A Demure Hobby

Posted on July 17, 2013 by Exile on Pain Street

I’ll try to articulate my point without sounding like a pretentious toff but I’m warning you ahead of time I might not be able to pull it off.

If you live close to New York City and never take your kids in to experience its rich cultural offerings, you are a negligent parent. Art is life. It’s important. At this point, The Daughters walk around the Metropolitan Museum of Art like they own the joint. They can spot van Gogh’s thick, juicy brush strokes at 15 paces. They know their way around the mezzanine section of a theater. But turning them into culture snobs is also a terrible mistake. They need a variety of experiences. That’s why when summer rolls around, we make sure they get a good, healthy dose of loud, violent fun. It’s summer and time for…

ROLLER DERBY!!

WOO HOO! That’s right, bitches. Roller Derby is alive and well and flourishing in New Jersey. Our team, the Red Bank Roller Vixens, recently went head-to-head with their arch nemesis (not really) the Shoreline Belladonnas. I don’t want to get all Oprah on you guys but aside from the purely visceral pleasures of watching a bout, I like the fact that the girls get to see a bunch of women out there knocking it around a bit. Roller Derby is just as important an influence as Degas, and I’m not joking about that.

A funny thing happened. I asked My Bride if she wouldn’t mind taking a pic of me with one of the derby girls. Everything, and I mean everything, is a potential blog post. She knows this and indulges me. (It could be worse. It could be whisky and whores. Some guys take that route.)

At halftime I walked up to one of the toughs and sheepishly asked if she would take a picture with me. She took her mouthguard out, looked up at me and said, “I know you.” I didn’t recognize her with all her equipment on but this girl used to cut my hair! For about two years! We had a happy reunion. She left to teach so the first thing I did was yell at her for dumping me. Hair care is critically important to me and she was a grand master ninja with the scissors. I think The Daughters were kind of impressed. Hey, fellas. Check out those fish nets. Meow!

Her Roller Derby name is Lady Speedstick. They all have made-up names and they’re hilarious. Also skating on the quads that night were Pushy Galore (jersey #007), Particle CollideHer (#U235), Anita Guinness (#16oz), Strawberry Shortfuse, Fire Crack-Her (#M80), Slamour Doll, Smacks 5th Avenue, Hip Czech, etc., etc. You get the idea. This is an excellent education for The Daughters. I wouldn’t mind one bit if they signed-up.

* * *

Hey, robins! Building your nest under the floorboards of a deck is a terrible idea. There’s a lot of foot traffic there. Should we charge them rent? Or fire up the omelet skillet?

Coffee Klatsch

Posted on July 12, 2013 by Exile on Pain Street

Unable to walk because I was wearing shoes that are a bit too tight but too damn cool to discard, I boarded the R train at 42nd Street heading for 57th. I sat next to two girls who looked like living Barbie dolls. Early- to mid-20s. Blonde hair that I strongly suspect might not be natural. All of their clothing was candy-colored right down to their socks. Two cute little buttons. I wanted to buy them a sundae. Their thoughts must have been of chiffon and white clouds and holding hands with harmless, pretty, all-American university boys.

One was leaning close to the other and reading something off her her iPad. She read in a conspiratorial whisper, so as not to disturb anyone sitting around them. How thoughtful! The new issue of Vogue? An advice column on how to apply make-up? I looked over.

I cannot report what she was reading because it was in CHINESE. That young, cute cheerleader is FLUENT in CHINESE. She was interpreting what it said to her friend.

Am I EVER going to STOP judging people by the way they LOOK? How many times do I need to be taught the same lessons over and over?

* * *

This is where I have my morning jolt, weather permitting.

Michael Bloomberg, genius mayor of New York (may he run for president someday), is leaving office. His greatest legacy, as far as I’m concerned, is closing stretches of Broadway and other Avenues and converting them into public spaces. They’re great for hanging out and watching the big parade of humanity march by. Here’s the view from my morning coffee. This used to be a section of Broadway that roared with traffic. Now look at it. The reason there are so few people around is that it’s 6:30 a.m. Come back at 8:00 p.m. and there isn’t room to walk.

