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May 30, 2004
Psalm for Washington Heights
Cleaning up piles of dirt in the living room just now -- the cats knocked over a plant last night -- I heard screeching. Nearby. Screeching sounding like it was coming from inside the apartment.
This is it, I thought. This is it.
"It" what?
Recent events force a narrow range of conclusions. The lock is off my building's front door again. First it was the latch, then the entire body of the lock, a jagged metal hole in the building's defenses. A brilliant, beckoning signal to anyone who might be casing it. At least the trail of dead roaches is gone from the foyer, after some guy claiming to be an exterminator came through with a sinister-looking canister spraying all the floors and offering glue traps for the rats, who still leap out around my feet when I take my trash down to the bins.
Last week posters went up in my neighborhood with a picture of a girl about my age on them, her face half in shadow. Lost. Smiling calmly in the picture. Dead ringer for a girl I know from Hampshire, but her name was Sarah Fox. Posters first in my neighborhood, then around Columbia. Then peeking out of deli windows all over the city, even though the posters said they thought she'd gone to Big Gym or Gimnasio Grande, a giant bilingual concrete block in the middle of 181st.
I warmed to her. She's like me, I thought. Likes to support the neighborhood even though she goes to some high-powered school and could go someplace else. I hope they find her. Maybe she just needed to get her head together and went off to Connecticut for a while.
But they found her body in Inwood Park. She'd been strangled.
When people ask me whether I like my neighborhood I say yeah, you should see the parks around here. In Inwood Park, you don't even know you're in the city. Kids are playing baseball games and the whole neighborhood turns out to watch. There's a cafe on the river. Swans swimming there.
I just don't even want to go outside anymore. It's been so damn hot I want to wear my lightweight stuff, but the grope index is already up to severe and it's only May. I went to a movie and a man came in and started stroking my thigh. I went to Chinatown in a halter top and a man muttered "Lotta milk in those" behind my back. I went dancing and a guy who would barely look me in the eye wanted to grind me all over, grabbing my ass and holding on. At Columbia a guy walking past gave me a lip-licking once over and I couldn't take it any more, I ran after him screaming that he was ruining my life. Do you want me to wear a burka? I yelled. Like in Afghanistan?
We are not making any progress, abroad or at home. There's the new warnings about terrorist attacks, vague implications that They want to pierce to our very heart by wounding us on some upcoming day of sentimental importance. Why would they attack anywhere but New York?
Jen doesn't place any credence in the warnings. The other night as I was going to bed she called and told me she was pretty sure the Bush administration would impose martial law before the election. There went one night of lost sleep.
Nodding on the subway I dream the ways out of a Sarin attack or a chokehold. Sinking to my knees and using my weight, all I have, to struggle free. I consider buying a knife. I dream of clawing faces, spitting in the wounds so they don't heal pretty.
jesus, where did this start. Oh -- the shrieking. The final slot on my bingo card -- the rats had made it into the apartment, and Moishe and Estrellita were torturing them slowly, gore on the linoleum. BINGO! Collect your winnings and move to Pasadena, to Arizona, to Canada, to France.
In the kitchen, I followed the cats' line of sight to the top of the open window. And there, cowering in uncertainty, was a peach-faced lovebird, someone's escaped pet.
I dragged a footstool over and pushed the cats out of the way. The bird flew out as I reached for it. It settled on the bars outside our bathroom window, where its mate had landed.
Lucky; at least he wasn't alone. Their owner called for them in Spanish from a window downstairs, but they weren't coming back. They took off down the alley, calling. The undersides of their wings flashed blue. I just hope the nights aren't too cold for them.
Posted by me at 2:58 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
May 27, 2004
funny thieves
me: so you got along like thieves? bacon: like thieves! Like funny thieves.Posted by me at 11:02 PM
grope ass
It's the end time -- they've gotta grope as much ass as they can. -- bacon, on the unusually active harassment scene in New York this springPosted by me at 10:58 PM
May 26, 2004
matching sunglasses
you two should totally set up a game lab together and then you can wear matching sunglasses and be all cool -- jamesPosted by me at 11:32 PM
Found Documents: Diary Entry From El Capitan/Refugio, May (June?) 1995
Begins with a reference to a Tanqueray ad campaign of that time in which a photo-collage old white male figure said mildly scandalous old-white-male things about a lifestyle vaguely related to alcohol to an unseen secretary. We would have seen a lot of this ad campaign -- it was all over West Hollywood, where we were spending a lot of time in those days, seeing as Robert had recently come out. I believe Tanqueray was also sponsoring the AIDS Ride. "Fuzzy male psycho physicist" somehow had become our shorthand for "boyfriend," as in "we need to look for one for Robert."
When I was in high school, I found it pressing to write down ridiculous moments like this, as I figured I would forget what it was like to have them, as an adult. How prescient. I have.
Mz. Clemens, pls take note: (Robert dictating)
Mr. Jenkins hopes to see you riding in front of him in the Second California AIDS Bike Race, as the view from behind Mr. Jenkins is not very flattering.
