Boston-based activists / artists Jordyn Bonds and Mike Gintz penned an open letter on climate change (also avail in the French), and took it public via the crowd-funding platform Indiegogo, with the goal of having their message published in the WSJ. 

The design is stark and uncluttered; the message bold and direct. In all 308 individuals contributed a total of $34,853 which, while short on the WSJ goal, is making two great things happen. First, the letter will be published in this Sunday’s L.A. Times. Second, they’re making a nearly $7k donation to the Alliance for Climate Education. 


Read the letter. Write a letter.
Boston-based activists / artists Jordyn Bonds and Mike Gintz penned an open letter on climate change (also avail in the French), and took it public via the crowd-funding platform Indiegogo, with the goal of having their message published in the WSJ. 

The design is stark and uncluttered; the message bold and direct. In all 308 individuals contributed a total of $34,853 which, while short on the WSJ goal, is making two great things happen. First, the letter will be published in this Sunday’s L.A. Times. Second, they’re making a nearly $7k donation to the Alliance for Climate Education

Read the letter. Write a letter.

From the New York Public Library, a stereoscope of the Fireman’s Parade on Labor Day, 1887 in Union Square. The first Labor Day celebration in New York took place in the square 5 years earlier when a parade of more than 10,000 workers marched up Broadway and past a reviewing stand in Union Square. Not only is it the last day you can tastefully wear white or seersucker (but we don’t care), but Labor Day gives us occasion to honor the contributions to American labor rights and culture by slaves, indentured servants, union activists, women in the workplace, migrant workers and everybody who’s driven a nail into our tallest buildings and soundest bungalows. Labor Day in stereoscope aptly reminds us of the many versions of truth, justice and liberty (and eight hours for what they will) inherent in our national, and now multi-national, dialogue about labor. Remember not to step on anyone’s head on the way up, and always remember where you come from. And enjoy your weekend, courtesy of the labor movement.

From the New York Public Library, a stereoscope of the Fireman’s Parade on Labor Day, 1887 in Union Square. The first Labor Day celebration in New York took place in the square 5 years earlier when a parade of more than 10,000 workers marched up Broadway and past a reviewing stand in Union Square. Not only is it the last day you can tastefully wear white or seersucker (but we don’t care), but Labor Day gives us occasion to honor the contributions to American labor rights and culture by slaves, indentured servants, union activists, women in the workplace, migrant workers and everybody who’s driven a nail into our tallest buildings and soundest bungalows. Labor Day in stereoscope aptly reminds us of the many versions of truth, justice and liberty (and eight hours for what they will) inherent in our national, and now multi-national, dialogue about labor. Remember not to step on anyone’s head on the way up, and always remember where you come from. And enjoy your weekend, courtesy of the labor movement.


Today is a very, very good birthday.

Today is a very, very good birthday.


Mugshot Monday brings us this Federal Bureau of Prisons mugshot of Bayard Rustin, circa 1944. Recently awarded a posthumous Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Obama, Rustin is one of our political, sartorial and intellectual icons of the twentieth century. He served as a leading force in the civil rights movement, consulted MLK on Gandhian tactics he learned in India and organized the March on Washington as a relatively young gay man. His activism extended into the remainder of his life as a civil rights hero and staunch advocate for lesbian and gay rights. His was a mission of integration, compassion and fierce self-love, and he never cowed to pressures from within the civil rights movement to hide or downplay his sexuality. “Physically, sexually he was the most compelling man I have ever seen,” Gay Morenus recalled of Rustin, whom she met in Chapel Hill, North Carolina three years after this mugshot was taken. With colleagues from the Fellowship of Reconciliation, he was there on a mission: use non-violent direct action to challenge state segregation laws on interstate public transportation; in this case, buses. For this pre-echo of the 1961 Freedom Rides, Rustin would eventually spend twenty-two days on a North Carolina chain gang. Rustin was no stranger to punishment: for refusing both the draft and alternative, non-combat service, the West Chester, Pennsylvania-raised Quaker had spent twenty-eight months (February 1944 – June 1946) in federal prison. Though he’d be arrested for civil disobedience many more times, one incident stands out. From the Chicago Defender, January 31, 1953:
Bayard Rustin, 40, prominent lecturer and fearless fighter for civil rights, was sentenced to 60 days in county jail on a morals charge on a guilty plea… He was arrested by Pasadena police last Thursday in company with two white men in an auto parked near a hotel. The other men… were given similar sentences…sexual deviates often referred to as “queers.”
Rustin believed that acceptance, diversity and mutual respect were the underpinnings of all strata of a civil society, regardless of the purported focus of any given movement. He understood love as the foundation for progress. What does it mean to love — to live — so abundantly? Described by an old female friend as  ”the best lay I ever had,” American political activism could well say the same.