A: The New Year’s Eve ball. A few years ago they decided to leave it out year-round. Every time I have guests and point it out, they all say the same thing: “It’s a lot smaller than I thought it would be.” Boy…if I had a nickel for every time I heard that…

B: Disney. Ubiquitous. Has come to define what Times Square is vs. what it was. I’m not crazy about it, but I remember the pimps, whores and junkies. I know that image has a certain dark, poetic panache, but that’s all just selective memory. This is the lesser of two evils. Listen to Travis Bickel’s monologue as he drives his taxi through the area. It’s accurate.

C: A gaggle o’ NYPD.

D: A gaggle o’ tourists.

E: NYC wildlife.

F: A damn good cuppa. Only $1.25! Or, you can go to the Starbucks that my coffee cart guy parks in front of and pay double or triple or quadruple. And they say there aren’t any bargains in NYC. Feh.

* * *

Billboard in the northeast corner of Times Square courtesy of French artist JR. It was more amusing before government surveillance revelations were made.

The existential crisis of 8 July

Posted on July 8, 2013 by Exile on Pain Street

I’ve posted plenty of photos of The Daughters but I never show their faces. It feels intrusive and ill-advised. This is an open-architecture environment so I think some restraint is in order. [Per her request, I’ve never posted a photo of My Bride. You have to respect people’s wishes. Especially the ones you sleep next to every night.] Honestly, I don’t know what I’m so worried about. This isn’t a well-trafficked site. What harm can come of it?

Nevertheless, since I started blogging, I’ve allowed the indulgence of a full-frontal photo of The Daughters every year on my birthday. Why do I do this? What’s the difference between posting ONE revelatory photo and posting DOZENS? Why is it okay on one particular day of the year but verboten the other 364? It is, of course, ego-driven. A cry for attention. Look at my kids! Look at me! Today’s my birthday! It all seems (seems?!) kind of needy, don’t you think? But I make no apologies. A blog can be an artistic endeavor. A means of expression. But, let’s face it, it’s also a cry for attention and a sop to our egos.

Look at my kids! Look at me! Today’s my birthday!

This was taken backstage at a big rock concert at Giants Stadium. Everyone pines to go backstage but, take my word for it, it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. I always feel like an intruder who has no business being there. That’s because I’m an intruder who has no business being there. I feel like I’m in everybody’s way. But it’s nice if it’s raining. And I think The Daughters enjoyed themselves.

My age? I’m feeling very old this year. Very old. I will not reveal it. I never do. It’s a tic. Don’t judge me. Some people smoke. Others gossip. I’m hung-up on my age.

* * *

Speaking of daughters, I see that Kim and Kanye named their newborn North West. Celebrities shouldn’t be permitted to name their children. In honor of North’s birth, I quote the following lyrics from various Kanye West songs.

“We in the bathroom now, she get her back blew out
She can’t clean but I bet she got a vacuum mouth”

“To all my second string bitches, trying to get a baby
Trying to get a baby? Now you talkin’ crazy!”

“Like my bitch when she pop champagne bottles
I tell you about them damn models
They can’t cook a lick but they’ll lick a dick and swallow!”

“Come and meet me in the bathroom stall
And show me why you deserve to have it all
Ball so hard
You know how many hot bitches I own?”

What do you think ol’ Kanye’ll do to the first man he overhears telling North she’s one of his second string bitches? Laugh at the irony? Or do you suppose that little fool has seen the light now that he has a daughter?

Hip-hop is a blight on the black community. They got rid of one ball and chain and replaced it with another. I guess I’m just an old, broken down white guy. One year older, to be specific.

On Drinking (not a sermon)

Posted on June 27, 2013 by Exile on Pain Street

I had a half-finished post about an unexpected evening of drunkenness, noteworthy because of its rarity. I’m a lousy drinker. Alcohol has an almost poisonous effect on me. Then I read a post from a guy who just celebrated his third year of sobriety. I meditated on the dichotomy between these two conditions.

