Sex sells. Am I just being prudish?

Posted on December 11, 2009 by Exile on Pain Street

This week, this Calvin Klein billboard was erected in Times Square on the corner of 42nd Street and Broadway:

Here, in one of the busiest intersections on the planet, we have two “models.” The girl, who is so emaciated that she’s repugnant to look at (she looks like a spider who’s missing half her legs), is tugging at this gay guy’s shorts, presumably, to get to his cock. Is it my hyperactive imagination or is she suppose to be jerking him off high above Times Square? Lookout below!

The problem I’m having is that this is the peak of the holiday season. The area surrounding Times Square and the Bryant Park skating rink, which is just a block away, is choked with families who are visiting the city. Tell me if I’m being a tool here, but there are little kids everywhere who I don’t think should be exposed to this stuff.

Isn’t there some kind of faceless city board who approves ads in public spaces? Am I finally too old for the city?

Holiday in New Jersey

Posted on December 10, 2009 by Exile on Pain Street

Here’s our favorite New Jersey diner all gussied-up for the holiday. Warm wishes from the Garden State! I’ll post some holiday pics of the city in the coming weeks.

The Cult of the U.S.A.

Posted on December 9, 2009 by Exile on Pain Street

I saw the young(ish) and talented Mike Daisey perform his latest monologue at The Public Theater, The Last Cargo Cult. I love The Public Theater. I fell in love there on two separate occasions!

This time around, Mr. Daisey visits an island in the South Pacific that’s purported to be untouched by money and commerce. He juxtaposes this against last fall’s economic meltdown and gives a pretty sobering assessment of the stranglehold the Investment Banking community has on this nation. Yes, there are lots of laughs, but you do end up feeling like the victim of white collar crime. Which you are.

He employs the best gimmick I’ve ever seen in a show. As you walk in, ushers hand out money in various denominations to the audience. I got $10! As you can imagine, everyone was in a pretty good mood when the show started, although the people holding $1 were wondering why they weren’t given $20.

It comes to pass that the money handed out is Mr. Daisey’s pay for that evening. At the conclusion of the show, he places a crystal bowl on stage and you have to decide whether not to give it back. He makes it abundantly clear that he needs the money for the rent and the audience means very little to him in a fiscal sense because, as he points out, we are a faceless mob sitting in the dark who will be replaced the next night. Brilliant! I gave my $10 back. I would love to find out how much he recovered.

He takes an unnecessary detour out to the Hamptons to tell a side-story about a paid appearance for a mega-wealthy audience. (“My annual salary is a rounding error to them.”) It was amusing but it momentarily took me out of the matter at hand. I wish I had a tape of the entrance music.

Bukowski on beauty

Posted on December 8, 2009 by Exile on Pain Street

beware women grown
old
who were never
anything but
young.

I had two requests for that poem. It’s short but it really hits the mark, don’t you think? Part of what I like about Bukowski is his brevity and economic use of words. Here’s a classic. This one got me through many a lonely night.

oh, yes

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it’s too late
and there’s nothing worse
than
too late.

* * *

We decorated the house and put up the Christmas tree on Sunday. It’s great having little kids around when Christmas approaches. Their enthusiasm is infectious.

I was assembling my gift list and realized that I don’t have to buy a gift for my mom. She passed away in May and this will be our first Christmas without her. I’m glad I’m going back to Ohio. I don’t get to go every year and I really want to be there. I hope my sister can replicate mom’s marinara sauce. The rumor is that she can pull it off, but I’ll believe it when I taste it. It’s no small matter to copy a master.

The sound of one hand clapping in New York City

Posted on December 6, 2009 by Exile on Pain Street

Last week I had one of those rare perfect moments that Spalding Gray spoke of so eloquently in Swimming to Cambodia. These moments, which only occur a few times in your life, are brief interludes whereby you are living in that precise moment in a state of perfect bliss and nothing else exists.

I had some time to kill before a play started and I found myself wandering around the East Village on a balmy evening. I had spent a sizable chunk of my life living down there but hadn’t realized how long it had been since I visited or how much those streets mean to me. Those were among the best days of my life and I got all goopy.

I wandered into St. Mark’s Books and looked at all the small press chapbooks and art books. It’s the kind of stuff that you can’t find in retail book stores. And I’m not slamming the chains. There’s just not an audience for it. I love the smell of that place. It smells like paper and glue and dust.

I took a slow walk down 9th Street, right on 2nd Avenue and then right on St. Mark’s Place. It’s the heart of the neighborhood. I stopped at Mamoun’s falafel joint for a bite. It was so nice out that I ordered a scrumptious falafel platter and took it outside and ate al fresco—not something you can typically do the first week of December out here. My platter—six falafel balls, salad and two pita—cost a measly $5.

I had dinner and watched the grand parade. The NYU students. The misfits. The artists and the malcontents. I don’t fit any of those microcosms and don’t know how it came to be that I felt so at home there for so many years.

Aside from the great food and the ambiance, Mamoun’s has very agreeable hours: 11:00 a.m. to 5:00 a.m., 365 days a year.