25 August 2009

I Dream of Home

This video, and Bat for Lashes generally, makes me think of the movie and the music from Legend - The Dance sequence, especially, is called to mind here, when Lily is seduced by and becomes dark Lily.

Then at the end when Natasha runs into his arms I think of...A-ha! The "Take on Me" video, which was absolutely without doubt my favorite video when I was a child.

I saw Natasha once when I was reading at Gimme! It was winter, and she was trapped in New York because of a massive snowstorm in London. She was pretty.

24 August 2009

Smells of Summer: The Good Ones

Pavement, after a brief shower and the sun is shining.
Grilling – not the grill, but grilling.
Fried chicken – I know, I’m a vegetarian, sorry chickens! It’s more about the breading.
Vine-ripe tomaters.
Wet grass.
Fresh dill.
Friends who just came back from the beach.
The towel you took to the beach a couple of days ago.
Union Square Greenmarket.
Flowers, on an unflowery street.

20 August 2009

Further Tales from the Reading Room

Two girls just walked into the Reading Room. Seeing only me in here, they asked if it would be ok for them to talk, or is it a quiet kind of place? Aghast, as I looked at the huge "QUIET" sign on the wall, I replied, "It's a quiet kind of place." The girl who had done the asking gave me a stricken look, a guilt inducing look, and yet I felt none. I turned my head back to return to my dense philosophy reading which requires silence, and the girl said "We were just looking for a quiet place to have a meeting, those people are being so loud out there." Again, aghast, wondering if she comprehended the irony of her statement, I advised them to go to another floor. Before I stab them in the eyeballs. I didn't say that part out loud.

16 August 2009

Is it Strange to Dance so Soon?

The other night I found myself at a table full of people who registered nary a glimmer of recognition when I dropped a quote from T-Rex’s “Cosmic Dancer”: “I danced myself out of the womb.” Shock was followed by anger, anger by disappointment, disappointment by shame. Who are these people that I call my friends?? Just kidding, I love them, but nevertheless I was deeply grieved by this musical ignorance, and what’s more, they took to discussing just how painful it would be for a mother to birth a dancing baby. I believe I chimed in with a remark about how a very brave and strong friend of mine recently gave birth sans drugs, and it probably felt like the baby danced itself out of the womb. But I digress. T-Rex was a seminal glam rock band of the early 70s. You guys ever hear of David Bowie, Roxy Music, Gary Glitter? This was no small movement, glam-rock, and T-Rex was no one-hit wonder. Now, I’m hardly a T-Rex superfan, not by a longshot. But come on people, “Cosmic Dancer”???? You wouldn’t have to be a fan to know that song. You’d just have to have functioning aural cavities. For those of you who do not know “Cosmic Dancer,” acquaint yourself with it now and avoid my shaming eyeballs. I can’t force you to love it, but at least know it. Or at least, know what I’m talking about when I tell you that I danced myself out of the womb.

12 August 2009

Flashing Lights


I’m cat-sitting for my pals Wills and Sarah. They’ve got a sweet kitty, Gladys, and a sweet pad in the ‘burg, though all I ever really want from any apartment, at this point, is a tub rather than a miniscule shower stall that I can barely turn around in. I’ve never stayed over with them before, so Sarah gave me a little crash course in how the apartment works. The various TV remotes (one for the tv – “power” to turn on/off, “source” to switch between the other two remotes: iTunes and Roku), the skylight that must stay open or the apartment will explode (close in the case of rain), the air conditioners (set to medium in the bedroom), the coffee maker (fill the water up to the tit). The plants on the deck need watering daily, the ones inside don’t need watering at all, least not while I’m here.

