Angela Martini Hot Pantyless Upskirt Photos

Source: www.GutterUncensored.com

Here is Angela Martini showing the no panties upskirt while out for the 2011 CFDA Fashion Awards at Alice Tully Hall in New York City on Monday night. And I must say that is one nice shaved cunt she is sporting there! Angela Martini is Kanye West's rumored girlfriend, I am guessing the rumor was started by Kanye West. That hairless pussy is so hot I am thinking about starting a rumor she is my girlfriend too. Anyway, not a big shocker Angela Martini is not wearing panties while wearing a dress with a crotch window. The pantyless stunt at public events with hundreds of cameras is a good what to get some attention these days.Yeah, it look like she is intentionally flashing the camera right? LOL... In her defense, it is very hot in NYC this week, so going commando is perhaps the ideal option. Enjoy! Click on pictures to enlarge.

Source: http://www.GutterUncensored.com

Wiki Bio

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Angela Martini (born Angjela Martini on May 23, 1986 in Shkodër, Albania) is an Albanian model. She won Miss Universe Albania in 2010. She competed in the 2010 Miss Universe pageant in Las Vegas, Nevada, placing 6th among the top ten, just two hundredths of a point from the Final 5. She currently holds the record for the highest-placed Miss Universe Albania in history.

She has been modeling since she was 18 and is signed with NEXT Model Management in Miami, Florida and Elite Model Management in New York City. She has been featured in Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week and Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Miami. Martini was also featured in the 2008 edition of Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Issue. Angela Martini also appeared in and was interviewed for the February 2011 issue of Esquire Turkey. www.GutterUncensored.com

Real New York [Colossus]

¡Hola! Everybody…
It’s cold, windy, and it’s February. Regardless, I would rather live here than whatever Armpit, USA you call home. LOL!

* * *

-=[ I Love Manhattan ]=-

There can be no destination. No map. Who among them can complain. Live here long enough and you have a compass… Let it happen. These are the terms of the truce he has made with Broadway.

-- Colson Whitehead, The Colossus of New York

Aussie singer/ songwriter, Michael Ress, has written a new song and he wants you to help him pick the best version (click here). It’s called “I Love Manhattan” and it’s a fitting tribute to what is in actuality, The Center of the Known Universe. My favorite version is the one sung by the various tourists and New Yorkers:

I like the video, it captures the diversity, culture, and excitement that is a lure for so many people who come here to live from all over the world. There are two other versions, one for kids even. LOL!

As for the other boroughs, you ask (fuck Stranded Staten Island!)? Mr. Ress says he has more songs coming up…

Check out the Facebook page (click here).

Love,

Eddie

The Real New York Series [The Bird Lady of Union Square Park]

¡Hola! Everybody...
Click here to read my submission this week for Subversify, an online magazine offering an alternative, subversive perspective to mainstream media, starts...

* * *

-=[ The Offering/ La Ofrenda ]=-

What you think you are is a belief to be undone.

This is part of my non-official, Real New York series.

What is the real New York? It’s all real, actually. But the real question here is: where does one get the genuine stink of authenticity, where does one find the essential essence of The City? Of course, the answer depends on who you are. Perhaps the real New York is the attractive alcoholic woman, obviously going downhill fast, who stands by the entrance to my subway stop some mornings asking for spare change -- and who flirts with me (“Damn, you look hawt today, papi!”) whether or not I give her a dollar. Sometimes weeks roll by and she’s nowhere to be seen and I wonder. Then one morning, she’s there again, asking for change, that undeniable intelligence in her eyes, her fading beauty still there, a tattered paperback peering out of the plastic Chanel bag that serves as her purse.

Or perhaps it's the bird lady of Union Square Park...

One day, a couple of years ago, I played hookie from work. It was one of those early spring days and though it started with rain, a recalcitrant sun eventually vied with obstinate clouds for control of the day. It was lunchtime in one of my favorite reading spots in The City in Union Square Park. There’s a life-sized statue of Gandhi there and people often put fresh cut flowers in its hands.

