The list of reasons why we love Julian Schnabel are many and varied — he is large and hairy, but has a funny Mickey Mouse voice; he constructed a large pink castle in the middle of the city and named it Palazzo Chupi; he can often be found in pajamas and sometimes a skirt; he has more progeny than we can keep track of; he appears to have no filter whatsoever. Perhaps most importantly, he is one of a diminishing number of personalities from an era when New York City, even on its worst days, felt like more than just a collection of Duane Reades and bank branches clustered on a chunk of concrete. And now we add to our list an exchange from the Daily Telegraph's profile of the Schnab, which we have transcribed below.
Schnabel: I kid around a lot. I have a lot of fun. But most people don't have a sense of humor.… And then I read in this other thing that I was name-dropping all the time. Well it just so happens that the people I know are famous. You know, they work in the movies with me. They're my friends. It's like if I said… What's your name? Reporter: (Thinks: My name? We have been talking for the past two hours.) Mick. Schnabel: Mick what? Reporter: Mick Brown. Schnabel: Okay, so I could say I was talking to Mick Brown the other day — I might well say that. (His tone sounds doubtful.) But they might not know who Mick Brown is. Reporter: (Thinks: Maybe they will after I become famous for murdering a famous artist/director.)
• One actual result of Troopergate (Brunogate? Spitzergate?): The State Ethics Commission passed a new rule preventing officials from using state aircraft unless the primary purpose of their trip is state business and requiring reimbursement for those parts that are not. [NYT]
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So now we know that Martha Plimpton hates Duane Reade. She's not the only one, of course, and, as it turns out, there's now a blog — why wouldn't there be a blog? — devoted to chronicling the horrors of the drugstore chain that's eating New York. I Hate Duane Reade launched in February and encourages reader to share their tales of woe. The first post meditated on the one-line-or-several debate; since then the site has included "Overheard in DR" posts ("Teenage girl shaking her fist: 'Fuck you Duane Reade! Gah!' –76th & Broadway"), numerous pharmacy horror stories, and April's sort of genius taxonomy of your standard Duane Reade employees. (A sample: "Photo Guy — He's there. He's just standing there. He knows you want him to say 'cash only' and invite you up. Nope. He's photo guy. Don't mess.") "After way too many bar sessions filled with rants about customer service, specifically the DR," the founders wrote on the site, "we decided to vent our frustrations in prose … and sometimes haiku." Here's a try: Martha Plimpton stews / While filling a prescription / "You have a Club Card?" —Katie HintzEarlier:Don't Get Martha Plimpton Started on Duane ReadeRelated:The Mystery of Duane Reade [NYM]
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Name: Martha Plimpton Age: 36 Job: Actress; Tony nominee for The Coast of Utopia; host of the 826 NYC fund-raising concert, Tiny Smooshy Sunday On Fire, on June 3. Neighborhood: Upper West Side Who's your favorite New Yorker, living or dead, real or fictional?
Quentin Crisp and Holden Caulfield.
What's the best meal you've eaten in New York?
It's a tie, I think, between anything at Peter Luger and the insanely delish bacon death at Gramercy Tavern.
In one sentence, what do you actually do all day in your job?
I put dead people's hair on my head and speak loudly in front of hundreds of strangers while pretending they are not there.
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