Sex and the Slutty
Or, 4 Hos in Manolos

Although it was a good time while it lasted, I have to say that I’m not going to miss Sex in the City, the HBO show about the big city adventures of four fashionably dressed sexual predators, all that much. It was always fun to see what venereal escapades and imbroglios the girls had gotten themselves into, as well as what they were wearing, although Carrie definitely drifted into fashion victim territory often enough for some critic to accuse the show's stylists of intentionally dressing her to look like an organ grinder’s monkey. Although I desperately wished the girls would talk about something, anything besides men or themselves (it was especially annoying to see the way each girl would seize onto the most tenuous segue to wrest the conversation back to her favorite topic, herself), their friendships did seem genuine and the writing clever and witty.

The HBO show was inspired by Candace Bushnell’s column in the New York Observer, and let me advise you that if you liked the show, under no circumstances should you read one word she has written. Please trust me when I tell you that theHBO writers turned a real sow’s ear into a silk purse. The TV writers are to be congratulated for pulling off that amazing feat of alchemy, because not only is Bushnell’s writing inept and dissonant, her characters are vicious, shallow gold diggers, unredeemable in almost any way. The ‘Carrie’ in Bushnell’s column is almost unrecognizable from that of Sarah Jessica Parker’s character. She is extremely unlikable, much like Candace Bushnell herself, I suspect, based on interviews I’ve seen of her. The first time I saw her I thought she was this amazingly beautiful woman, impeccably groomed, her wonderfully maintained highlights shimmering expensively under the studio lights. She seemed like this perfect little blue eyed china doll until she opened her mouth, when her affected Long Island Lockjaw, her simpering smugness, and the inane platitudes she spewed collectively ruined all of her allure. Recently I saw her interviewed on Oprah, and the pearl of wisdom she bestowed to single girls looking for a husband was ‘to think outside the box.’ Well, if that means marrying an obviously homosexual ballet dancer 9 years your junior after knowing him just 8 weeks, well then, good for you, Candace, following your own advice like that, because that definitely was thinking outside the box.

Lately Carrie’s puns on the show were getting especially grating, and the girls seemed obscene and hardened instead of daring and sexually liberated.
Like when Carrie was talking about going to visit Big over breakfast with the girls, and she started doing this dancy, pot stirring motion with her hands and says crassly,

“Ah-I’m going to get laiiiiiid.”

Carrie, you’re all class, babe.

Samantha was always outrageous, but announcing your suspicions about your maid using your vibrator is not appropriate dinner party conversation, especially when it's apparent that you're repulsing your elegant, Old World (if a little creepy Hannibal Lector-ish) host. Have at least a little bit of courtesy and respect.

Carrie's flailing in Paris experience proves that she may be a New Yorker, but she’s also provincial and shallow.

The perfect antidote to the show was a recent Daily Show segment. In one of their 'set up' interviews Lauren Weidman sat down with 3 Carrie wannabes, all drinking Cosmopolitans. They’re all ready to dish about what fun it is to be a young single girl in New York because they’re naive enough to think that this is an actual interview. At one point, they’re all nattering on and talking over each other in this very annoying way when Lauren interrupts them by blurting out, “So, who likes to take it in the back door?”

The way those girls recoil in shock and horror is something to see, and Lauren succeeds in finally shutting them up.

To see the segment, scroll down on the right hand side of this link to "The Real Sex and the City."

Sex and the Slutty
Or, 4 Hos in Manolos

Although it was a good time while it lasted, I have to say that I’m not going to miss Sex in the City, the HBO show about the big city adventures of four fashionably dressed sexual predators, all that much. It was always fun to see what venereal escapades and imbroglios the girls had gotten themselves into, as well as what they were wearing, although Carrie definitely drifted into fashion victim territory often enough for some critic to accuse the show's stylists of intentionally dressing her to look like an organ grinder’s monkey. Although I desperately wished the girls would talk about something, anything besides men or themselves (it was especially annoying to see the way each girl would seize onto the most tenuous segue to wrest the conversation back to her favorite topic, herself), their friendships did seem genuine and the writing clever and witty.

