Strangest Thing Seen Recently
It's going to have to be a tie:
1) Friday night, I'm in a bar in Williamsburg, a place I wandered into. On one wall, a Japanese anime movie is being projected without sound, while a band plays in the corner, this sort of chill, noodly art-rock sounding stuff. Two young hassidem in black and whites walk into the bar, which is otherwise full of standard Williamsburg hipsters (and me). They're there to play pool, and so they do. Sitting to my right is a mixed-race couple of very beefy and very flamboyant gay men around my age, who appear to be having a recreational argument. Then up to the bar comes a trio of girls who have Long Island written all over them. Nothing wrong with that, but boy, are they out of place. They're all dressed up to look pretty and meet some boys I presume, and here they've come into this mostly empty little Williamsburg bar with its art rock and anime and billiard-playing hassidem and quarrelling queens. I don't think they're going to have a good night. And then... they DO! Two guys who must be barely old enough to drink, look like skaters, come up and start talking to them and buy them drinks (Coronas with lime, of course!). This is when I think, Is it possible that I am sitting in the very strangest place in all of New York right now? Probably not.
2) Last night on the subway, I get on and notice that some teenagers are staring at a man standing near me and giggling. I can't figure out what they're on about at first, and then I notice his ears. Now, it's not such an uncommon thing for old men to have hairy ears. The Sharper Image catalog must be selling those battery-powered ear & nose hair clippers to somebody, right? And in a rare moment of disclosure, I will share with you, my dear readers, that I have this one, translucent hair that grows from the outside edge of my ear; that is, until it gets long enough for me to yank it out. But this man on the subway, his ear hair was something different altogether. All along the outside edge, rather than from the hole (that's pinna and meatus, respectively, if you like the clinical terminology) of each ear grew a dense thicket of long, flowing black hair, flipped back a la Farrah Fawcet. It was a sight to behold. Dear lord, when I become an old man, please see that there is someone to look after me before I go out in public.
Related to both of these stories... the variety of humanity here is one of the very best things about New York, maybe the key to everything good here. But recently I overheard a conversation as I walked by a restaurant. The conversation was in French, although for a moment I couldn't tell if it was in another language or if I just wasn't close enough to hear what was being said. And when I recognized that it was in French, I suddenly felt tired. Because that's the way it always is here - a thousand conversations going on around you, and who knows what language they're in. A thousand strangers around you, and who knows what planet they're from. The variety that is often so pleasantly stimulating is sometimes just overstimulating.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Homo Holiday
It was gay pride weekend here in New York… and everywhere else too, actually, but it isn't as big a deal everywhere as it is in New York. I marched in the Dyke March on Saturday, mainly because the only gay people here I know are lesbians, so if I was going to get my pride on with company, it was gonna have to be with girl company. Today I watched the much larger Pride parade, or part of it anyway, as I walked to work. Here's a "Harper's Index" style run-down:
•Best T-shirts seen at the Dyke March
1) "Hawaiian Girls Grow Nice Coconuts"
2) "Ban Republican Marriage"
3) "Vagitarian"
•Number of breasts seen during the march: 0
•Number of breasts seen immediately after the march, in the fountain in Washington Square: Way too many
•Number of times I thought to my self, "hey, that guy's kinda cute" only to realize it was a girl: Way too many
•Best T-shirt seen at the Pride parade: "Rip Taylor" with a screenprinted picture of the actor's face on it.
•Best slogan seen at the Pride parade: On a sign held by a member of the gay Asians' contingent, "Out, not take-out"
•Most surprising feature of the Pride parade:
1) the number of black and latino faces both in the parade and in the parade audience. Surprising because of how often I still hear about exclusivity in the gay community, and homophobia in the black and hispanic communities.
2) On one of the floats was a gigantic black and white picture of three buff twinks in their underwear, and looking up at it, I realized I knew one of the guys in the picture. In the, uh, biblical sense. Even though there was no-one around who knew this (not even the underwear guy, who of course was just in the picture) I suddenly felt really embarrassed.
•Most disappointing feature of the Pride parade: it may be bigger than the San Francisco parade, but for sheer spectacle, San Francisco's got New York beat.
•Most encouraging feature of the Pride parade: Seeing Bloomberg and Chuck Shumer and all the politicians running for something show up to march in the parade and suck up to the city's gay electorate.
•Number of blocks I walked against the parade before I got tired of the whole thing and went to work: 26
It was gay pride weekend here in New York… and everywhere else too, actually, but it isn't as big a deal everywhere as it is in New York. I marched in the Dyke March on Saturday, mainly because the only gay people here I know are lesbians, so if I was going to get my pride on with company, it was gonna have to be with girl company. Today I watched the much larger Pride parade, or part of it anyway, as I walked to work. Here's a "Harper's Index" style run-down:
•Best T-shirts seen at the Dyke March
1) "Hawaiian Girls Grow Nice Coconuts"
2) "Ban Republican Marriage"
3) "Vagitarian"
•Number of breasts seen during the march: 0
•Number of breasts seen immediately after the march, in the fountain in Washington Square: Way too many
•Number of times I thought to my self, "hey, that guy's kinda cute" only to realize it was a girl: Way too many
•Best T-shirt seen at the Pride parade: "Rip Taylor" with a screenprinted picture of the actor's face on it.
•Best slogan seen at the Pride parade: On a sign held by a member of the gay Asians' contingent, "Out, not take-out"
•Most surprising feature of the Pride parade:
1) the number of black and latino faces both in the parade and in the parade audience. Surprising because of how often I still hear about exclusivity in the gay community, and homophobia in the black and hispanic communities.