I have done this many times. I have several “power spots” throughout the city where I go read, observe, and contemplate, alone yet surrounded -- I like the feeling of stillness surrounded by frantic activity. On that day, no sooner than I had settled on a bench, a woman with long white, wild hair came shuffling toward me. I was hoping she wouldn’t sit next to me; I didn’t want to smell yet another homeless person (such is the way people become invisible). Perhaps reading me, she sat down rigidly across from me. I wanted to get back to my reading. But she stared at me intensely. Then slowly, reflectively, as if following some unknown anointment ritual, she emptied a bag of birdseed on her shoulders. It was a strange sight even for La Gran Manzana -- the capital of weirdness. I noticed how the seeds clung to her hair and clothes, pooled onto her lap, into the folds of her worn clothes, and scattered over her soiled sneakers. Then she leaned back and, after fixing me once more with that intense gaze, she stretched her arms and closed her eyes.

A brief moment passed and first one pigeon flew to her and then several more, and then a dozen or more. They congregated on her arms, pecking at the seeds and one another as they fed greedily. Soon the edges of her body were blurred in a flutter of wings. I sat there transfixed thinking this was an act of madness -- clearly this woman was crazy; it seemed as if the birds were devouring her. At the same time, the act took on an aura of magic. All the while she was disappearing into this chaotic mass of feathers, she was whispering an incantation in a language I couldn’t make out. I sat there hypnotized, my open book now forgotten.

I noticed that others were staring also. People glanced up from their paper bag lunches or reading their newspapers and gasped. Young mothers pushing strollers stopped and gawked. It was a gesture of such tremendous force that it took us out of our little protective shells, the cocoons of fearful lives, and we forgot ourselves for that brief moment. we were her audience -- witnesses to what I call her offering -- and we came together for that brief moment and we were connected somehow. It was as if her act served to break down the walls between us.

In a few minutes, the birds had their fill and one by one, flew away, and the woman calmly grabbed her bag and shuffled away.

Such was the power of her act that for hours afterward I felt as if in a dream and the streets of The City seemed to me new again.

And such is life in The City -- if we stay here long enough, we become immune and lose our sense of awe and forget even that we once possessed it. Then something happens to shatter the routine: a blizzard, or a blackout, even a terrorist act and for a few miraculous hours, we come together as our lives are upended and we notice each other’s presence and come into the awareness of the possibilities of human connection. Strangers reach out to one another; aid is offered without condition, hearts are opened. In a sense, this awareness, this presence, is a form of meditation in action.

I guess part of the reason I live here because the challenge of The City is to figure if this experience of openness can be cultivated and made to last.

My Name is Eddie and I'm in recovery from civilization...

The Real New York [Primeburgers]

¡Hola! Everybody…
Last year, I started a series of posts on New York City which I quickly abandoned. I am a real New Yorker, one of the few native-borns who knows what ringolevio means and actually played it while growing up. I think New York has been invaded by too many yokels from Iowa or whatever Armpit, USA these hicks come from, and a lot of the flavor of New York has been lost. Look at that awful mess, Times Square. I actually think it’s more obscene now, than in the 70s. I’m hoping to give a sense of the real New York, usually on Saturdays…

* * *

-=[ Primeburger ]=-

When you leave New York, you ain't goin' nowhere.

It’s unfortunate, but many people who reside here, live here wishing they lived somewhere else. What’s even more tragic is that most of those people actually never leave, they die here…

I. Love. New. York.

I live here by choice. No, I don’t give a fuck that the rents and homes are cheaper where you live, they’re cheaper where you live because, let’s face it: who the fuck wants to live there? That’s why your real estate is cheap. Duh... And let’s be sure: I live in the real New York. What is the real New York? Let's start this off by noting that when I refer to “New York” I mean most of the four boroughs (sorry, Staten Island -- or as New Yorkers refer to it: Stranded Island -- doesn’t count. Secede, motherfuckers, please). My sister, for example, lives in the nether regions of the Bronx, practically in New Rochelle. That too is not real New York. LOL!

