafka-esque trial for attempting to find novelty and meaning in life, like some parody… These bastards really don’t have anything better to do, do they?

They did start talking to me so, I struck up a coherent, legitimate conversation with one cop. I looked down as his nametag: KIELTYKA.

Oh fuck yes.

I looked at his face and recognized the Polish in him immediately, how could I not have noticed this earlier? Polish people have a sixth-sense for finding ourselves in a crowd; it has to do with a very specific head shape and pattern of facial expressions, it’s hard to explain.

“Siema bracie, kurwa wrobili mnie no? Troche wypilismy I kurwa takie cos sie stalo, no powiedz…”

Knowing smiles were exchanged and even patted me on the shoulder without wearing a glove, though my shirt was revoltingly bloody. He took a key out, uncuffed E. and myself, and we talked some more. The girl I was with wasn’t crying anymore, she looked up at me and I flicked out my cigarette like the smoothest motherfucker who’s ever existed.

Yes, I just Polaked the two of us  out of handcuffs and out of a long night spent in central booking. Officer Kieltyka, that bodhisattva of  law enforcement, went to talk with his supervisor by the van which had been haunting us for a good couple of minutes. He came back a couple of minutes with the citation booklet cops carry around. E. didn’t have any form of identification on her, and the rare specimen of a police officer took her name down on faith. We were checked for outstanding records and sent off with $25 fines and optional court appearances, I guess in case we wanted to really push our luck.

The violation read,

“Section 245-01: Exposure over person.”

I looked it up; “public lewdness” is an alternate Title of Offense. I remember when my roommate O. was cited for public urination (admittedly, onto a police station); he got a mandatory court appearance and was given a 6-month ACD and a $100 fine; I got off with next to nothing.

By nature, I can’t really sleep well after I drink, I usually wake up at seven and writhe around in my bed until I throw the towel in and take a shower. I guess it’s good cause I’m usually not late for shit I need to do, but it’s a real pain sometimes. Last Sunday I woke up as usual, looked over at the iconic pink NYPD citation slip lying next to me and immediately felt a searing pain in my hands. I knew I must have really been doing the lord’s work the night before, and so I smoked a cigarette and laid back down.

I had to think about my life, about where it was going and what I wanted out of it. And that’s why I missed your BBQ.

 

GOOSEBUMPS “SCARED TO SEE A DOCTOR” RECORD RELEASE SHOW AT 538 JOHNSON (FULL SETS FROM GOOSEBUMPS, AJAX, MERCENARY, LIBYANS, AND LA MISMA)

Like an episode of Jerry Springer, but with more fireworks.

FIGHT CLUB: THE BEST OF FRIDAY NIGHT THROWDOWN

Following the news of Throwdown’s return at SXSW this year with a Texas vs. NYC event, it seems only appropriate to take a look back at the history of Friday Night Throwdown, and the coverage we’ve had of it here on Superchief over the years. For the uninitiated; Friday Night Throwdown wasn’t just NYC’s best underground boxing event, it was NYC’s best underground party.

TEXAS VS. NYC: THROWDOWN RETURNS AT SXSW THIS YEAR

The organization that brought Ford models, Marines and Bloods together for New York’s best underground party is bringing their business to Austin, and bringing with them a Texas vs. NYC event…and Superchief will be covering the whole thing, from start to finish.

THIS APRIL: SUPERCHIEF GALLERY NYC PRESENTS JOHN FELIX ARNOLD III’S “EXCORRIGIA | THE SCOURGE”

From the world of UNSTOPPABLE TOMORROW, Superchief Gallery NYC returns this spring with John Felix Arnold III’s EXCORRIGIA | THE SCOURGE, an exhibition of new works in painting, drawing, mixed media, installation, and sound. The exhibition will run from April 3 through April 13, and there will be an opening reception on Thursday, April 3 from 6-10pm at CultureFix on 9 Clinton Street.