The HBO show was inspired by Candace Bushnell’s column in the New York Observer, and let me advise you that if you liked the show, under no circumstances should you read one word she has written. Please trust me when I tell you that theHBO writers turned a real sow’s ear into a silk purse. The TV writers are to be congratulated for pulling off that amazing feat of alchemy, because not only is Bushnell’s writing inept and dissonant, her characters are vicious, shallow gold diggers, unredeemable in almost any way. The ‘Carrie’ in Bushnell’s column is almost unrecognizable from that of Sarah Jessica Parker’s character. She is extremely unlikable, much like Candace Bushnell herself, I suspect, based on interviews I’ve seen of her. The first time I saw her I thought she was this amazingly beautiful woman, impeccably groomed, her wonderfully maintained highlights shimmering expensively under the studio lights. She seemed like this perfect little blue eyed china doll until she opened her mouth, when her affected Long Island Lockjaw, her simpering smugness, and the inane platitudes she spewed collectively ruined all of her allure. Recently I saw her interviewed on Oprah, and the pearl of wisdom she bestowed to single girls looking for a husband was ‘to think outside the box.’ Well, if that means marrying an obviously homosexual ballet dancer 9 years your junior after knowing him just 8 weeks, well then, good for you, Candace, following your own advice like that, because that definitely was thinking outside the box.

Lately Carrie’s puns on the show were getting especially grating, and the girls seemed obscene and hardened instead of daring and sexually liberated.
Like when Carrie was talking about going to visit Big over breakfast with the girls, and she started doing this dancy, pot stirring motion with her hands and says crassly,

“Ah-I’m going to get laiiiiiid.”

Carrie, you’re all class, babe.

Samantha was always outrageous, but announcing your suspicions about your maid using your vibrator is not appropriate dinner party conversation, especially when it's apparent that you're repulsing your elegant, Old World (if a little creepy Hannibal Lector-ish) host. Have at least a little bit of courtesy and respect.

Carrie's flailing in Paris experience proves that she may be a New Yorker, but she’s also provincial and shallow.

The perfect antidote to the show was a recent Daily Show segment. In one of their 'set up' interviews Lauren Weidman sat down with 3 Carrie wannabes, all drinking Cosmopolitans. They’re all ready to dish about what fun it is to be a young single girl in New York because they’re naive enough to think that this is an actual interview. At one point, they’re all nattering on and talking over each other in this very annoying way when Lauren interrupts them by blurting out, “So, who likes to take it in the back door?”

The way those girls recoil in shock and horror is something to see, and Lauren succeeds in finally shutting them up.

To see the segment, scroll down on the right hand side of this link to "The Real Sex and the City."

Breaking News: Loretta robbed at knifepoint



The tribulations of Loretta continue. The Feisty Old Broad, who operates as my informant in Loretta’s underworld circle, told me with a spiteful gleam in her eye that Archie, one of Loretta’s former beaux, had robbed Loretta. Archie held a knife to her throat and threatened to cut it open unless she handed over all of her SSI money, which she promptly did. She was carrying on and wailing about it in the park to anyone who would listen but then abruptly clammed up, and now she is denying that it even happened. The FOB heard that Archie threatened to beat her if she wouldn’t shut up about it and to kill her if she told the police.



Loretta receives over $1000 a month of our tax dollars, which is a considerable amount of money, especially when you're not paying for any sort of housing. Her entourage, sensing her weakness, is turning on her on her like a bunch of jackals and starting to pick her clean. I’m hoping that they won't go too far, since it’s in their interest to keep her alive and not kill their purple tam o'shantor wearing cash cow.



Oh, and I hate to add to your cynicism about the candor of junkies but it turns out that Punky did not really get married. It's not like I really believed that he and his lady would even be capable of making it down to the courthouse to file the paperwork anyway. Even if they had, he probably wouldn't have been allowed to leave since there are most likely several outstanding bench warrants for Punky's arrest.



Why the couple lied remains a mystery, but it reminded Elizabeth and me of the scene in Sid and Nancy where heroin addict Nancy Spungeon is calling her nice Jewish New Jersey parents from a London phone in the middle of the night trying to extract drug money out of them. You only hear her side of the conversation and it goes something like this,



"Mom, Dad! Sid and I just got married!"

(pause, while her parents are obviously responding)



"We did, too. Would you send us some money?"

(pause, while her parents respond some more)



"But we ah-re married!!!! And we need you to wire us some money as a wedding gift right now! We need some wedding sheets. No? Well, FUCK YOU, MOM. FUCK YOU!"



Then she slams the phone down.

