Pulling Mussells from a Shell

The Mystery of the Max Racks Postcards

Back in the 1990s around New York City there were these racks of postcards in stores and restaurants—often by the restrooms—that were promotional in nature, full color,and somehwat intereting.

 as you waited for the restroom, you could browse the rack of GoCards or MaxRacks cards and take a few.  There were postcards for broadway shows, perfumes, clothing, TV shows, events, etc.  Essentially they were slick ads in the form of postcard.

I took to collecting them for a time.  I would take two of each that I thought were interesting.
I did it as a sort of time capsule, and to this day I still have a box full.  There's Pamela Anderson in a PETA ad; a postcard for a Rocky Horror Broadway revival; various perfume ads; a card with the schedule for Bryant Park Summer Movies, to name just a few.

Increasingly though, in the late 90s, I would come upon the racks and find them pretty much empty.  I found it sort of hard to blieve that people were taking THAT much interest in these cards.  To the point where every single perfume ad was gone? Seemed unlikely.

Then one day, while I was waiting for the bathroom at Veselka, a shlumpy older person in an overcoat lumbered in.  I could not tell if this person, wearing a baseball cap and stringy long white hair was a man or woman.  But no matter.  The person came lumbering in with two large paper shopping bags, stuffed full of unknown matter.  When said person reached where i was standng, they reached into every single slot, pulled out the respective stack of cards, and put it into their shopping bag.

When the person had cleaned out every single card, he/she turned, lumbered away, and exited Veselka.

Thus solved the mystery of where all those cards were going.  Probably to fill said person's house until the day they died.  Whereupon whoever was responsible to clear things out would likely throw away those and everything else this packrat had collected over the years.

Bring Home the Beacon

On Saturday August 16 2014, Brooklyn and Queens went to Beacon.

It was a longish train ride, but pleasant enough.
Nice town, nice weather.

Queens always obsessed with seeing what the property asking prices are, a recent outward fixation.  Queens might have thought about this endlessly for years and years, but never made that obsession public.

Brooklyn got a window tile, see through, with a kind of lovely painting of dragonflies.  12 dollars and came equipped with (sp?) its own leather handle to hang over the window latch.

It would be interesting to do a house swap, for a month.  Where Brooklyn would be in Beacon, and Beacon would be in Brooklyn.  Just to live another lifestyle for a moment.

Vive la difference.

 "n shit.

More Signs of the Crankenstein Monster (me)

Biked around the hood a bit, weeburg.  Jam crowded with people.

Jim Durkaccchkkk had told me about this street festival for motorcyclists, which included bands and BBQ, motorcycles and the related community interested in that stuff.  So I biked over to there, to North 14th Street.

I will spare some of the details except to say it was the noisiest, most contrived gathering of hipster doofii I've encountered in years, I frankly found the scene beyond belief. It was like a casting agent had gone out and fetched the largest array of similar-vein personas for a crowd-shot that might appear as Background Talent in some production.

It was literally like walking straight into the vortex of a noisy headache!!  A band bleating atonally, with rows of various kinds of motorbikes lined up—none of which anyone was looking at.  People just seemed to be milling about, not talking, sort of watching the band, but more than anything just kinda moving up and down the street without rhyme or reason. Talk about a scene that holds zero interest for me.

What blew me away was, how ANYONE might be interested --  Impossible to talk to anyone due to the noise; the smell of burnt and meat smoke was overpowering; it was hot and crowded; everyone seems to be posing for Williamsburg Hipster Magazine™....

   My one regret is that I did not take any photos to post here for you, dear reader!!!

I must remember to do that in the future.

Lesson? Take pictures to post later.

Drinkin 'n Stinkin

I personally loathe and loathe bars for the most part. 

I mean, as a visitor at times, fine.

But the whole "regulars" thing? Depresses the hell outta me.

So-and-so has to visit her socials at this local bar every friday, and I am judgey. And boil it down to alcoholism.

You HAVE to visit and gather in a bar?  

To me, I dunno.  

I just have to be judgey about it, I don't care. 

A drinkery is a tricky thing; 

some people really are NOT boozers, but… 

  why not just go to a park or sit on a bench or something. 

  Its all very strange and foreign to me.

