This past Tuesday I was on the Staten Island Ferry, heading home after work, when I witnessed something so bizarre I questioned whether or not it was actuallyhappening.
It’s my custom to hang back a bit when the boat docksand let the mob of commuting Islanders and touristscram the gangways. No use being in the midst of sweaty and smelly humanity. I was in my usual spot at the snack bar (actually, that's a misnomer as I never eatthe “snacks” offered and only swill the tall-boyBuds—let’s call it simply “The Bar.”), watching the human pageantry go by. As the crowd thinned out, I spied this guy passing by. He appeared to be no olderthan 30. He was tall and stocky, with short brown hairand a kind of pock-marked face. Not ugly, just ordinary. He was garbed in a sharp charcoal grey business suit, white shirt (no tie), and luster fully shined black dress shoes. That’s not the extent of hiswardrobe, though. He wore over his suit a short-sleeved denim jacket. Not cut-off sleeves, mind you, but with regular hemshalfway down the upper arms. He had only a couple ofbuttons done up. The front of the jacket had all thesecolorful patches sewn on, like a Vietnam vet wouldhave on his denim vest.
I couldn’t scope out what thepatches said, but I followed him, hoping to find out this info. There were two patches on his back, each about four or five inches square, one up by each shoulder. They were representations of album covers.One was by Saxon, the other had the cover artwork forMetallica’s “Master of Puppets.”
As we neared the front of the boat, he veered off and inspected the contents of a garbage can. He withdrew from the receptacle a soda cup with lid and strawstill attached, a “large” one from the The Bar withthe Pepsi logo. This guy, whose nice suit was besmirched by denim, began sipping from the cup. I followed him out to the bus ramps (which I cutthrough to get to the SideStreet Saloon), hoping toget a gander at the front patches. He sipped from thesecond-hand, certified pre-owned soda cup the entireway. I lost him.
Weirdo or wack-job? You decide.(And I’m asking about HIM, not ME, all you weisenhemers!)
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Monday, July 11, 2005
Make a Woman Disinterested in Ten Seconds Flat!
Scaring away sexy women is easier than you think! If you run into an attractive woman, and you want to make her disappear, you can try some of these:
1. Say "I like your tattoo. What is it? Why would you do that to yourself?"
2. Wait until another man is offering her a drink, and then offer her a drink at the exact same moment.
3. Tell a woman she has pretty feet, and then tell her you don’t like her toe nail polish. (Not only will she think you have a foot fetish, but that you’re a picky, insulting foot fetishist).
4. If you have a nervous tick, make it winking. Constantly wink at her, and then wink at other gals, too.
5. Keep talking to her, even though she is making no eye contact with you whatsoever. Keep talking to her, while she looks at the walls, the floor, cleans out her purse.
6. The first thing you should tell her is that you have a problem with (choose one, two, three or more!) drinking/depression/mania/genital herpes/parties.
7. If she does start talking to you, pull out a notebook (a clipboard is better, but a notebook will do) and start taking notes on your conversation.
8. If there is music playing, slap you thigh to the beat as mechanically as possible.
9. Tell her that your wife/girlfriend/significant other doesn’t understand you, so you “slapped her silly.”
10. Start self-grooming—not just digging the dirt out of your fingernails, either—pick at your skin, ask her about black heads on your face or back.
1. Say "I like your tattoo. What is it? Why would you do that to yourself?"
2. Wait until another man is offering her a drink, and then offer her a drink at the exact same moment.
3. Tell a woman she has pretty feet, and then tell her you don’t like her toe nail polish. (Not only will she think you have a foot fetish, but that you’re a picky, insulting foot fetishist).
4. If you have a nervous tick, make it winking. Constantly wink at her, and then wink at other gals, too.
5. Keep talking to her, even though she is making no eye contact with you whatsoever. Keep talking to her, while she looks at the walls, the floor, cleans out her purse.
6. The first thing you should tell her is that you have a problem with (choose one, two, three or more!) drinking/depression/mania/genital herpes/parties.