Where was I… oh yeah… it’s all real, actually (with the exceptions listed above). But the real question here is: where does one get the genuine stink of authenticity, where does one sense the essentialness of The City. Of course, the answer depends on who you are. I remember as a young boy buying a Yankee bleacher seat for about 50 cents and then spilling out into the outfield after the last out was recorded and being chased down by irate ushers. That was real for me. But just as real would be the state women’s prison, Bayview Correctional Facility, on Manhattan's west side that sits right across from the decidedly unreal attempt at suburbia known as the Chelsea Piers. Almost no one knows it’s there. Or maybe it’s the Union Square bird lady I wrote about once. Perhaps the real New York is the attractive alcoholic woman, obviously going downhill fast, who stands by the entrance to my subway stop some mornings asking for spare change -- and who flirts with me, “Damn, you look hawt today, papi!” whenever I give her a dollar. Sometimes weeks roll by and she’s nowhere to be seen and I wonder. Then one morning, she’s there again, asking for change, that undeniable intelligence in her eyes, her fading beauty still there, a tattered paperback peering out of her plastic bag that serves as her purse.

There’s a lot of reality here in New York and I love it -- the unimaginably ugly superimposed over the sublime. It’s, literally, The Center of the Known Universe.

Sometimes the real New York is a restaurant. You can become a food snob in New York very easily. And I’m not talking about the overpriced, must-be-seen-in-wait-two-hours-for-a-table-trendsetter flavor of the month you saw on Sex and the City. No real New Yorker really would be caught waiting that long for a meal, I assure you. There are literally thousands of unknown eateries that serve some of the most authentic, delicious food on the planet. Some of these places serve what are practically home cooked meals at cut-rate process. These are the mom-and-pop places that are (unfortunately) becoming harder to find. These are the places you don’t find people like the vacuous bitches from Sex and City. In the coming Saturdays, I will share some my own faves.

Then there are the places that are smack dab in the middle of the city but still maintain “best-kept secret” status. There’s such a place called Primeburgers right across the street from St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Not a high class joint, but not a low class joint, either. Rather it’s a real old-time Manhattan luncheonette. The waiters are older guys who wear neckties and white jackets with their names embroidered in script. Hamburgers have been served here since 1938. It was last remodeled in 1965. You enter to a long counter on the left, single seats with what was apparently considered futuristic swing-trays on the left, a few crowded tables in the back. BLT (bacon, lettuce, and tomato) and tuna fish sandwiches, layer cake a la mode, egg cream (a New York concoction that has neither eggs nor cream in it). The menu isn’t expensive. The basic burgers there, genuine, not the frozen pre-fab variety, are about five dollars. You heard right: $5.00 in midtown Manhattan. I used to go there to eat a tuna fish on toasted rye and egg cream, but mostly to indulge one of my favorite real New York pastimes: eaves dropping. Very few people do this, I think, but you hear some of the most fascinating snatches of conversation here in The Center of the Known Universe. Once, many years ago, I overheard someone in the Village talking about how the American public was ripe for a play about impoverished people struggling to survive. I can’t say for sure, but shortly after, the popular play, Rent, made its debut Off Broadway. I swear! LOL

Primeburgers is favored by gray-haired businessmen, some who likely fared well and the world forgot twenty-thirty years ago. These are men of habit, not only do they eat at the same time each day but generally eat the same thing, and thereby the reason why, when seeing them, the waiters grunt intimately at them, mouthing again the order that never changes, “Ham chee, Swiss’n’rye, Co-no-ice.”

Welcome to the real New York.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization.

Virtual Tours [Central Park, pt. I]

¡Hola! Everybody...
As promised the first of what I hope will be a series of virtual tours of the city of my birth... Check out the video slide show I prepared. Some photos are mine, while the bulk were collected over the years from various sources (music by Ray Barretto from a composition by Hector Martignon).