After the tour I left to continue my day, Sarah had to pack, etc. I’d be coming back later that night, after they were gone. And so I did. Night time is a dark time. Especially when you’re going up a staircase that has a light which needs to be switched on by the resident who knows where the light switch is. Darkness is also especially pressing when you first enter an apartment that you’ve never entered in the dark, at night, alone, when a cat might come dashing through the door the moment you open it. You fumble around for a switch in the most logical place it could be; you feel something jutting out from a wall, from within what feels to be a switch-plate. But this switch is no average switch. On the left is one of those big switchy things, sleekly designed so as not to interfere with the smoothness of the wall – slightly raised on one side so you can just caress it on or off (image research reveals that it's called a "rocker"). This turns on the staircase light. On the right side is something you’ve never felt before, in the context of light switches, but you can guess what it is – a dimmer. It’s got this thing you can slide up and down and a horizontal (also sleek) switch beneath it. So like, that’s the main light, right? Wrong!

You’ve no idea what you were turning on and off and dimming and undimming. You recall from more well-lit times there is no main light in the living room, really, so you slowly, carefully make your way to a very small, and what turns out to be very dim, lamp. You look to the kitchen and with this minimal illumination guiding your vision you realize there’s really no light fixture in there either, but you do spot some track lighting in the living area. There MUST be a way to turn on those lights! you think. Your eyeballs search for the kind of wall space that would allow for a light switch, and they light upon the hallway light switch. You turn it on with a feeling of resignation – this may very well be the only light you find during your four day Gladys-sitting stint. Despite your despondence, you persevere in searching open wall space at torso height for more light switches. Aha! You spot another dimmer/switch combo half hidden behind the entertainment center and seize upon it – at last, lights from above!

But your trials are not yet over; the bedroom has yet to be mastered. Through the well lit hall, into the unlit painting studio, to the door of the bedroom. You push it open and feel along the wall beside the door. After finding the buried switch in the living room you’re feeling pretty good about yourself, so you’re pretty sure that when your fingers fondle the familiar dimmer switch, you’re home free. But switching it on and upping the dimmer only leads to a nice breeze on your face: alas, it is but the overhead fan. Your hand continues to work the switch-plate, seeking the other half which must MUST control the light. You feel and feel but all’s it is on that other side is flat, like it’s just filler. Hold on a minute, wait, what’s that tiny not-quite-protrusion at the bottom? Is that a switch?? It is! And voila – now you don’t have to test the breeze to find your way to bed!

04 August 2009


Ever since I first saw this commercial, I always ALWAYS think of it when I see people riding their bikes in a leisurely, upright manner. This commercial will haunt me for the rest of my life.


I had an early-ish morning flight from JFK to Tampa last Thursday. Even in the morning JFK is a madhouse - there was already a line at the security checkpoint when me and Dars got there at 6:30. One of the TSA ladies was bellowing at us travelers to MOVE DOWN. There were a lot of joints in the line, and an equal number of places for the line to become disjointed. The bellower was not happy about this particular disjointing, so close to the front of the line. Thing is, the ticketing and security area is vast; the ceilings endlessly high, the acoustics endlessly bad. Her bellows, while impressively resonant to those beside her, just barely reached the people thirty feet away that she was urging to move.

Once we reached the front we encountered another friendly lady yelling at her colleague further out in the line for apparently not appropriately informing travelers of the jacket and shoe removal requirements.

When I laid my things on the belt there was a bored looking gal moving the tubs and bags along - but she disappeared after my things went through and the people behind me got reamed by yet another angry woman for not shoving their belongings into the maw of the x-ray machine.

Dars was wearing un-removable metal bangles that set off the metal detector. We waited a good several minutes before someone showed up to run the detector rod over his body. And boy did the TSA guy run that rod over his body. I got to watch the whole thing from a distance and that guy had a smile on his face the whole time, but Dars is kind of a hot piece so who can blame him for enjoying the rod-fondling?

Things were a little different on the reverse trip. In fact, I have nothing to relay except this: every single person at TPA, from the lady at the check-in counter to the gate attendants, had what appeared to be a genuine smile on their faces and in their voices. Fin.

02 August 2009

Please Hammer Don't Hurt 'Em

This gemtastic tune is #17 On Blender's 50 worst songs EVER list. It seems that a lot of songs that Blender hates, I love. How anyone could consider Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up," Gerardo's "Rico Suave" and The Beach Boys' "Kokomo" to be among the worst is beyond me.