7. If she does start talking to you, pull out a notebook (a clipboard is better, but a notebook will do) and start taking notes on your conversation.
8. If there is music playing, slap you thigh to the beat as mechanically as possible.
9. Tell her that your wife/girlfriend/significant other doesn’t understand you, so you “slapped her silly.”
10. Start self-grooming—not just digging the dirt out of your fingernails, either—pick at your skin, ask her about black heads on your face or back.
Thursday, July 7, 2005
Today's Mischief--What I Posted on Craigslist
Sidekick seeks Superhero! (Wall St. (Manh.) and St. George (SI))
Reply to: anon-82949068@craigslist.orgDate: 2005-07-07, 11:30AM EDT
While you are roaming the streets of New York "fighting crime", you need someone to type your letters, make xl budgets, answer your phones, make your phone calls, keep your calendar, handle computer technical issues, go to the bank, proofread your legal documents, program your cell phone, read your handwriting, cheer you up, come get you when the villain has broken your back (again), plan your business travel, and keep your true identity a secret. I have experience with all the above. Seeking a mere 40K, if you're a real dynamo on the side of good. Resume available, but only if you show me yours.
this is in or around Wall St. (Manh.) and St. George (SI)
yes -- it's ok to contact this poster if you are a potential employer or other principal
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
yes -- ok to transmit this posting into outer space82949068
Reply to: anon-82949068@craigslist.orgDate: 2005-07-07, 11:30AM EDT
While you are roaming the streets of New York "fighting crime", you need someone to type your letters, make xl budgets, answer your phones, make your phone calls, keep your calendar, handle computer technical issues, go to the bank, proofread your legal documents, program your cell phone, read your handwriting, cheer you up, come get you when the villain has broken your back (again), plan your business travel, and keep your true identity a secret. I have experience with all the above. Seeking a mere 40K, if you're a real dynamo on the side of good. Resume available, but only if you show me yours.
this is in or around Wall St. (Manh.) and St. George (SI)
yes -- it's ok to contact this poster if you are a potential employer or other principal
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
yes -- ok to transmit this posting into outer space82949068
Wednesday, July 6, 2005
ToGL Help!!! People Are Answering My Personal Ad!!!
I also spent time causing mischief last week, instead of writing in my blog. My friend Niki, who I know from my daily ferry ride, posted what she would write for a personal ad as a comment (see how to write a personal ad below). Of course, I added a short physical description, and a title “Looking for a few nice dates before I return to Greece,” set up a yahoo account, and put it on craigslist, all within a few minutes. I felt tense, because I thought maybe she would be a little mad at me.
She wasn’t, and now she has a date for coffee with someone after work today. She is nervous, of course.
Which brings us to:
Help!!! I posted a personal ad, and people are writing to me!!!
1. All kinds of people will answer your ad. Some people will answer you, because they just answer every single ad with the right sex/age demo, appropriate or not. Some people will reply with lewd comments, emotional outbursts, conversationally short emails as in “hey, wanna chat?” photos with no words, and form letters. Just ignore them. Or be like me: be horrified and fascinated by the human condition, and then hit the delete button.
2. Find between three and five people who really did read your ad, who “fit the description,” and who give you an overall good feeling. Don’t take anything they say at face value—people tend to talk themselves up, down, and sideways. What you want to pay more attention to is the tone of the email. Is it positive? Friendly? Not too pushy? Smart enough for you? Answer those. Hopefully, after a few emails, you can narrow it down to between two and three people you can go out and meet. Laying your hopes on one person can spell ruin. So reply to a couple of nice people, even if they are not your "favorite."
3. Go out and meet them! Don’t let this first meeting be a date, though. A little coffee/beer/soda to start out with, and have a conversation. MEET THEM IN A CROWDED PLACE, WITH PEOPLE AROUND- say yes to the diner, the mall, the coffeeshop, and say no to his/her place, midnight in the woods, the "romantic cliff with the view," and the ditch by the highway. Try to wear something so that they will recognize you. I used to always wear a green t-shirt with a giant foot on the front. For me, meeting people physically after meeting them online always feels unnatural. It takes a few moments to get used to the person's looks (whether they are hot or not).