HIGH ON HUNGER: JANE CHARDIET

“High on Hunger” is Jane Chardiet’s new zine, featuring personal essay, photography and interviews with 12 artists, including some of our favorites, about their 2013 and their artistic goals in the new year, along with photographs of each licking fire. It’s good stuff, so I asked Jane about her 2013, because turnabout’s fair play and that’s how the game works.

12 O’ CLOCK BOYS (BALTIMORE STREETBIKE REALNESS)

Whatever your city is doing, what the homies out in B-More are doing is 10x as crazy. 12 O’ Clock Boys is one of the hardest movies we’ve seen in a long time, hands down, exploring a city and a culture that just doesn’t give a fuck (and featuring Baltimore himies like Schwarz on the soundtrack) the film gets more done in it’s 75 minutes than most documentaries do in twice that.

TAPE BAG #1: I HAVEN’T GOTTEN OFF MY COUCH IN DAYS.

Talking shit on random tapes cuz I wanna. Round one: Mongrel, Skinny Puppy, Madonna, Gowanus Mutant Kommandos, Temple of the Dog and MORE.

R.I.P RICKY LUANDA OF CHAIN GANG

Ricky Luanda of the experimental NYC punk band Chain Gang, one of the coolest bands ever, passed away earlier this week from esophogeal cancer. Watch 10 minutes of the bands’ rare, legendary, batshit crazy 1980′s film “MONDO MANHATTAN” right here.

ALWAYS KEEP THE CAMERA RUNNING: MAKS SUSKI’S VIDEOS OF THE NYC MUSIC SCENE

Maks Suski has been hard at work documenting live music in NYC on video for the last 4 years; we asked him to compile a list of some of his favorite videos that he’s shot, a list that includes Japanther, Action Bronson, Death Grips, Culo, Crystal Castles, Limp Wrist, Black Pus and more.

THERE IS A TINY LEG A QUARTER OF AN INCH BELOW YOUR TENTH RIB.

“Although Tiny Leg’s sound owes much of it’s inspiration to the Oakland glucose and thumbtrack scenes of the mid-nineties, and has been called by HotFridge magazine ‘a thumbcore homage to the sound of Velvet Curtis and Taco’ and ‘a slick-stale, neo-juicy, post-hipster alchemy, somewhere in between gluke-wave and puke-base’ by PeckerwoodsToday, those sentences are too journalistic and not souague enough, if one may permit my french.”

DAWN OF HUMANS, HANK WOOD & THE HAMMERHEADS, AND PHARMAKON PLAYED PS1 SATURDAY NIGHT (FULL SETS)

PUNK NOT ART NOISE NOT MUSIC ACK ACK ACK ACK

TOD SEELIE’S “BRIGHT NIGHTS” BOOK RELEASE & PHOTO SHOW AT SUPERCHIEF GALLERY AT CULTUREFIX (VIDEO)

Tod Seelie’s book release and photo show at Superchief Gallery at CultureFix was a celebration of the last 15 years of New York’s underground, for sure; but it also kept an eye on the future.

FUCKED UP CLOSED OUT 285 KENT’S LAST SHOW (FULL SET)

285 Kent finished it’s run last Sunday night; check out full video of Fucked Up’s headlining set right here.

SUPERCHIEF GALLERY AT MIAMI ART BASEL 2013: WILL SMITH CAN SUCK IT.

Superchief Gallery’s showing at Select Fair 2013 is even bigger, better and more batshit crazy than our 2012 showing was – check out photos here, and for homies in Miami, we’ll be at the Catalina Hotel all this week!

STACY KRANITZ’S SKATOPIA (50+ Photos From a Burnout’s Paradise)

Photographer Stacy Kranitz recently journeyed to Skatopia, a famed 88 acre skate park/commune in Ohio which was founded in 1995, documented in the 2010 film of the same name, and once described by writer Kevin Duffel as “a demented mess that meets halfway between an anarchistic Mad Maxian Thunderdome and a utopian skateboard society.” Goddamn if it isn’t one of the best things we’ve ever seen.