Signed,
Saddam Hussein
President + CEO, Tonka Trucks Int'l
(re: Tanqueray ad)
-Anything more to add, Robert?
-(Note that Robt wants a fuzzy male psycho physicist. So do I, but not a physicist. J.T. would be fine; he's not here yet.)
-Lindsay?
-Robert: You might note that I was being completely anarchistic tonight.
-Lindsay: Is the right to vote a grundrecht?
(none of us think so)
(big thundering waves)
[...]
-Robert's last words:
Chairman Mao says eat your vegetables every day
With pickled herring, salted fascists, and some hay.
(brought about by "Vegetables on Parade" in my accordion book.)
Posted by me at 8:02 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 18, 2004
Vanity Searches
Doing a vanity search for myself in order to find out what certain other parties who have been doing same have found out about me (have you found this site yet?) and in what order, I discovered that, under my nickname, I share the name of a criminal in a convoluted 1919 silent movie. Also a 60s-era MIT grad. Also a Seattle-area DJ. Also, following a reality plane I departed from at five years of age, I'm still living in Maine. So, how exactly did you find the Salon articles in this morass? Thank you for the ice cream.
Posted by me at 2:24 PM | Comments (4)
May 17, 2004
Can't Keep A Good Dog Down
I knew it. I knew there was no way that Neil had abandoned the Modern Somnambulist without working on something else. Here's his current project: Sparkplug the Dog. Make sure you read the comments sections, because a lot goes on there.
Posted by me at 3:50 PM | Comments (0)
May 16, 2004
gold undies
Gold underwear is so "I am in the harem of the Great Sultan Harun Al-Rashid" -- itamarPosted by me at 11:58 PM
zamboni
I thought it was an animal, and google searches brought up machines, which I assumed were named after animal (sic) -- itamar, when I mentioned zambonisPosted by me at 11:43 PM
May 12, 2004
Now You Can Buy Spam, Too!
It's officialer than it was -- Amazon now has a review up for old buddy Jon Land's book, The Spam Letters, taken from the popular website of the same name. Yay Jon! Also, here's a recent letter for my fellow educators. Oh, it's a hoot. In this episode, a Secret Service Agent calls the president an "assclown."
Posted by me at 3:50 PM | Comments (0)
Taking Requests
So in the wake of the LHOOQ/CANDYPANTS excitement, I have a great quantity of iron-on letters lying around. I figure I might as well take requests. Anyone want a shirt/shorts/pillowcase/apron/undies (CLEAN undies, people) with custom words/monogram on it? Y'all have to provide your own garment but I will do the ironing. I request that out-of-towners include return postage; New York/tri-staters can get a handoff at some point. Priority will be based on some algorhythm of first come, first served/funny or ironic clothes copy/whoever makes good use of Zs, Xs, Qs and sparing use of vowels, etc. I reserve the right to refuse requests. I won't be held responsible for you running around with "FUXERZ" tattooed across your bum.
Here's the letters we have to work with:
Gold:
BBCCDEEEEFFGGGGHHHIIJJKKLLLMMMPQRRRRSSSTVWWXXZZ
Black:
AAAABBBBCCCCDDEEEEFFGGGGHHHIIJJKKLLLMMMMNNPPQRRRRSSSSTTUUVVWWXXYYZZ
Posted by me at 11:58 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
May 10, 2004
Things to Wear
So, when Catherine comes to town, weird, inexplicable things seem to happen...
I got a call from her after her unexpected announcement that she'd be visiting saying "I'm totally into this thing with the L.H.O.O.Q. pants. I found a fabric store which has iron-on letters." So we did it. Pia re-emerged into the world of the non-medical at the last moment, but we didn't have enough letters to have L.H.O.O.Q. for her too, so we ended up with two of those for us, and CANDYPANTS on a pair of shorts for her. "I want to wear these home on the subway!" quipped Pia. Not after all the groping I've received on the NYC subway, babe... not sending a friend out into the world like that.
* * *
Catherine also inquired again about Dancing Sausage wearable gear, and I realized I may never have posted a link when I actually got ready to have shirts made. So here they are, at my Cafepress shop. I'll take requests if you have 'em.
Also! I have been remiss in not thanking Armand Frasco for making me a set of Dancing Sausage buttons (yes, I am as amused as you are by the beigeness and the very obvious J. Crew logo in that picture). Thank you, Armand! Very very sorry for not giving your due props sooner. Buttons are available for those of you to whom I have not given them earlier. They are a little more pixelly than I might have hoped, but that's mostly my fault for not giving Armand a better file. Let me know if you want one.