Breaking News: Loretta robbed at knifepoint

The tribulations of Loretta continue. The Feisty Old Broad, who operates as my informant in Loretta’s underworld circle, told me with a spiteful gleam in her eye that Archie, one of Loretta’s former beaux, had robbed Loretta. Archie held a knife to her throat and threatened to cut it open unless she handed over all of her SSI money, which she promptly did. She was carrying on and wailing about it in the park to anyone who would listen but then abruptly clammed up, and now she is denying that it even happened. The FOB heard that Archie threatened to beat her if she wouldn’t shut up about it and to kill her if she told the police.

Loretta receives over $1000 a month of our tax dollars, which is a considerable amount of money, especially when you're not paying for any sort of housing. Her entourage, sensing her weakness, is turning on her on her like a bunch of jackals and starting to pick her clean. I’m hoping that they won't go too far, since it’s in their interest to keep her alive and not kill their purple tam o'shantor wearing cash cow.

Oh, and I hate to add to your cynicism about the candor of junkies but it turns out that Punky did not really get married. It's not like I really believed that he and his lady would even be capable of making it down to the courthouse to file the paperwork anyway. Even if they had, he probably wouldn't have been allowed to leave since there are most likely several outstanding bench warrants for Punky's arrest.

Why the couple lied remains a mystery, but it reminded Elizabeth and me of the scene in Sid and Nancy where heroin addict Nancy Spungeon is calling her nice Jewish New Jersey parents from a London phone in the middle of the night trying to extract drug money out of them. You only hear her side of the conversation and it goes something like this,

"Mom, Dad! Sid and I just got married!"
(pause, while her parents are obviously responding)

"We did, too. Would you send us some money?"
(pause, while her parents respond some more)

"But we ah-re married!!!! And we need you to wire us some money as a wedding gift right now! We need some wedding sheets. No? Well, FUCK YOU, MOM. FUCK YOU!"

Then she slams the phone down.

Mimi and Kate to hit the city tomorrow



Sorry I've been publishing on a lighter schedule, but my 16 year old little sister and her best friend Kate arrive tomorrow from Texas for their Spring Break, so we've been cleaning the apartment and preparing ourselves mentally and spiritually. Wish us luck.



Wow. I'm watching 20/20 right now and the lense on Barbara Walter's vanity cam must have an inch of petroleum jelly smeared on it. It also bathes her in this gauzy light so that she glows brighter than Roma Downey when she reveals herself as a messenger of God on Touched by an Angel.



We call Touched by an Angel "Inappropriately Touched By an Angel," because watching that show is like being molested yet having your body betray you by getting aroused against your will. The plot lines are so treacly, simplistic, and manipulative, and have such sinister Christian Right agenda undertones, that you feel like the biggest sucker for even watching it, but somehow you can't stop yourself. The first time I watched it was with Elizabeth & her brother Dan. The episode guest starred Winona Judd and the plot involved some adorable little boy who was dying of cancer. He had made a little to do list that he wouldn't let anybody see, and at the end of show Winona is belting out some country spiritual and this big crowd of people who have gathered around the little boy's house are all swaying and singing along together in this giant hootenanny of joy and praise. Then that actor who plays Death takes the little boy's hand and leads him away and you finally get to see the little boy's list, and the last entry is "Go to Heaven," which has miraculously been crossed off. So there we all were sitting on the couch weeping, too embarrassed to even look at each other because we felt so dirty and full of shame that we could be that weak and easily emotionally manipulated.



So, we made a little game out of it to sit down each Sunday and see if we could make it through an episode without crying, and we never did. One time we thought we were home free, but then Death comes for someone completely unexpectedly right at the end of the show and it was like a sneaky sucker punch right in the gut. That show sent me into a full blown crying jag, the kind where you have to go breathe into a paper bag and throw some cold water on your face to get yourself back together.



Thankfully, Valerie Bertinelli's addition to the cast finally broke the show's grip on us, but channel surfing is dangerous because if I happen to stumble on an episode on Pax TV then I'm helpless to stop myself from getting sucked back in.

Mimi and Kate to hit the city tomorrow

Sorry I've been publishing on a lighter schedule, but my 16 year old little sister and her best friend Kate arrive tomorrow from Texas for their Spring Break, so we've been cleaning the apartment and preparing ourselves mentally and spiritually. Wish us luck.

Wow. I'm watching 20/20 right now and the lense on Barbara Walter's vanity cam must have an inch of petroleum jelly smeared on it. It also bathes her in this gauzy light so that she glows brighter than Roma Downey when she reveals herself as a messenger of God on Touched by an Angel.