4. If you don't meet anyone on this volley, don't be discouraged. Maybe you picked the wrong paper/website for you. Try a few others. Try describing yourself a few other ways. Enjoy meeting people--even if they're not quite right. I have gotten quite a few memorable dates from personals. (I'll write of those adventures another time).
She wasn’t, and now she has a date for coffee with someone after work today. She is nervous, of course.
Which brings us to:
Help!!! I posted a personal ad, and people are writing to me!!!
1. All kinds of people will answer your ad. Some people will answer you, because they just answer every single ad with the right sex/age demo, appropriate or not. Some people will reply with lewd comments, emotional outbursts, conversationally short emails as in “hey, wanna chat?” photos with no words, and form letters. Just ignore them. Or be like me: be horrified and fascinated by the human condition, and then hit the delete button.
2. Find between three and five people who really did read your ad, who “fit the description,” and who give you an overall good feeling. Don’t take anything they say at face value—people tend to talk themselves up, down, and sideways. What you want to pay more attention to is the tone of the email. Is it positive? Friendly? Not too pushy? Smart enough for you? Answer those. Hopefully, after a few emails, you can narrow it down to between two and three people you can go out and meet. Laying your hopes on one person can spell ruin. So reply to a couple of nice people, even if they are not your "favorite."
3. Go out and meet them! Don’t let this first meeting be a date, though. A little coffee/beer/soda to start out with, and have a conversation. MEET THEM IN A CROWDED PLACE, WITH PEOPLE AROUND- say yes to the diner, the mall, the coffeeshop, and say no to his/her place, midnight in the woods, the "romantic cliff with the view," and the ditch by the highway. Try to wear something so that they will recognize you. I used to always wear a green t-shirt with a giant foot on the front. For me, meeting people physically after meeting them online always feels unnatural. It takes a few moments to get used to the person's looks (whether they are hot or not).
4. If you don't meet anyone on this volley, don't be discouraged. Maybe you picked the wrong paper/website for you. Try a few others. Try describing yourself a few other ways. Enjoy meeting people--even if they're not quite right. I have gotten quite a few memorable dates from personals. (I'll write of those adventures another time).
Eulogy for Scott "Instant Death" Byrne
My ex-husband died from heart failure at the age of 44. He was extremely bright and charming, with a sense of wit and irony that shone through his music, even his electronic music. I got my musical sense of humor from him. He had the most maniacal laugh--it was like something out of an evil cartoon character.
We would drink and do acid and extasy and coke together... marathon sex and drug sessions... talk about synchronicity and Star Trek and music. I used to see him play drums several times a week--and even if I didn't know where he was playing, I could tell walk down the street and tell which bar he was playing at by the way he used his cymbals.
I liked that he played with several different bands: Instant Death, Barbecue Bob & the Spare Ribs, Simon & the Bar Sinisters, Fisherman's Stew, George Jr, and more I can't remember.
He was a great cook, and would make us rice and beans with fancy wine sauces.
Things went bad, of course, or else he wouldn't have become an "ex" husband. But I think we sometimes forget, in this New Age, "healthy" culture, that the point of people is not how nicey-nice they are, but how intense they are and how much they give to everyone around them. Scott always gave everyone a laugh, a smile, a drink, a song, a beat. He gave a lot. Thank you, Scott.
We would drink and do acid and extasy and coke together... marathon sex and drug sessions... talk about synchronicity and Star Trek and music. I used to see him play drums several times a week--and even if I didn't know where he was playing, I could tell walk down the street and tell which bar he was playing at by the way he used his cymbals.
I liked that he played with several different bands: Instant Death, Barbecue Bob & the Spare Ribs, Simon & the Bar Sinisters, Fisherman's Stew, George Jr, and more I can't remember.
He was a great cook, and would make us rice and beans with fancy wine sauces.