Plus, my dad was a boozer, so thats a sore spot. 

For both me AND my sister - we're not bar-people.  

  Probably due to dad's showing poor behavior on wine and beer.   

We were like, "dads a weirdo" when he drank.  

Which he was. 

Not a person on the planet that I know of, who actually becomes smarter on booze.  

But thats again, me being judgey. 

I don't think I'm wrong tho.

SNOWPIERCER : A Movie

I wouldn't rush to see Snow Piercer!! 

I did - and was let down.

I'll tell you why - it was so full of exposition via titles in the beginning, and then explained itself up with a 5 to 7 minute overly ridiculous speech at the conclusion... not effective. For me.

And in fact, so incredibly violent.  

They missed an opportunity there, in my view. 

It reminded me of something cartoonish, minus the character development.

Hard to tell who was who and why. Other than some speeches along the way. 

Weird movie.

But; movies can be affected by the emotions of said person in that moment, and different to another person at another moment. 

etc. 

LENA DUNHAM and her TV World

I'm about to watch the final ep of GIRLS season 3. my god Dunham really has to be topless and unclothed as much as possible.

 I GET IT YOURE A REAL NORMAL BODIED EVERYDAY LADY!! jeezis. 

How many nude doofus DUDES do we see nude on tv, tho? 

But I get her point, she sure hammers it home repeatedly: “I won't be made to hide, look at my regular-lady body.  I said LOOK AT IT!! You are GOING to look at it, dammit!”

She is a good actress, albeit whiny.

 and her friend characters are really good

 adn the boyfriend is pretty fantastic in his way.

God her friends are pretty damned annoying tho.

Still?

 Hooked.

LOST leads up to THE LEFTOVERS

TV show stuff:

LOST was the greatest adventure show ever. I am serious!!! Super tantalizing and gripping, fascinating, interesting. It got better and better.

Tlll the end of season 3.

Then, it was clearly a cynical ploy.  

To tantalize without coheerence. 

Bad.

So again I say NO!! 

To another damien lindelhoff whatever thing. NO to leftovers.

RADIO RADIO RADIO!!! I cannot believe it.

And maybe this is kinda immature (of course)... 

I accidentally tuned my clock radio alarm to the wrong station, instead of NPR.

Ended up on NYE-FM, 91.5.

Never heard of it.

But it was cranking tons of nonstop music, some familiar, and some totally not.

Short story long?

Its new york's WNYC-government non-commercial station, that from 6am-12noon plays alternative music.

I went on thte web and found that they play all the music thats up and coming, or already cummed. 

Bloc Party, Lykke Li, new order, St. Vincent, War on Drugs... all these bands that are plastered up as posters all over the city and wburg.

ANY

way

I started listening to the 24 hour stream on their web page, and now have the iphone app

Whats cool is, I am learning about these bands, I never knew who they were.

So, I'm an oldster with some knowledge of the youngster's world!

I swear, its like WLIR from the 1980s, its fun.

http://www.thealternateside.org/schedule/playlists

Yelling At Dad

I was sorry i yelled and yelled at my dad - i told him he was really inconsiderate to cram info at me all the time expecting I was interested. And that some was interesting but that I never ask yet he tells and tells and there is no dialogue!! its just a one-way thing! 

And its true. 

he listened. 

And said he couldn't change at this point. pff. 

HTML

Its really disturbing that I took a class in Dreamweaver and I don't remember sh*t.

Angel Olsen Is My Momentary Obsession

As all things pass, so will this momentary fixation.
But at the height of it, at this moment, I am so enjoying the delightful sounds of
Angel Olsen.

She is a terrific singer songwriter, probably mid 20s, living in Asheville North Carolina, in the hippie world of musicians and street scoundrels.

She sings in an almost yodel-y manner, which is kind of appropriate for someone with that last name.
The Olsens, weren't they Scandinavian roots?  Or were they Swiss.

Somehow I picture these peoples to have begun the traditional of yodeling for country music.

As a child and through my own 20s, I couldn't bear to hear that yodelly shit.
But now, I believe i've passed through the wall.
Its like Neil Young: you could hate him and hate him, and then over time, you might think yknow? I kinda like that song Sugar Mountain.  Even if he does have a whiny voice!

