The Man in the White Dress is running around the East Village, "spreading the joy," as he says to passersby, and promoting his film, Love Comes Out of the Butt, which will be screening at Anthology on July 7.
He is Matthew Silver of Bedford Avenue microfame, a.k.a. the "Cosmological Jester or the Village Idiot." He has been spotted screaming, "I am the master of all reindeer," outside the Village Voice offices. He's been threatened with mace and doused with water.
But on a summer evening, he's simply marching up and down Avenues A and B, entertaining the pedestrians in his weird Shirley Temple get-up, complete with fanny pack. Girls stand around and giggle uncomfortably in his presence. Old ladies throw their arms around him.
In the pre-hipster-vitriol days, such a man would be appreciated as part of the East Village fabric. Like the guy who wore a suit made of aluminum cans. Or any one of the people who come out of the woodwork for Wigstock (when it happens). He's got a 1960s vibe, a Radical Faeries energy. Hipster or not, I like it.
As he finishes his schtick and hops on his giant, heart-shaped lollipop, riding off into the sunset like a spastic boy-girl on a stick pony, making fart noises with his lips, I think: What a relief. What a relief from the dull barrage of cell-phone shouters and text-walkers, from the "woo-hoo" brigade, from the frat-boys and bachelorettes, from the slack-jawed super models and the pink-shirted princes of the Doucheoisie.
Love does, indeed, come out of the butt. (And Slum Goddess got a snapshot of that process in action.)