Posted by me at 2:09 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
abortion providers mad lib
Although we believe ourselves to be PLAYFULLY civilized, most of us are really ABORTION PROVIDERS at heart, because we still believe in BACKWARDS superstitions that began when humans still lived in ASSASSINS. Some of these superstitions are: [...] Never COPULATE under a ladder. (Jamie: "Actually, I think you're just not supposed to copulate on that top step. Isn't that what the sign says?") [...] If you want to keep vampires away from you, always wear CANDY PANTS on a string around your LEFT LINGULA. -- a MadLib completed by me, Pia, and CatherinePosted by me at 12:32 AM
May 6, 2004
Bagpipes in Washington Square Park
Maybe it was because I was gazing at an exhibition of fluffy Easter chicks in suggestive poses when I first heard them, but the skreel of bagpipes really startled me. I have been in New York for four years now, but somehow, the procession of purple-robed, mortarboarded adults coming down Washington Place and proceeding through the park on a Wednesday afternoon felt like the weirdest thing I'd seen in the city yet. Poof -- a graduation parade. Out of nowhere. Strolling right through the everyday everything else -- the dog park, the pushers, the necking couples, mingling with the sounds of the performance artists.
I had just been thinking earlier today that the whole city really feels like a campus -- I never have to drive, and yet I can get anywhere I want to be in a relatively short amount of time. It's as familiar as the elementary school I spent both my years and summers exploring. Maybe that's why -- I hadn't heard anything in advance about graduation at the Steinhardt School of Education. When I'm on campus, I expect to hear about something as big as a graduation. OK, so maybe New York's not a campus.
Well, congrats, Steinhardt grads. I didn't know anyone but Hampshire students got bagpipes for graduation. They were good pipers, too, and I spent my early teen years listening to a lot of Irish music. Harmonies played smack-on, and perfect phrasing.
I feel good. I just feel so goddamn good. Yesterday I presented a final project which everyone said I should turn into a real website. I wouldn't say I aced the final for the NYU class today, but I did all right and it's done. I'm one paper over deadline, but it started to feel manageable earlier today and I'm confident I'll have it turned in by the end of the week. Hampshire never made me feel this confident. I have the weekend booked up with great friends, and I can do it without a stone around my neck. I'm glad I took those four years off. I finally am getting the hang of managing myself.
Washington Square Park is full of fancy tulips, with stripes and twists on their ruffled petals. Summer vacation starts any day now -- my first summer vacation in the city. Liberty granted is always more appreciated than liberty in abundance. I think I'll go dancing.
Posted by me at 9:08 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Blogger?
Various ones in my department think that we need to keep up with the Joneses at NYU and run our own version of PacManhattan. But I'm not totally convinced we shouldn't do something more like Frogger. Sam wanted to create a similar game called Blogger which would involve bloggers running from campus to a wired cafe, with a twist-- you're the one playing the trucker. Maybe this would be a simple way to implement it...
Posted by me at 12:11 PM | Comments (2)
May 3, 2004
L.H.O.O.Q.
Sometime while I was waiting for the train this morning the acronym "L.H.O.O.Q." wormed into my consciousness, and I haven't been able to get it out. It came on slowly -- took me a minute to remember which letters it was that sounded out "elle a chaud au cul" (literally "she has hot in the ass") in French, and then another few minutes to recall where it came from. I have no idea what the stimulus was that brought this on. Probably subway grafitti. Possibly the fact that I burn with the unholy fire of the end of the semester, and am conscious of the fact at all times.
Finals week seems to have brought on a gestalt of insane connectivity, and so I have spent the day trying to apply this acronym to every possible situation. I considered scrawling it on the board behind my teacher in my terrible NYU class before the final started, but I couldn't figure out how to make it "IL a chaud au cul."
I considered painting it on the back of a pair of underwear, but it just doesn't seem that likely that I'll be hanging out in my skivvies with anyone who will appreciate the full linguistic and political ramifications of L.H.O.O.Q. anytime soon.
I considered buying the domain name, but it's been done.
But I've got it -- I've finally got it. I need L.H.O.O.Q. appliqued across the ass of a pair of sweatpants. I mean, I know we all hate that particular trend, but seriously, how cool would that be?! Especially with an O right in the middle. No, I would not wear them if I went to France. But I would definitely wear them among uncultured monoglot Americans. More public than undies, yet still intimate because of the language barrier. Watch the bourgeois get epatered! w00t!
Posted by me at 4:04 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
May 2, 2004
Hup!
Could it be? Have they really made a comic about my Bacon? It is called Mooserider Jenny and many Hampshire people seem to be involved. Do the legends of the crazed Alaskan raised in a little black box without social contact, the legendary road-tripping Alaskan who lived in the Publications Lab with a giant dog, still live on on campus? Or are they referring to some more general cultural archetype of crazed Alaskans? Only the comments to this post will tell.
Posted by me at 11:05 PM | Comments (1)
I still don't know if the instructor ever went to the arcade
So, if those of you who have heard me bitch about The Horrible Class At NYU this semester, ad nauseam, and are wondering how my final exam is likely to play out, let me tell you, I think Michael Zole has summed it up nicely.
Posted by me at 12:18 AM | Comments (0)