The Raw and the Rawer

Watch me eat fifty-one bananas

Josephine Halvorson, Oven Hole. 2007, oil on linen. 15 x 20”. Courtesy of Sikkema Jenkins & Co.

This is the fourth annual Woodstock Fruit Festival, a fourteen-day celebration of health, fitness, and the consumption of an entirely raw fruit-based vegan diet. There is no meat at the Woodstock Fruit Festival, no animal products, no processed food. There are no grains, no nuts, no cooked or steamed or sautéed anything. There is no salt, no oil, no refined sugar, no caffeine, no alcohol, garlic, or onion. Sometimes there are herbs, or raw corn. What there is: fruit — more than $100,000 worth of fresh and frozen produce trucked in from fruit and vegetable wholesalers in the Bronx and Chinatown, greens from a nearby organic farm, and donated watermelon from a farmer in Pennsylvania.

More from Issue 21

Issue 21 Throwback

One’s leisure time feels like work that one doesn’t have time for.

Issue 21 Throwback

Unionization had been rare in the industry because it cultivated “an aura of gentility which leads to self-deception.”

Issue 21 Throwback

Some of the most educated and skilled people in our society are among the most exploited workers.

Issue 21 Throwback

“The New Yorker is strong, but at the same time it is fragile. For everybody’s sake, I hope we will do nothing to hurt it.”

Issue 21 Throwback

It was a climate of fear for a bunch of delicate orchids.

Issue 21 Throwback

The work seemed to slide into Friday, while the money stopped on Thursday.

Issue 21 Throwback

Was the magazine exploiting everyone? It sure felt like it.

Issue 21 Throwback
The Look
Issue 21 Throwback
Destiny, USA
Issue 21 Throwback
The Next Next Level
Issue 21 Throwback

Let’s face it: there’s nothing cool about someone else’s sentimentality.

Issue 21 Throwback

“There are also men in the world,” Lydia Davis reminds us. As if we could forget.

Issue 21 Throwback

Sci-Fi offers the best example of that distinctively 21st-century blend of affect: eagerness and wistfulness. YOLO + FOMO.

Issue 21 Throwback

I frequently say “Check your privilege” as a polite proxy for “Shut your fucking racist mouth.”