The cool breezy air, rich with pot, was the unquestionably quintessential day for the last pool party of the summer. The Williamsburg pool parties are a once weekly event/concert during the summer, packed full with a American apparel meets Bedford thrift store, meets semi homeless intellectual college kids with a lot of money but refuse to tap into their trust funds except for rent, foreign beer, and health food store purchases. Though not actually a ‘pool party’ it coined its named as the parties were originally thrown in the old empty Olympic sized pools in McCarren Park. Now set against the very edge of Brooklyn’s waterfront, the masses are able to drink, dance, and fondle each other while stairing out at Manhattans steel skyline. I live three blocks from the event and every Sunday wake to the party ready hipsters, still drunk from the night before, stumbling from the Bedford subway stop to North 8th and Kent. Last week was the last event and I knew I needed to be there.
That morning I heard more people on the street than all weeks prior, so I couldn’t pass up the promotional opportunity for DanielDickey.com. I got up extra early(1:50pm) and made some really fly DanielDickey.com posters. Then a made a really hearty breakfast(peanut M&M’s and piece of cheesecake I stole while drunk the night before). I got ready wearing a Williamsburg original, skinny jeans and a flannel shirt and tapped an old mop to the posters. I bought myself a healty sized forgein beer(they’ve inflitrated my mind) and hit the mean streets filled with half naked, loosed legged women.
I first skipped the 2000 person line and was half way into the gates when I was stopped by a large Patrick Ewing looking security guard, “Motherfucker you ain’t going in here with your Daniel DickMe sign”. I quickly replied, “Hey stupid, that’s not a sign, that’s a tattoo”. He blinked his eyes and begin punched only of his closed fist into the other and growling. I decided to walk away. I then thought it would be smart to walk up and down the mile long line holding my sign and chanting things. Unfortunatly I couldn’t thinking of anything to chant so I just ended up yelling out my favorite baby names as I marched like a German up and down the line, “Chester! Samual! Accident!”. This aproch didn’t work too well, as people just thought I was calling out to my friends. My third attempt at grassroots self promotion was to hang my sign up across the street from the busiest entrance and stand in the middle of the crowd yelling, “Oh my God! Of my God! Look a baby is on fire…right in front of that sign for a very hilarious and entertaining website”. This worked great! People were so relived to see a baby wasn’t on fire that they were almost estatic to see my posters…except for the emo kids, they all seemed really grumpy after not seeing a little baby burning. I did this for almost half and hour and thought I’d caused enough attention to my site for one day. I left the sign up, bought some ice cream, and played Deer Hunter on my iPhone for the rest of the day.
Side note: Right before I left I took my recently purchased ice cream, walked about 10 feet away from the Patrick Ewing lookalike and threw it at his stupid green shirt. I tried taking a picture, but that mother fucker was going to kill me. He chased me down the crowded street…as I yelled this guy wants too kill me because I don’t go to DanielDickey.com, it must be amazing.
Taking my personal info off my site and contacting the police about the recent death threats I’ve gotten from PatrickEwingThe Second@gmail.com,
Daniel Dickey
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