During his life, he was a rock star, playing with Carnivore and Dee Snider’s Sick Motha Fuckers; a piercer and scarification artist, operating Modern American Bodyarts in Brooklyn; a teacher, teaching classes at The New School. He served as an adviser to Dee Snider for his film Strangeland and organized the film’s celebratory opening party, the Night of 1000 Scars. He was interested in martial arts, music, marketing, cycling, body art, technology – he once told me that he could get along with anyone because he could always find some common interest. The sheer diversity of the people who attended his funeral were a testament to the amazing individual that he was: martial arts practitioners, rock stars, heavily tattooed body modification enthusiasts, marketing professionals, little old ladies, you name it, they were there to celebrate his life and mourn his sudden passing.

In the five years since he died, the things we’ve learned about his last moments add to the amazing and sometimes surreal life story of our incredible friend. Each year on this day, several of his friends go to the spot where he died to leave flowers. The first year, we met a couple who had been there and saw what had happened. He was riding down the Shore Road path, which was used by cyclists, runners, and walkers alike, and came up behind a father and son who were cycling together. Keith was coming up fast behind them when the child, who had been riding erratically, swerved in front of him. Keith swerved to avoid hitting the kid, hit a pothole in the bike path, and went full-speed into a guard rail. This man and woman, who were jogging separately on either side of the accident location, went to his aid and stayed with him until help arrived, but his injuries were too severe and he died at the scene. These two people, who had been strangers before that day, went on to become a couple.

In subsequent years, we’ve met many people on whom Keith made an impression, some who knew him from around the neighborhood, and some who were strangers but remembered him from seeing him every day on the bike path. The path has been repaired and the section where he died no longer goes right up next to the highway. Instead, there’s a fence between the path and the highway, and it would be impossible for the scenario in which he died to occur today.

We still go there every year to raise a glass to him and remember his amazing life, and we’ll be there again today. I wonder who we’ll meet this time.

Here is why… 

The other day, I was picked up at my place by a friend to go have dinner at her place. While walking down my street, we were commenting on all the new leaves on the trees and how wonderful it is to see flowers in our sidewalk forestry. 

Then… 

About five trees in, we noticed what looked like a beautiful caterpillar. A big caterpillar. We screeched to a halt and marveled at its beauty. Its bright green and yellow stripes. We even went as far as becoming a sidewalk traffic cops to ensure the survival of this little creature that would one day flourish as a magnificent butterfly.   

I told my friend that I cannot touch it so I pulled a piece of paper out of my bag and she kindly scooped it up and placed it back in its natural environment – in the forest bed of the wonderful sidewalk tree. 

Sadly, we realized it was no longer living. We were too late. Our efforts of keeping this caterpillar alive were fruitless. 

Then… 

We realized it was a fake. 

I’m sure someone was watching us make fools of ourselves. 

We can walk the streets and spot fake lips, handbags, boobs, and a number of other things from a mile a way, but cannot recognize fake nature. This is why we need to get out and experience it once in a while.

The Stroller Mom…

While standing on line to get a cup of coffee the other day, Stroller Mom # 1 kept bumping the back of my leg with her pram. I understand she was trying to rock her little bundle of joy (hell) to keep them calm and happy, but when I asked her to knock that shit off, she accused me of being in the way and said a few other colorful words of choice. Since I wasn’t pissed, just annoyed, I would have let her slide with “OMG, I didn’t realize, I’m so sorry.” That would be manners.

While walking into a shop to go buy things I don’t need, but want, I saw a lady approaching the door with a double-wide stroller. Ah, how cute. Twins. Huh-Huh. I held the door for said lady and she went through the door as was my intent to let her. Did I get a Thank You? NO. Nothing. Even though I am almost 40 years old, my mama would pop me on the side of the head if I didn’t say thank you in a scenario like this. Great, now there will be two more rude ass kids running wild in New York, thanks to their mother. She did have great boots though.

While walking up 2^nd Avenue in the 70s, a gaggle of four Stroller Moms were leaving the gym. I guess they attend the same yoga class. I had a little giggle to myself when I realized they all had matching prams. But I almost wanted to put a stick in their spokes when they all decided to walk four abreast and take up the entire sidewalk. Then they managed to become even more unaware of the world around them because one was sending a text, one on the phone. Meanwhile, the entire pedestrian population around them had to put themselves in potential danger by stepping into the street to get around them. Just plain rude.

I could go on and on with my observations of Stroller Moms. I have noticed that Stroller Dads tend not to have these bouts of rudeness and maintain full awareness of their environment.

I guess, what I am just trying to figure out is…why does pushing around a stroller give one the entitlement to be a total douche? It’s simple and basic politeness people.

It’s been 5 years since AWK has played a show with a full band. He has been doing some motivational speaking and playing some solo shows, mostly at his own club Santos Party House. He brought his original touring band back for one night in New York City, the place he calls home. He poured out his love for NYC with some rather sappy words that had some people a little misty. Mostly though, he played his crazy amazing music that had the entire crowd partying hard. A classic circle pit was formed as people picked each other up off of the floor instead of purposely kicking them down. New York City wanted fun and AWK gave it full force!

Sometimes I overthink for him, and sometimes I am completely baffled when I choose the human perspective. so many sights, smells, people, noises, EVERYTHING, going on all at once. Often its overwhelming for me, so I can’t imagine from BLT’s p.o.v how shocking it is. Being the human of a good looking dog I do meet an odd cross-section of people. Everyone from grandparents, dog walkers, other dog lovers, kids, and even postal employees want to stop and pet my dog. I’m cool with this. I mean, he is REALLY cute!
I do think about how being a dog owner affects other people in new york. Are people on the train annoyed that I have a puppy in my lap? Some of them certainly appear to be. As a resident of Jersey City who works in Manhattan, I take the PATH and the MTA. Surprisingly most people on the MTA are more into the dog. Are they less sensitive? Is it a better group? On the PATH I feel like everyone is unhappy and dreading the ride to work. I love my job, and I love people watching so, the morning ( well really late morning ) ride into the city is fun for me. Bacon seems to enjoy it, he snuggles into his messenger bag and falls asleep almost instantly. If it’s nice and I have time, I walk from 9th st & 6th ave to Allen St & Delancey. If the weather is crap or I’m running late, I hop on the F train and hope it’s running somewhat normally. People on the F are dare I say, enchanted with the dog. He’s very sweet and quiet and chill so most people are interested. However we trek from west to east village, BLT is amicable. Once we get to work, he curls up on his little bed and waits until people show up so he can greet and cuddle with anyone who wishes to enjoy a puppy for half and hour or more.
After my day is over, we trek back to the train, repeat the morning’s activities and head home. At the end of the night people are generally in a better mood. I’m usually exhausted and wishing my dog didn’t weigh 25lbs so holding him on my sore-from-the-day’s-work back didn’t hurt exponentially more. Sometimes a kind person will offer me a seat. Depending on my day, I might take them up on it.
With doggy daycare, kind strangers willing to offer a scratch, numerous dog parks and a plethora of food bits and other dog butts to enjoy, the life of a dog in Manhattan is pretty damn good. I hope I get reincarnated as a dog. Any breed or mutt will do. But I do hope it’s a NYC metro-area dog, they seem to have it the best.