Things went bad, of course, or else he wouldn't have become an "ex" husband. But I think we sometimes forget, in this New Age, "healthy" culture, that the point of people is not how nicey-nice they are, but how intense they are and how much they give to everyone around them. Scott always gave everyone a laugh, a smile, a drink, a song, a beat. He gave a lot. Thank you, Scott.
Tuesday, July 5, 2005
What Is Wrong with Toughness Contests?
A toughness contest is just what it sounds like. It starts out with someone saying, "If you were tough, you'd understand..." or "But have you ever had a dead rat left on your doorstep?"
And then someone else says, "I so too have been oppressed..." or "I do so understand..." "You don't know what I've been through..." etc., etc., etc...
I have news for you. Actual really tough people, who have been through the shit, who have been in war, or concentration camps, or almost killed, etc. don't bring this up with strangers on the internet. They don't want to talk about it, to explain it, to relive it, to think about it, especially not with people they don't know.
Not that these people are completely pent up. They will share experiences with people who share similar ones. They can talk in their own slang, and talk about details surrounding the experience. My dad, for example, is a tough guy, (WWII) and would talk to me about waking up on the beach in Okinawa with a large rat looking at him, inches from his face, as the body parts washing up on shore.
Toughness contests are just whiney, man. When they come up, I just find a nice way to walk away.
And then someone else says, "I so too have been oppressed..." or "I do so understand..." "You don't know what I've been through..." etc., etc., etc...
I have news for you. Actual really tough people, who have been through the shit, who have been in war, or concentration camps, or almost killed, etc. don't bring this up with strangers on the internet. They don't want to talk about it, to explain it, to relive it, to think about it, especially not with people they don't know.
Not that these people are completely pent up. They will share experiences with people who share similar ones. They can talk in their own slang, and talk about details surrounding the experience. My dad, for example, is a tough guy, (WWII) and would talk to me about waking up on the beach in Okinawa with a large rat looking at him, inches from his face, as the body parts washing up on shore.
Toughness contests are just whiney, man. When they come up, I just find a nice way to walk away.
What I Did On My Vacation
1. Rode for eight hours each way on boat, train, bus, cab, and car to see my folks, with a sunny/stormy/sleepy two-year old in tow.
2. Stood ankle deep in the ocean, and called, “Hail Poseidon” at 8 am.
3. Taught my two-year old to yell “Hail Poseidon” at the top of his lungs while standing knee deep in the ocean.
4. Had a few Buds with five Jamaican dames in big flower-covered hats in a garden “tea house”.
5. Moved my mom’s crystal balls into the “jungle room” so my son wouldn’t try to bowl with them.
6. Missed my boyfriend, painfully. I thought I was going to rip my own heart out with my bare hands.
7. But when he finally did call, I said, “Oh, you don’t want to see me? I don’t want to see you either.” (He did want to see me.)
8. Stared pensively at one of my mom’s cow skulls (she has a collection of 15) while using the throne.
9. Napped.
10. Shuffled hand-in-hand with boyfriend and toddler through a cavalcade of tattooed, Converse-shod, music-lovers in Battery Park, and smiled.
2. Stood ankle deep in the ocean, and called, “Hail Poseidon” at 8 am.
3. Taught my two-year old to yell “Hail Poseidon” at the top of his lungs while standing knee deep in the ocean.
4. Had a few Buds with five Jamaican dames in big flower-covered hats in a garden “tea house”.
5. Moved my mom’s crystal balls into the “jungle room” so my son wouldn’t try to bowl with them.
6. Missed my boyfriend, painfully. I thought I was going to rip my own heart out with my bare hands.
7. But when he finally did call, I said, “Oh, you don’t want to see me? I don’t want to see you either.” (He did want to see me.)
8. Stared pensively at one of my mom’s cow skulls (she has a collection of 15) while using the throne.
9. Napped.
10. Shuffled hand-in-hand with boyfriend and toddler through a cavalcade of tattooed, Converse-shod, music-lovers in Battery Park, and smiled.
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