Imbeciles in New Jersey
What nerve. That’s not even a high-end sedan that needs to be protected from dings. It’s some mid-market bucket o’ crap. Who does he think he is?
Imbeciles in New York City
I was sitting in Bryant Park reading (“A Swell-Looking Babe” by Jim Thompson. Not very good.) when, to my left, I heard a very audible:
I was hoping it wasn’t some uncouth pig who peeled off his dirty white sock and was clipping his toenails.
It was. In what culture is it acceptable to clip your toenails in a PUBLIC PARK? Oh, I know where. Stupidistan.
Look how she sits in that pool of light. She’s clinging to a wall in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Met is often thought of as being a bit stodgy but they have some very satisfying contemporary pieces. Here’s her best feature:
I disagree with you. She’s not creepy.
August 24, 1995
I got a call from Betsy. She’s a major hypochondriac and is always on the threshold of something catastrophic. Normally, I can only take so much of that stuff but she’s a sensual dynamo so I am pleased to offer a sympathetic ear.
Some rich dude bought her a new Mac Quadra and a PowerBook and she wants me to come over and show her how to use them. She doesn’t even know how to turn the damn things on. I’m not kidding. I said I’d be happy to give her lessons but she was going to have to PAY ME, and said it using an intonation that implied payment was to be something other than a cash transaction. She piped right up and said, “Yes! Yes! I WANT to PAY YOU!” and said it in a way that makes me think we’re on the same page.
What’s with older women? It seems sex is much more important to them than it is to younger women. While I’d love to see some sweet, young 22-year old peel her clothes off, there’s something delicious about an older woman who is so willing and so knowledgeable in the science of romance. A tight body counts for squat if you don’t know what to do with it. Or, worse, lack a certain esprit de corps.
I asked her what kind of Quadra and PowerBook and she said, “The BRAND NEW kind!” Who knows what that means? And who is this wealthy guy, anyway? Is she sleeping with him? Or does he want to sleep with her but she won’t? Does he want Betsy to wear a strap-on? I wonder if I can talk her out of the PowerBook?
That girl down the hall I want to sleep with dropped off more guerrilla theater flyers. She’s a Lower East Side cliché: an artist/activist. One show is a benefit for her legal fund. She’s a defendant in a case against the police department for unlawful arrest. The show is a performance art piece whereby members of the audience are “placed under arrest” by the “NYC Police Department.” She was arrested and thinks everyone should know what that feels like. That sounds like a terrible night out! Why would I pay to be roughed up by a bunch of malcontents who are pretending to be the NYPD? What if, once the shoe is on the other foot, they enjoy the sensation and get carried away with themselves? No, thank you.
Her living room is her art studio. There are coffee cans all over the place filled with paint, brushes and chemicals. That can’t be healthy, right? Canvases are stacked in every corner. The artwork isn’t very good. It reminds me of that ugly de Kooning crap. I’d like to make out with her, though. Can you imagine if she’s able to channel all that rage?
Knicks/Cavs later tonight at the Garden. I’m meeting John for lunch tomorrow at the World Trade Center. I’d like to see Life in a Blender at McGovern’s tomorrow night but I’d have to go alone again. Naturally.