Mugshot Monday brings us this Federal Bureau of Prisons mugshot of Bayard Rustin, circa 1944. Recently awarded a posthumous Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Obama, Rustin is one of our political, sartorial and intellectual icons of the twentieth century. He served as a leading force in the civil rights movement, consulted MLK on Gandhian tactics he learned in India and organized the March on Washington as a relatively young gay man. His activism extended into the remainder of his life as a civil rights hero and staunch advocate for lesbian and gay rights. His was a mission of integration, compassion and fierce self-love, and he never cowed to pressures from within the civil rights movement to hide or downplay his sexuality. “Physically, sexually he was the most compelling man I have ever seen,” Gay Morenus recalled of Rustin, whom she met in Chapel Hill, North Carolina three years after this mugshot was taken. With colleagues from the Fellowship of Reconciliation, he was there on a mission: use non-violent direct action to challenge state segregation laws on interstate public transportation; in this case, buses. For this pre-echo of the 1961 Freedom Rides, Rustin would eventually spend twenty-two days on a North Carolina chain gang. Rustin was no stranger to punishment: for refusing both the draft and alternative, non-combat service, the West Chester, Pennsylvania-raised Quaker had spent twenty-eight months (February 1944 – June 1946) in federal prison. Though he’d be arrested for civil disobedience many more times, one incident stands out. From the Chicago Defender, January 31, 1953:

Bayard Rustin, 40, prominent lecturer and fearless fighter for civil rights, was sentenced to 60 days in county jail on a morals charge on a guilty plea… He was arrested by Pasadena police last Thursday in company with two white men in an auto parked near a hotel. The other men… were given similar sentences…sexual deviates often referred to as “queers.”

Rustin believed that acceptance, diversity and mutual respect were the underpinnings of all strata of a civil society, regardless of the purported focus of any given movement. He understood love as the foundation for progress. What does it mean to love — to live — so abundantly? Described by an old female friend as  ”the best lay I ever had,” American political activism could well say the same.


You can’t overestimate how exciting it was to be openly gay in San Francisco in the 1970s. I mean, Stonewall had happened in 1969, gay civil rights legislation was passing in different states, and, you know, for the first time you could love openly and not be considered sick, not be arrested. It was a very exciting, heady time…
Alysia Abbott writes about growing up with her gay dad in SF in the 70s in her new book Fairyland: A Memoir of My Father. As a millenium of civil rights struggles whirs into action before our very eyes — nascent advances are made, fundamental victories are threatened — it’s good to take a close look at those who brought us this far by demanding the right to be themselves.

You can’t overestimate how exciting it was to be openly gay in San Francisco in the 1970s. I mean, Stonewall had happened in 1969, gay civil rights legislation was passing in different states, and, you know, for the first time you could love openly and not be considered sick, not be arrested. It was a very exciting, heady time…

Alysia Abbott writes about growing up with her gay dad in SF in the 70s in her new book Fairyland: A Memoir of My Father. As a millenium of civil rights struggles whirs into action before our very eyes — nascent advances are made, fundamental victories are threatened — it’s good to take a close look at those who brought us this far by demanding the right to be themselves.

Fairyland Memoir

Fairyland Memoir


Wendy’s shoes, by Lauren Kaelin. Lesson: be prepared and don’t back down. For the win!

Wendy’s shoes, by Lauren Kaelin. Lesson: be prepared and don’t back down. For the win!


Colors Magazine unflinchingly contemplates the intersection of media, politics, social media and the people’s power in issue 86, now on the Ace shop, revealing the backstage of contemporary journalism. With stories on drone-wielding paparazzi, terrorist press releases and anti-mafia vigilante television anchors, Making the News explores how world events are selected, shaped, and sent to you in time for breakfast.
Here, a glimpse into stories on Mexican bloggers read closely by the FBI, handwritten post-tsunami Japanese newspapers scribed by glow of flashlight, guerilla social media lessons in Cairo, and head count differentials for Russian protests between mainstream media and independent journalists, plus a glimpse into Colors’ Yellow Pages. The lot of it makes for alarming, engaging, enraging and inspiring summer reading.

Colors Magazine unflinchingly contemplates the intersection of media, politics, social media and the people’s power in issue 86, now on the Ace shop, revealing the backstage of contemporary journalism. With stories on drone-wielding paparazzi, terrorist press releases and anti-mafia vigilante television anchors, Making the News explores how world events are selected, shaped, and sent to you in time for breakfast.

Here, a glimpse into stories on Mexican bloggers read closely by the FBI, handwritten post-tsunami Japanese newspapers scribed by glow of flashlight, guerilla social media lessons in Cairo, and head count differentials for Russian protests between mainstream media and independent journalists, plus a glimpse into Colors’ Yellow Pages. The lot of it makes for alarming, engaging, enraging and inspiring summer reading.