And so I say to you, if you have a moment, do give a listen.
Or just appreciate that someone out there is a little older, but appreciating the music of a younger generation!

Here's a beautiful set of songs by her... intimately performed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BDPEr2X8P4

May 10, 2013 Was More Than a Year Ago!! Get Over It?

Fred was a real good friend.

We met in Cobble Hill brooklyn, 

I knew him for 20 years. 

The first time I ever had a salad over at Freds place on a summer day,

 he handed me a sock—to use as a napkin. 

 I wondered if I was just too formal and square,

 or is using a sock as a napkin within the realm of ok. 

 I guess in retrospect it turns out it was okay, 

and now pretty funny.

Fred was generous to a fault - he would bestow his generosity

 upon anyone who was willing to accept it.

 Would do anything,

 if possible,

 for his friends and family.

 Pretty incredible. 

He lived for cultural events, and foodie things. 

And full of contradictions: 

for instance he didn't believe

 in the idea of charging people money himself for food items… 

yet was perfectly willing to spend 300 hard-earned dollars 

on some skimpy but fancy meal at a high-end restaurant

—because it was "worth it". 

Birthdays and Xmas meant so much to fred, 

family and friend time were foundational; 

and walking the annual halloween parade

 with his friend Greg, in costume,

 was a no-miss event. 

Every year.

He called upon and saw his friends with regularity—

I might not hear from fred for five or six days,

 but then he'd call and say,

 typicially, 

“Whats goin on?”

He wanted to be filled in. 

He wanted to know about people 

He wanted to talk as well,

 he did have his enthusiasms…

 but really he wanted to listen and be filled in.

I wanted so badly for him

 to do another cheese-information video with me.

 I was convinced that some day,

 Fred would be star. 

He was so smart, and so good

 at how he related his knowledge about cheese.  

But his answer again and again to my pressings was,

 “Other people know so much more.”

It was frustrating, but I was convinced that eventually, he would relent. 

But we don't know about tomorrow.

We know it will come, but we don't know

 if it will come for us 

or our loved ones.  

We can only do whats immediate, now, here.

So we missed that further opportunity together.

In recent years 

I've been struck by a line from the Carly Simon song Anticipation: 

"these are the good old days."

We tend to look back, and marvel at how fantastic things were.  

when in actuality, its happening right now.

  THESE are the good old days.

So one time I was sitting in the park with Fred, 

and I said, 

“this is it, fred. 

These are the good old days.

 We're going to look back and see that this was a terrific time for us.”

And unfortunately, its true.

  That day sitting on the grass in the park was a terrific moment in our lives.

I'm sorry to lose such a dear friend, 

and more sorry for not making happen 

what might have been… with Fred.  

I will miss having someone who was an encouraging and championing friend to me. 

Sometimes he gave me a hard time

 for how I acted, and for the the things I said, and did. 

And sometimes I jabbed right at him as well, and at his equally frustrating behaviors.

But all throughout, it really didn't matter—we were friends, and we loved one another.

I will miss him. 

  I will miss him so much. 

I cant believe I can't call him to discuss… anything.

  Too bad. 

You will be missed, Fred.

 You were a kind and generous spirit,

 and I'm happy

 to have had you in my life. 

Goodbye.

Luc Besson Directs a Movie

Oh shit, by the way - i saw 

LUCY 

the Scarlett Johan. movie.

I went solo, 

and this guy sitting next to me kept looking at me as it neared the end.

Like suddenly we should be striking up a conversation about the movie?? 

He just turned away from me and shook his  head, repeatedly.

Clearly disgusted, but not necessarily at me.

Final frame of the movie soon after that - and the credits pop up.

So does he!

He jumps up, and goes, NO!!! NO!!

BOOOOoooo!! Booooooo!

 -- and storms away, shaking his head.

Frankly? He kinda had a point.

Cat Ass Trophy

At the end of June, as July was about to show its head, I got rid from my cat Lulu. It only took 3 years to do so. She was bad cat.

I'm kind of a cat person, so clearly the 3 year delay was due to some inner struggles about the situation. 

While I did end up returning her to the no kill shelter from whence she came, I made the mistake of listening to outer voices for years, before doing so. Rather than doing what I should have, which is to listen to the Inner Voice.

