Respect Authority

When they’re not being predominantly creepy or smelly, the mentally ill are often quite interesting to behold. Russel Fong, an amateur videographer from the more-clean-than-mean streets of Brooklyn apparently agrees, as he recently sat down and interviewed Lawrence LaDouceur, more commonly known as The Bedford Ranter or just “that guy who yells in the middle of the street.” Heck, he’s as much a Williamsburg fixture as plastic wayfarers or a crushed can of PBR.

Considering his litany of felony charges and various bouts of institutionalization, the man can’t exactly get a job at the closest Mickey D’s, so Lawrence spends most of his time ranting about the sad state of our society in his own special breed of psychosis-addled English. Of course, some have contended that psychosis is merely an extreme state of consciousness that falls beyond the norms experienced by most — and one would be hard pressed to argue that Lawrence doesn’t experience the world in quite the same way as the average complacent cog walking down the street.

His ideas are incendiary, occasionally veering into the dangerous gray areas surrounding xenophobia; nonetheless, his story, albeit tragic, is consistently fascinating, especially as a rare view into the actual life of one of the so-called nutcrackers we regularly dismiss on our daily commutes to our arguably insane 9 to 5 routines.

As the old quote goes, “It’s no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.” And while Lawrence might not be exactly well adjusted in… fuck it, just about any society, at the very least, I would hope we could all agree that the amount of attention paid to whether or not the stars of Twilight are doing it is quite demented in its own right.

What could be worse than skinny jeans and neon-framed Wayfarer sunglasses? That’s right: hippies.

Brooklyn’s Prospect Park is one of several places in the running to become the official site for the latest incarnation of Woodstock, according to the parks department, which says it’s been in talks with promoter Michael Lang to bring the show to BK this summer. 

The goal: attract some 150,000 people, with headliners from the original Woodstock, plus pothead stalwarts like Dave Matthew and Phish. The perhaps unintended consequence: filling Brooklyn with an entirely new sect of annoying people which, when combined with Williamsburg’s hipsters and Prospect Park’s existing stroller army, spells disaster, as well as a potential class war and an abundance of stringy unwashed hair. 

It continues to baffle me when cities insist on playing host to all manner of large-scale events, particularly New York City - which struggles to house, feed, clothe and transport its own population, let alone tourists and other travelers. I mean, have you been on the train after a Yankee game? It’s about two well-placed jeers away from Lord of the Flies, and that’s without amassing people who consider their musical tastes a testament to their life philosophy.

New York is already a seething pit of freaks and people for whom showering is low on the list of priorities, so while I’m pleased to think the city’s homeless population may, for one day, feel right at home among equally dirty and destitute Janis Joplin fans, adding 150,000 potential “mud people” to our populace is not my idea of a good time.

This weekend’s release of Biggie Smalls epic Notorious had at least 50% of Brooklyn in a frenzy — the 50% that doesn’t get in a frenzy over quirky Sundance picks or Woody Allen’s latest self-serving feature film. Which is to say everyone in my neighborhood was abuzz — and I don’t mean high, though probably that too — over what seemed to be the first movie to take rap seriously since Hustle and Flow.

And boy does Brooklyn know how to celebrate. Four young men in a Flatbush nightclub were stabbed over the weekend — one seriously wounded — during a party the club had advertised as a celebration of the film’s release. Although Fox Searchlight was quick to clarify the party was not officially affiliated with Notorious, the club advertised it as the “official afterparty.” After all, no better way to celebrate the cultural contributions of one of Brooklyn’s own — who was, by the by, murdered — than with random acts of unnecessary violence. 

Which isn’t to say that there aren’t plenty of bar fights, or shotgun accidents, at the nation’s various country western bars — of which Americans should probably be equally ashamed. The thing is, the day they make a movie touting the musical impact of someone like Garth Brooks (Walk the Line doesn’t count, Johnny Cash was legit), I’m moving to Canada anyway.

South Williamsburg has a problem. Since September, the “Pretty Boy Goonies” have reportedly clashed with Dominican gang, the Trinitarios, in a series of daylight brawls. Community leaders are incensed, and one Councilwoman lamented the groups’ use of weaponry that includes machetes and screwdrivers. 

While I also take issue with these particular groups treating gang warfare like a pick-your-weapon moment in Halo 17: The Streets, I feel I should first object to a gang called “Pretty Boy Goonies” even making it out of the proverbial thug gate. Supposedly, the 12-member group is an offshoot of the Bloods, which begs the question why they couldn’t just be Bloods in the first place. Perhaps the slew of ousted corporate CEOs should head to the mean streets of Crooklyn and give lessons on managing your subsidiaries. 

Alls I know is watch out Greenpoint, because Crips offshoot The Cute Lad Boxcar Children are likely headed your way.

[NY Post]