2) On one of the floats was a gigantic black and white picture of three buff twinks in their underwear, and looking up at it, I realized I knew one of the guys in the picture. In the, uh, biblical sense. Even though there was no-one around who knew this (not even the underwear guy, who of course was just in the picture) I suddenly felt really embarrassed.
•Most disappointing feature of the Pride parade: it may be bigger than the San Francisco parade, but for sheer spectacle, San Francisco's got New York beat.
•Most encouraging feature of the Pride parade: Seeing Bloomberg and Chuck Shumer and all the politicians running for something show up to march in the parade and suck up to the city's gay electorate.
•Number of blocks I walked against the parade before I got tired of the whole thing and went to work: 26
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Monday, June 06, 2005
Best Thing Seen (and smelled) Today
A fiftysomething man, having the appearance of a blue-collar joe cleaned and dressed for work, standing out on the corner this morning, having his morning coffee and smoking his morning… reefer.
Worst Thing Seen Today
On the First Ave. L platform, a boy & girl duo of dirty, inked, fauxhawked, pierced, hippie-hipster subway musicians, both playing the banjo. The BANJO. It’s as if their very object were to offend.
A fiftysomething man, having the appearance of a blue-collar joe cleaned and dressed for work, standing out on the corner this morning, having his morning coffee and smoking his morning… reefer.
Worst Thing Seen Today
On the First Ave. L platform, a boy & girl duo of dirty, inked, fauxhawked, pierced, hippie-hipster subway musicians, both playing the banjo. The BANJO. It’s as if their very object were to offend.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Best Subway Ride Ever
First of all, on the first truly hot day of the season (high 87°F), it is my intense, dehumidified, pleasure to announce that MTA subway cars are air-conditioned. After a sweaty trudge to downtown(ish) Williamsburg to catch the J (because the F-ing L is down again!), I transfered to the 6 and there, on a mostly empty car, is a middle-aged black lady in a flowery church dress, plugged into her diskman (when I said everybody has an iPod, I didn't really mean everybody) and singing her ass off. I mean, full volume and full head-bobbing action. There were a few disapproving or "what a loon" looks cast her way by other riders, but I, for one, couldn't suppress laughter. Sing out, sister.
At the first stop, a guy gets on who screamed music nerd, complete with thick-rimmed engineer-glasses and black & white checkered Vans on his feet. He no sooner sits down than he's pulling his new treasure out of the plastic bag: a big, worn, double-album of some forgotten hippy/psychedelia band, by the looks of it. As he looked at it, you would have thought he was a 13 year old boy with porn from the look on his face. I have so been there, dude. I can almost smell old-record smell and hear the crack of the double-album spine just writing about it.
And then, the Uptown 6 transformed into the Treat Train. With every following stop, all of these hunky guys just kept getting on the train, striking pouty poses and taking advantage of the tricep-tightening overhead handles to give full benefit to their new tank-tops. I don't know if there was a male model convention on the Upper East Side or what, but that train was positively crowded with beefcake by the time I got off. Of the train, I mean.
Yep, that trip's gonna be hard to beat.
First of all, on the first truly hot day of the season (high 87°F), it is my intense, dehumidified, pleasure to announce that MTA subway cars are air-conditioned. After a sweaty trudge to downtown(ish) Williamsburg to catch the J (because the F-ing L is down again!), I transfered to the 6 and there, on a mostly empty car, is a middle-aged black lady in a flowery church dress, plugged into her diskman (when I said everybody has an iPod, I didn't really mean everybody) and singing her ass off. I mean, full volume and full head-bobbing action. There were a few disapproving or "what a loon" looks cast her way by other riders, but I, for one, couldn't suppress laughter. Sing out, sister.
At the first stop, a guy gets on who screamed music nerd, complete with thick-rimmed engineer-glasses and black & white checkered Vans on his feet. He no sooner sits down than he's pulling his new treasure out of the plastic bag: a big, worn, double-album of some forgotten hippy/psychedelia band, by the looks of it. As he looked at it, you would have thought he was a 13 year old boy with porn from the look on his face. I have so been there, dude. I can almost smell old-record smell and hear the crack of the double-album spine just writing about it.
And then, the Uptown 6 transformed into the Treat Train. With every following stop, all of these hunky guys just kept getting on the train, striking pouty poses and taking advantage of the tricep-tightening overhead handles to give full benefit to their new tank-tops. I don't know if there was a male model convention on the Upper East Side or what, but that train was positively crowded with beefcake by the time I got off. Of the train, I mean.
Yep, that trip's gonna be hard to beat.
Friday, June 03, 2005
The Jacko Paradox
It's a common enough observation that while Michael Jackson has sold something like seven gazillion records, it's hard to find someone who will actually admit to liking him. Obviously somebody likes him enough to buy all those records, but I sure don't, never did, and not only do I not know anyone who does, but I'm pretty sure they're telling me the truth when they say so.
So what I wonder is, by the same token - coverage of the Michael Jackson trial has been all over the news. Even the BBC can't shut up about it, for pity's sake. And yet... do I actually know anyone who cares about the outcome of the trial? Like, at all? Not that I know of. And yet, somebody must care, right, to justify all that news coverage? What is it with Michael?
It's a common enough observation that while Michael Jackson has sold something like seven gazillion records, it's hard to find someone who will actually admit to liking him. Obviously somebody likes him enough to buy all those records, but I sure don't, never did, and not only do I not know anyone who does, but I'm pretty sure they're telling me the truth when they say so.
So what I wonder is, by the same token - coverage of the Michael Jackson trial has been all over the news. Even the BBC can't shut up about it, for pity's sake. And yet... do I actually know anyone who cares about the outcome of the trial? Like, at all? Not that I know of. And yet, somebody must care, right, to justify all that news coverage? What is it with Michael?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