I've said again and again, listen to the Inner Voice.  The inner voince always knows - that you are in the wrong situation, that you are unhappy, that you should be making a change, etc.  Of course, that doesn't always mean the inner voice is pointing you towards Easy and Trouble-free choices.  No, its merely telling you that you should be going in a different direction.  Its telling you to MAKE that change, whatever it is.  Or sometimes its telling you not to trust something, or to follow a better pathway, etc.  And so on.  Its your instinct, and its pretty wise.

In my case, with Lulu the cat, my inner voice said, 'This cat is troubled, and you are going beyond yourself to the point of not enjoying the pet ownership.  Reset this situation."

My mistake was listening to people like Linda, Sue, Tae, and others. They all said, with great emotion, "Noooo, you cannnnnn't!!! Its so cruuuuuuelll! She'll be miserable back at the shelter!"

But this makes the assumption that the owner is a godlike, emotionless, even tempered person that remains unaffected by all things.  I'm not said person.  When the cat would dig deep grooves into my wooden floors, something I've never ever seen a cat do, I would get quite upset. I tried to let it go, but it upset me. It was like putting up with a bad girlfriend, really.  When she's scrambled up the french doors, scrambled around the tops of them, and then jumped down and ran back and forth, it would shatter my nerves. Yet I accepted it. Never liked it, but did accept it.

But the scratching was the hardest part.  It was bad enough that she would aggressivly bite and attack me at times, for all kinds of reasons. No, what stressed me out was that I could not have visitors without her scratching THEM. She would swipe at my sister, at my mother, at my cat sitters, at my friends.  

Then, that last Saturday in June, as I chatted with someone, the cat came up in conversation. I began my whines about the downsides of Lulu the cat. 

That was the straw that broke the camels back. I heard myself. I heard me talking about Lulu as if she was Torment and Burden.  Wow, I thought as I balthered -  like an out of body experience - I heard myself whining. And complaining. And realized that this was just not good. Enough was enough, I had been denying and delaying the inevtiable for over 3 years, and there was only one person that was living my life and to actually make The Right Decision.  So I biked home, stuffed her into the cat carrier, and brought her back to the original shelter from whence she came.

I strangely feel no remorse over this. Probably because they didn't flinch whne I brought her back. They knew and rememerd, when they saw her.  Her descripton did say, on the cage when I got her 3 years ago: This is a Feisty Cat! Aint THAT the truth.   In the end I'd say, I was a good owner. I hope for her, that someone will be smitten by her upon visiting the shelter, and take her in. But if not? She'll live the rest of her days in a no kill shelter, well cared for.  I've done my time, and I thank me for it.

Scents and Memory

Its interesting how a scent will bring up an emotion.  The smell of cut grass in the summer time brings me right back to being 7 years old, spending the summer with my cousins in Farmland, Indiana. 

I'm cheerfully biking around a small town that seems endless and, fairly interesting in its detail. Despite the fact that in reality nothing was going on, it was and is a dead town and, held up against any other town in america, is as dull as the proverbial dishwater.  The truth is, dishwater  may have some more interesting properties to it than that of Farmland. But I was a kid, and biking around a nothing town is more than interesting, its new and fascinating.

The cut grass of Anywhere In Summertime reminds me, of climbing up a metal tube that was the local school's fire escape. For us the fire escape chute was a slide, one we had to climb into to reach the escape door at the top floor of the school. All in order to shoot back down, to the ground level below. that 40 foot climb upward and slide downward had to be frought with all kinds of perils.  

I can tell you that I do recall seams within that metal tube, as we slid back down.  If one of the seam-lips of that tube were bent or damaged, it would be easy to shear ourselves open in one way or another. But kids have a way of miraculously escaping danger, despite the questionable things they engage in. And climbing the tube was one activity that didn't bite us on the ass.  If I were an adult witnessing what we were doing, I'd either yell and scream or beat our asses for climbing along and up into that steep metal tunnel. 

But there wasn't anyone around to witness what were doing, for better or worse; it was like being in a desert wasteland, there by the public school. This was a bona fide farm town, and people mustve been indoors escaping the July heat.

Acts that  human society surely engaged in as soon as "shelter" was created: Find Food. Make clothing. Build shelter. Get the fuck out of the sun, wind and rain. 