To kickoff our LGBTQ pride celebrations this June, we’re exhibiting Current Issues: The Gay Blade Vol. 1, No. 1-6, 1969 in the gallery space at Ace Hotel New York. First published in October of 1969 as a single-sheet, hand-distributed newsletter appearing in gay bars around D.C., it’s the longest-running LGBTQ paper in the United States, still running as The Washington Blade and named by the Times as “one of the most influential publications written for a gay audience.” In its early issues, we find reports on civil rights issues and police harassment, roommate and job referral services, invitations to community dinners, legal advice and classifieds ads. Grown from the vitality and perseverance of queer culture and community, The Gay Blade helped citizens organize in their struggle for equality, while both supporting and documenting the mundanities of everyday life and survival.
To see the full selection of early issues, and read more about the Blade (unrelated to Zorro), stop by the gallery and pick up your own copy of our handmade zine featuring some of our favorite issues.
Stay tuned for more on pride this month here.

To kickoff our LGBTQ pride celebrations this June, we’re exhibiting Current Issues: The Gay Blade Vol. 1, No. 1-6, 1969 in the gallery space at Ace Hotel New York. First published in October of 1969 as a single-sheet, hand-distributed newsletter appearing in gay bars around D.C., it’s the longest-running LGBTQ paper in the United States, still running as The Washington Blade and named by the Times as “one of the most influential publications written for a gay audience.” In its early issues, we find reports on civil rights issues and police harassment, roommate and job referral services, invitations to community dinners, legal advice and classifieds ads. Grown from the vitality and perseverance of queer culture and community, The Gay Blade helped citizens organize in their struggle for equality, while both supporting and documenting the mundanities of everyday life and survival.

To see the full selection of early issues, and read more about the Blade (unrelated to Zorro), stop by the gallery and pick up your own copy of our handmade zine featuring some of our favorite issues.

Stay tuned for more on pride this month here.


Mark Horvath — aka @hardlynormal — is using his followings on Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube to empower homeless men and women across America to share their experiences in the first person. His website, InvisiblePeople.tv, challenges stereotypes, sparks dialogue, and is growing a movement committed to ending homelessness, right now.

On any given night, nearly 633,782 people in the United States experience homelessness — over 60,000 of them veterans. And the average age of a homeless person in the United States is only nine years old. When we met Mark, we would never have believed that ending homelessness is achievable — but he has convinced us, as he has thousands of others, that it is.

Head to the @home campaign on indiegogo to help Mark and his team out with some coin for their new documentary on homelessness in the US. Their goal is to use film, social media, and a smartphone game to amplify Mark’s work — turning apathy into action, making the homeless men and women in your community visible, and inspiring more and more people to take action to solve homelessness in their own backyards.


He who learns must sufferAnd even in our sleep pain that cannot forgetFalls drop by drop upon the heart,And in our own despite, against our will,Comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.
Robert F. Kennedy recited his version of this Aeschylus poem April 4, 1968 at his announcement of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. that evening at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee. King was in Memphis to generate empowerment and involvement among poor people of all races, and to demand of the US government a transfer from military spending to human services for the poor. The Poor People’s Campaign was his most controversial to date, and after his assassination, support poured in from around the country. The action commenced this day in 1968 with his organizers in the “King-Abernathy” suite at the Lorraine Motel where King was slain, and in Washington DC.
Five years earlier on May 2, 1963, African American children marched independently in Birmingham, Alabama to protest segregation. Some were as young as six. They were set upon by white police officers and adult citizens with fire hoses, dogs, and batons. They returned each day to march. Their movement became known as The Children’s Crusade. King was jailed in the city less than a month prior, during which time he had written his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” He referred to these protesters as “the disinherited children of God.”
You can visit the Lorraine Motel in Memphis — it is now called the National Civil Rights Museum. A full renovation and strengthening of the museum will be unveiled in summer 2014.

He who learns must suffer
And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart,
And in our own despite, against our will,
Comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.

Robert F. Kennedy recited his version of this Aeschylus poem April 4, 1968 at his announcement of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. that evening at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee. King was in Memphis to generate empowerment and involvement among poor people of all races, and to demand of the US government a transfer from military spending to human services for the poor. The Poor People’s Campaign was his most controversial to date, and after his assassination, support poured in from around the country. The action commenced this day in 1968 with his organizers in the “King-Abernathy” suite at the Lorraine Motel where King was slain, and in Washington DC.

Five years earlier on May 2, 1963, African American children marched independently in Birmingham, Alabama to protest segregation. Some were as young as six. They were set upon by white police officers and adult citizens with fire hoses, dogs, and batons. They returned each day to march. Their movement became known as The Children’s Crusade. King was jailed in the city less than a month prior, during which time he had written his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” He referred to these protesters as “the disinherited children of God.”

You can visit the Lorraine Motel in Memphis — it is now called the National Civil Rights Museum. A full renovation and strengthening of the museum will be unveiled in summer 2014.


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