* * *

-=[ The Park, pt. I ]=-

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.

-- Henry David Thoreau

It is said that New York City is a city of marked contrasts -- of inherent contradictions -- and this is quite true. Rich are jostled along with poor, great filth exists alongside some of the most sublime achievements of humankind. Contradictions are everywhere: old and new, good and evil, ugliness and transcendent beauty. Nowhere is this contrast exemplified more than in one of the greatest works of art known called Central Park.

You could spend several years’ worth of vacations and still not fully explore the wonders of Central Park, or “The Park” (as it is called by New Yorkers). There’s no other way of putting it except to say that Central Park is huge. It sits on some of the most expensive real estate in the known universe, measuring two and a half miles long by a half-mile wide. The Park covers 843 acres of land and includes over 60 miles of pathway. The tour I have prepared here won’t have you walk that much (LOL), it covers about one to one-and-a-half miles of the lower half of The Park and is best enjoyed as the rest of New York should be enjoyed: at a leisurely pace.

Central Park holds much meaning for me personally; as I’m sure it does for many native New Yorkers. From “The Fountain” (The Bethesda Terrace), where thousands of Puerto Ricans and others would meet on spring and summer Sundays in the 70s to play music, dance, and party, to the Carousel (the site of many of my first dates), The Park is the receptacle for many precious memories.

For me the best way to experience the park is from south to north. This tour begins at Columbus Circle, where Eighth Ave. (which becomes Central Park West) and Broadway intersect. Before entering The Park, take a look at the Christopher Columbus monument at the center of the circle, as well as the large gold-topped statue at the park’s entrance (dedicated to the USS Maine). You might also want to check out the Columbus Circle Mall across the street from the park. Make sure to bring the big bucks, baby, as there are some high end shops located here. There's also a great Jazz club there with a breath-taking view of the park.

There are several paths that enter the park here, and the one I want you to take is the one directly to the left of the Maine Monument. This path goes downhill in the direction of the park’s old carriage road, and is often filled with bicyclists and joggers. It’s now usually called ring road or West Drive. Cross this road, but do so with caution, yielding to bicyclists, joggers, and skaters where necessary.

Once you’ve crossed the road head north (left) on the path alongside the ring road. Here you will pass over a couple of lovely stone bridges on your way to Sheep Meadow. Stop somewhere here, find a nice spot to sit, and read about the creation of the park. I won’t get into the history of the park here, except to say that it’s one of the great projects ever -- one of the wonders of the world. The park was conceived, designed, and built by Olmstead and Vaux. Every tree, every boulder, every blade of grass was intended in a conscious way. You can get info from various sources (click here for a good resources on Central park).

You’ll know you’ve reached Sheep Meadow when you get to the chain-link fence. And yes, at one time there were sheep in Central Park. On a a sunny day, you'll find sun worshipers taking in the sun's rays. Across the West Drive is the now defunct Tavern on the Green, created when the sheep were exiled to the equally miraculous Prospect Park in Brooklyn. The Tavern, in turn, was created to get rid of another restaurant, the Casino, when it became notorious as the hangout of New York’s playboy mayor of the 1920s, “Gentleman” Jimmy Walker. If you are in need a of good story, Google Jimmy walker. As mayor, Walker kept late hours and "loose" women (despite being married). For a brief glimpse, consider that during his first two years in office, he spent 143 days in Palm Springs, Palm Beach, Bermuda and Europe. Criticized for giving himself a pay raise from $25,000 to $40,000, Walker quipped, “Why, that’s cheap. Think what it would cost if I worked full time.”

If you ever visit Central Park, you’ll probably not see Tavern on the Green, as it has gone out of business, its beautiful décor now being auctioned off (you can put in a bid online). I ate at the Tavern a few times (that I can remember) and once, in the 1970s, I was asked to leave when my date, a lovely young lady who become too drunk, insisted on “singing opera” while standing atop our dining table. Sadly, she knew neither opera nor the rudiments of singing, but in her defense, she had exquisite bone structure and a most beautifully well-shaped arse.