This dead down, heated and dried from the summer sun, was just another hot dry summer spot where nothing much was going on. And the smell of cut grass brings me right back there.

Hair Down

His hair is matted down in some strange fluids he puts in it.  Like there's work going on there in trying to tame it or change it, but it just ends up blobbed down, looking limp and greasy.  A weirdness prevails in the image from it, like a demented chld molester god forbid, or something even more freaky. Definitely something off the rails of general society.

There's occasional bursts of unbelievable poignancy and lucidity that spring up in conversations, but that is part of the disorder.  Observations that are keen and bright can be followed by hatreds and confusions. Its not dissimilar to what many other laypeople experience and exhibit, but on a milder, more schaadenfreude-type level.   The puffiness around the face and joylessness in the eyes however gives away the illness, and it can be alarming to the lay person to see.

The extreme changes of focus within conversational monologues borders on the unbelievable. It comes at almost breakneck speed and can be difficult to follow in any regular linear fashion.

But again, this is brought forth by the illness. Its a rambling monologue, full of hopes and dreams and checklists, and exclamations. Business ideas, dreams, and of course: despairing declarations of determined exodus from this fair city. When all is said and done, fukkit, I'm outta here man.

In the end its impossible to know, where his path will lead.  But, do I even know, the path that will be, for myself?

In a sense, we're the same, he and I. Not so dissimilar.  Perhaps thats why it bothers me.

To be continued. By the turns of the earth, and time.

The Mysteries of Women. And Men Too, I'm Sure

Standing in the coffee bar waiting for my free iced mocha, I got to admiring the physical presence of a young lady who also waited.

She was deeply in animated conversation with the barista, altho I couldn't hear with all the commotions of other conversations in the small shoppe.

As my drink order was announced, starbux-style, I stepped forward and was privvy to the sound of said young lady's voice.  It was deep and husky, surprisingly a jarring contrast to the young lady's appearance.  With her almost-chiffon dress, a semi-sheer white, she seemed lite, tanned, attractive, with an easy manner.

While her manner didn't actually change, her demeanor changed in my mind.   With a rough and husky voice, suddenly her appearance became slightly cloaked in a tougher and grittier persona.   Still attractive and pretty, still the same person, but different in my mind from the fantastical notion I had concocted upon first and second glance.

And then she turned, to reach for her own drink.  A large tattoo on her left shoulder-blade, in a sort of blue black ink.  Suddenly, she was no longer one of the masses in my mind, but someone who might run withe the burlesque set.

And yet, when all is said and done... for all my judgey judgement... Do I really know all that much about her?

My point being, that as human beings, our minds are firing at a mile a minute, even when we're dull and dimwitted.  We make our own assessments and judgements, everywhere we go.    And its nice to know, in the end, that we can be quite wrong - about situations, people, places, etc.     I can appreciate that.

Marthie's Lament

She was utterly vexed. Couldn't understand why her newfound riches in life didn't include the Keys to the Kingdom.  In this case, a family island in New England.

Marthie thought for certain that by marrying her rich wall street beau, somehow she would be invited to the family compound of her even-richer friend Sharon.  Surely money, and her husband's wall street status, would now get them invited. 

But friendship and entree sometimes has to do with breeding; established history; social circles; common conversations; and personal relationships. Its not always about the size of a bank account. In fact in various ways the Blue Bloods—the Old Rich—look disdainfully upon what are termed The Nouveau Riche.  These newbie millionaires are really just pretenders; they don't step forth with the trappings and breedings, with family history, or with family compounds and the dynastic subjugations and swindles that made them all so famously and ferociously clever!  

The Nouveau Riche? They just have loads of money.  But the blue bloods! They have Breeding; they have History... and they know Protocol.

Marthie would go on speculating, why why why, wasn't she invited to Sharon's family island compound in New England, with Sharon and her husband. Why why why.

But thats just banging one's head against the wall. 

Unbeknownst to her, since she was quite busy—banging her head against that wall.

People people

How to handle drama queens.  How to handle. 

I am pondering this.  

Or perhaps there's not enough room for it in my world, as I am the one that needs to be the drama queen?

The Hunt is On!!