I met a friend for an after-work drink at Wolfgang’s Steakhouse on Park Avenue. I drank two tumblers of Maker’s Mark on the rocks. When I left I was numb from the waist down and couldn’t feel my feet touch the sidewalk. It was just two lousy drinks but liquor has never been my friend. Girls I dated always drank me under the table. When you’ve got a hot date, all you want to hear is an alcohol-fueled “take me” whispered in your ear. More often than not, what I heard was an incredulous, “Are you drunk already?!” So embarrassing!

I left the restaurant and had to take a bus back to New Jersey. I somehow made it to Port Authority and spent the next 1:15 in armageddon. My guts were twisted in a tight knot. I have a sheath for my umbrella so that if it’s wet, the contents of my travel bag stay dry. I held it in my hand the entire ride home to catch my sick (which, thankfully, never happened). I plugged in my ear buds, closed my eyes and listened to Vaughn Williams’ The Lark Ascending over and over to try and calm down. When I got home I collapsed on the futon in our home office. Awful.

I laid there in a fetal position praying for death’s merciful kiss and wondered how in the world anyone could possibly become addicted to alcohol. As it is, I’m ruined for Maker’s Mark. I’ll probably throw-up if I ever smell it again. I can only surmise that there’s a chemical reaction that occurs when you drink and that that reaction isn’t the same for everyone. I’m thankful that I have been afflicted with the lesser of two evils.

There’s a pretty good chance that my digestive system was torn asunder by this:

Do you know what that is? It’s BACON, bitches! For real. I ordered it off the appetizer menu while sitting at the bar. A gigantic, half inch thick, $5 slice of bacon. Sweet Mother of Baby Jesus it was scrumptious! But I wouldn’t recommend washing it down with a glass (x2) of Maker’s Mark. See that knife? Anytime a waiter puts a knife like that in front of you, you can rest assured that something great is about to happen.

* * *

I wasn’t so inebriated that I couldn’t stop and appreciate a decent Empire State Building/ 34th Street sunset. I was dazzled but I think it might have been the drink.

Big Stink Down in the Subway

Posted on June 21, 2013 by Exile on Pain Street

Who doesn’t enjoy a rousing No Good Deed Goes Unpunished story? I find them irresistible.

With all good intentions, the city launched a print ad campaign in the subways targeting teens. The ads warn about the hazards of an unplanned pregnancy. The tone of the campaign is a bit harsh and it caused an immediate backlash. The ads feature weeping children hectoring their moms about how miserable their lives are going to be because they had them as a teen.

The mayor’s office said the intention was to send a strong message that teen pregnancy has negative, life-altering consequences. It sure does! Planned Parenthood was furious. They released a statement saying the ads stigmatize teenage parents and their children and reinforced negative stereotypes about teen moms.

(I’ll vouch for the statement above. It’s a fact!) This one is my absolute favorite. Imagine you’re a pregnant teen and just want to take the R train to 34th Street. You board, someone gives you their seat because of your delicate condition, you look up and see this:

That’s right, girl. He gonna dump yo pregnant ass. And teen dads aren’t spared either, although I’m pretty sure a 17-year old boy with raging hormones is wholly unaffected by this threat.

Further, Planned Parenthood said, “It’s not teen pregnancies that cause poverty, but poverty that causes teen pregnancy.” I’m not so sure I agree with that. The area of Cleveland I grew up in wasn’t poverty stricken by any means, but it certainly wasn’t a wealthy community and teen pregnancy wasn’t a problem. Is it an economic issue or is it a lifestyle/cultural issue? Dare to speak what’s on your mind.

* * *

Bonus pic from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Here’s Constantin Brancusi’s beautiful marble sculpture Bird in Space from 1923. It’s framed by two Max Beckman paintings in the background. I’ve developed a real affinity for the German Expressionists. Ernst Kirchner did some pretty interesting things.