Archive for the ‘Communism’ Category

In which The Gay Recluse walks through the mist of a Sunday morning. Saturday nights can be particularly trying in Washington Heights. Especially now that it’s getting cool out, and you want to keep the windows open. But somehow a cool breeze at one in the morning just isn’t the same when it brings with […]


In which The Gay Recluse records and tumbles. Hey fans of the British Invasion (by which we mean the one with Spacemen 3 and My Bloody Valentine)! Why not tumble on over to the latest in Saturnine Death Culture at Sea — recorded by us like five seconds ago on this very laptop — where […]


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with birds. For a while after college, we worked watering plants in corporate office buildings in downtown Manhattan. We worked in law firms, investment banks and other companies who generally could be said to rule the world. It was poisonous work to the extent that we were […]


In which The Gay Recluse braces for the inevitable. This past week has been very depressing to us. You just get the feeling that the election is already slipping away. It’s not like we think Obama is going to save us or anything. But when was the last time we had a major candidate who […]


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with Japanese maples. Hey there, Eskimo Sunset (Acer pseudoplatanus)! You’re actually a combination between a maple and a sycamore; we also read somewhere that you’re the most variegated plant in the world! As with all of our City Pattern Projects, we dream of the day that you […]


In which our correspondent Robert Representative reports on women’s beach volleyball. Hey TGR: I’ve been silent about volleyball, and here we are at last.  I don’t know if you want to clog up your site with traffic (what blogger would?), but here is something to consider adding: The websites for our favorite half-naked porn-athletes (pornthletes?): […]


In which Dante and Zephyr take over The Gay Recluse. Empty shell + stray kitten = daily heartache. Friends, not every cat is a lolcat…


In which The Jane Austen Watch checks in with The Gay Recluse. So we’re always hassling our correspondents to submit more material and believe it or not, sometimes it works! Today, for example, The Jane Austen Watch filed this report from her beat in Queens: I took some pictures of the tiles at this diner […]


In which The Gay Recluse reports to the Board of Directors on monthly traffic-whoring metrix. I. Summary June marked our third best month on record, and — in light of limited time investment into the site — represents a promising long-term trend. If we’re ever in a position to start posting with renewed frequency, we […]


In which The Gay Recluse is Manhattan Born. Location: Edgecomb Avenue and we forget exactly. When we first looked at this, we thought it said “Manhattan Born,” which we kind of prefer, even though we’re not exactly from here. Or are we, now that we’ve lived here almost ten years? Whenever anyone asks me for […]


In which The Gay Recluse sees remnants of craft in the morning commute. This is where we stand every morning to wait for the train. And dream of stenciling this pattern onto the walls of our office.


In which The Gay Recluse asks The Central Park Conservancy to rethink its mailing-list purchases. So a few days ago we received a personal note from Douglas Blonsky, President, Central Park Conservancy and Central Park Administrator. Here it is, with our favorite excerpts! Dear Matthew: I imagine you treasure Central Park for the oasis that […]


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with MHCs (“manhole covers”). Location: Broadway and 161st, Washington Heights This pattern would look great anywhere, but mostly in the hospitals and office buildings. Whenever anyone asks me for something to put into a time capsule, I tell them not to bother. The manhole covers will last […]


In which The Gay Recluse finds a silver lining. We’ve already written about our bad karma at the 34th Street Station, which is filled with ungainly chrome columns and awkward ramps. But just the other day, we noticed an infinite wall of gold tile. We’re not sure why it took us two years to find. […]


In which The Vermonter, a former New Yorker who has retired to the rural life, checks in with The Gay Recluse. Recently we heard from our friend The Vermonter, who had this to say: I love manhole covers! I have been photographing them for years! Here are some favorites from a few years back… Whoas! […]


In which The Gay Recluse rejoices over the end of gentrification in Washington Heights. Rejoice, kind and courageous foes of gentrification! For those many of you who have added your voice to the cause — i.e., our allies in lower Manhattan, Brooklyn and other gentrified neighborhoods around the city who have never ceased to warn us […]


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with manhole covers. Here’s something you won’t typically read about in guidebooks to Berlin: the capital of Germany has some freakin’ kickass manhole covers! This is pretty much our favorite manhole cover these days. At 4′ by 4′, it’s not small, either.


In which The Gay Recluse becomes obsessed with orange tiles. We recently spent some time in Berlin at the conference center, much of which was done in orange tiles. Yes it was garish but there was something appealing about it. Maybe it’s just because it seems like nothing you ever see on this side of […]


In which The Gay Recluse suggests a link. The most beautiful ads are always for dead companies. Like this one we recently took on 35th Street between 5th and 6th Avenue. Does this company still exist? We hope not, because we don’t want to have to think about buying anything. New York City is filled […]


In which The Gay Recluse admires manholes. Time/Location: May 2, 2008 on 35th Street between 6th Avenue and Madison. By our calculations, there are approximately ten zillion manholes in New York City, and each has a cover; this is one of the largest and most striking. The alternating pattern of single and interlocking circles — […]



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