Went on a  treasure hunt with a friend. 

Oh sorry I think the term is scavenger hunt. 

It was promoted by a local store.  Part of the celebration for their 5th Anniversary. 

The idea was, go around with a sheet of clues, and visit all these other stores. Get them to sign your sheet, and answer the cryptic riddles about each particular participating store.

In Williamsburg.

Exhausting.

But not for my friend!

She delightedly (and competitively) ran from store to store, like a mad woman, and loved every minute of it!!  It wasn't stores that were all that close by, either. Some of them were close to a mile apart!

And damned if she not only won the grand prize, 

but also stirred up business for herself on two fronts, 

won some other prizes including a free haircut and a free picture framing. 

And other such stuff.

In truth, she was fulfilled. And, inspired.

So I guess in reality, it WAS a treasure hunt.  

She won the booty! 

Decisions Decisions

It really is all about decision making, isn't it.  I mean, everything.  Everything is about making decisions, in a way.
Should I eat pasta, even if it makes me feel sick?
Should I walk down this street, a shortcut through a dangerous neighborhood? Or take the time to be safe.
Red shirt, or white shirt.
Stairs or escalator.

These decisions don't involve life or death.  Most, in fact, do not.
life is not Sophie's Choice.

So but why I write, now, is about making a decision on my part—to be a whiney bitch, or to deal with stuff head on.

I place myself in a situation where I believe I am helping someone. In so doing, I am a good person, or a goodguy. And hopefully will see my friend excel.

The down side is, what do I get.  To see my friend excel?
Do I really just want that, or am I hoping somehow by osmosis, success will somehow rub off onto me as a result?
Or, am I helping the friend, becuase I secretly want them to offer to help me with whatever whatever secret project I might have for myself.

So the decision I must make make is: figure out what I want, and get it. From this situation.  And if I want out, i should step up.  Make the decision, for my own sake. And get out.

But somehow, I'm not making a decision.  I'm taking a wait-and-see approach.  But is that really wise? Won't it somehow lead to anger.

"I'll Call You Back At 830. You Gonna Be Home Then?"

I thought I was lame and irresponsible about calling people back, till I got thoroughly re-introducted to Dee.  I guess its just something to say, when stating, "I'll call you at 830."

 But that statement comes back again and again, and never does said person call back at said time. Never.  My friend Wae once said, "Yes you often don't call when you say you will," and that stopped me from ever promising I'll call.  Unless I know, for certain, that its important and its part of a plan.

I have my moods, and sometimes just do not want to be on the phone, period.  So, I simply won't make that promise anymore, that I'm going to call. 

 But Dee makes that promise, to call, again and again.  And while I'm actually relieved he never fulfills the promise, I get tired of going through the ritual of yes-yes'ing about being home, yes I'll be there, yes you should call, sure. 

In some sense its a totall relief, as I know its just going to be a lot of stories of Woe, some incredible literally almost-unbelievable strokes of bad fortune that have befallen him. And the stories are long, windy, and end depressingly. Generally the person at fault is the teller of the stories, but always there is implicit blame on the others involved, or in The Situation that trapped him in.  These tales go on and on— about having had to pay close to 1000 dollars to visit his brother in Philly,  a 300 dollar cab ride from one town to another, etc.   Just a lot of really really painful stuff to hear.  

And when I say painful I mean it in the sense that its a lot of venting, and mostly no lessons learned, about terrible judgement and sloppy lazy behaviour. Again, the tales end up poorly.  They're tough to hear, because after they are exhausted and explored, these stories will be replaced by more stories. With the same kind of Charlie Brown woe.

Or there's the Highs  The highs of a guy who loves to drink and get high.  Hubris, and Great Possiblity, about a screenplay idea, or a contact made, or just in general something that has become super inspiring and exciting, due to having had a few hits of weed, and some booze down the ol hatcher. 

The question is, Do I really want a call back? Not so sure. 

Fred Is Dead

We all "knew" it would happen, but in fact it did.
It was something we said resenfully -- "Hes killing himself, he wants to die."

Then he did kill himself, he did die.

He left behind a void that only loss can create.  The suddenness left no room for contingency plans.
We all said he was killing himself, yet counted on and expected him to be around anyway.

But thats simply not how it worked out.