Cross back to sheep meadow and walk along its southern side, outside the fence (the fence being on your left). As you reach the top of the hill, you’ll note a number of boulders on both sides of the path. These are in fact “glacial erratics,” left here during the last Ice Age. Continue walking east on the path, past the edge of Sheep Meadow, until you reach the ring road -- here also called the East Drive. Keeping the ring road on your right, turn left and continue to the statue of Christopher Columbus, which will be on your left. This is the beginning of the Mall. The Mall was designed to contrast the random, winding paths of lower Central Park. It's a very orderly, well-organized section.

The Columbus statue was originally built to celebrate his quadricentennial, and was widely panned by art critics at the time partly because some felt celebrating Italians wasn’t deemed too cool. LOL At least that's the way I see it. Walk around the flower garden to the statue of William Shakespeare that stands opposite it. The statue, at the southern end of the Mall, which is now called the Literary or Poet’s Walk, was one of its first and was sponsored by the great New York Shakespearian actor, Edwin Booth and his brothers Junius and John Wilkes (yes, that Wilkes Booth)... Continue walking north on the Mall and you’ll pass statues of Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns, and then you’ll come upon an obscure American poet, Greene Helleck, of whom I know nothing. LOL

Further up the Mall, you come upon a broad staircase leading down to Bethesda Terrace. Before you go down, take some time to look at the intricate carvings on the pedestals flanking the staircase -- look for the witch on her broomstick on the west side of the pedestal on your left. The use of Halloween symbols was recent when this part of the park (referred to then as the heart of Central Park) was built. Catholics and other Christian sects of the time, demonstrating that religious intolerance is nothing new, condemned it. LOL

Head down the stairs to the heart of the terrace and you’re greeted by Emma Stebbin’s statue, The Angel of the Waters. Growing up, we used to call it “The Fountain,” as in “Meet you at The Fountain on Sunday!” everyone knowing which fountain. On some Sundays, the Fountain would get so crowded with Puerto Ricans that it would take you literally 45 minutes to circle it. The big thing about the Fountain was that musicians from all over the city would congregate there and jam. You would find ensembles made up of 10-15 percussionists, 6-7 trombonists, trumpet players, flutists -- all manner of musicians from many different cultures mixing together creating a hybrid music.

Oftentimes, well-known salsa musicians would make appearances, take some of the ideas germinated in those sessions, and incorporate it into their music. The site was also the place where some great percussionists -- known and unknown -- would meet and challenge each other to musical duels that reverberated throughout the park. I would often joke that Central Park on a Sunday looked and sounded like a Tarzan episode. LOL!

Why Sunday?

I don’t know, but I do know that one of the most popular music radio shows among Latino/as at the time, “Latin Roots,” played for four hours every Sunday afternoon. The host, Nuyorican poet and activist (now journalist), Felipe Luciano, would play Latino/a music from all over the world and often featured interviews with artists otherwise never featured on radio or television anywhere else. You would walk through The Park on a Sunday and everyone would have their boom boxes tuned on to the “Roots” program.

It was a truly amazing... At that time, the musical phenomenon known as “salsa” was barely known outside of the Latino/a community. Eventually, it would break out into an international phenomenon with even Japanese youth clamoring for the music and actually dancing the unique steps of salsa music. However, salsa was more than a musical genre; it was a kind of urban folklore that caught fire in all the barrios throughout Latin America. To yell out “Salsa!” at that time was the equivalent of saying “Right On!” It was an identity marker, a way of life.

I’ve been trying to locate images of the Fountain from that era, but I haven’t had much success. It’s a little-known, but important slice of New York City History.

Okay... next tour, I’ll finish up this tour of lower Central Park.

Love,

Eddie