We call Touched by an Angel "Inappropriately Touched By an Angel," because watching that show is like being molested yet having your body betray you by getting aroused against your will. The plot lines are so treacly, simplistic, and manipulative, and have such sinister Christian Right agenda undertones, that you feel like the biggest sucker for even watching it, but somehow you can't stop yourself. The first time I watched it was with Elizabeth & her brother Dan. The episode guest starred Winona Judd and the plot involved some adorable little boy who was dying of cancer. He had made a little to do list that he wouldn't let anybody see, and at the end of show Winona is belting out some country spiritual and this big crowd of people who have gathered around the little boy's house are all swaying and singing along together in this giant hootenanny of joy and praise. Then that actor who plays Death takes the little boy's hand and leads him away and you finally get to see the little boy's list, and the last entry is "Go to Heaven," which has miraculously been crossed off. So there we all were sitting on the couch weeping, too embarrassed to even look at each other because we felt so dirty and full of shame that we could be that weak and easily emotionally manipulated.

So, we made a little game out of it to sit down each Sunday and see if we could make it through an episode without crying, and we never did. One time we thought we were home free, but then Death comes for someone completely unexpectedly right at the end of the show and it was like a sneaky sucker punch right in the gut. That show sent me into a full blown crying jag, the kind where you have to go breathe into a paper bag and throw some cold water on your face to get yourself back together.

Thankfully, Valerie Bertinelli's addition to the cast finally broke the show's grip on us, but channel surfing is dangerous because if I happen to stumble on an episode on Pax TV then I'm helpless to stop myself from getting sucked back in.

Gypsies, Tramps, & Thieves



Before I went to Italy a few years ago, I read several travel advisories about roving gangs of thieving gypsy children. Their m.o.would be to swarm tourists, create a diversion, and strip their victims of all their valuables. Although I never encountered any myself, almost everybody else I know who has traveled to Europe did and got a very good story out of it.



My aunt and cousins were in Rome when they were surrounded by a band of about 15 children, who approached them begging, palms outstretched. Although my aunt and cousins look like sweet, gentle marks, they have lived in New York City most of their lives and are hardened and merciless. When the children tried to form a circle around them my cousins fell into defensive formation around my aunt and began savagely kicking at the children with their pointy toed cowboy boots. The children quickly moved on. Even my aunt was surprised at her daughters' ferocity and said,



"Oh, my babies!"



Another friend was walking alone when she found herself suddenly surrounded. They managed to empty her bulging pockets in seconds and were off. Sadly for them, she had a terrible cold and her pockets were stuffed with nothing but tissues full of snot and germs.



The best one happened to another friend while she was actually in New York City. This was her first visit to the New York, and she had had one of those magical days in the city that only New York can offer. She was marveling at the city, drinking it all in outside Saks on 5th Ave. when she looked over and saw some scruffy little gypsy children on the corner smoking. One little girl, who looked no older than 8, was provocatively dressed and strutting back and forth in front of the boys she was with, waggling her hips like some pint sized hooker. My friend said to her companion,



“Oh my God. Those kids are smoking.”



The little girl overheard her, and immediately ran up to her, sucked on her cigarette, exhaled and yelled,



“What the fuck did you say? What the fuck did you say, you fat fucking whore?”



My friend, in complete shock, froze, while the little girl continued,



“Hey, bitch. My brother over there," motioning to a boy no older than 10, "he wants to know… how much… you’ll charge…to FUCK HIM!”



Terrified, my friend whirled around to get away from the little girl, and when she whipped around saw this haughtily elegant woman in a full sable coat, loaded down with shopping bags, step off the curb to signal a taxi, trip, and faceplant right on the street.



That was just too much, and my friend grabbed her companion and ran off, laughing hysterically.

Gypsies, Tramps, & Thieves

Before I went to Italy a few years ago, I read several travel advisories about roving gangs of thieving gypsy children. Their m.o.would be to swarm tourists, create a diversion, and strip their victims of all their valuables. Although I never encountered any myself, almost everybody else I know who has traveled to Europe did and got a very good story out of it.

My aunt and cousins were in Rome when they were surrounded by a band of about 15 children, who approached them begging, palms outstretched. Although my aunt and cousins look like sweet, gentle marks, they have lived in New York City most of their lives and are hardened and merciless. When the children tried to form a circle around them my cousins fell into defensive formation around my aunt and began savagely kicking at the children with their pointy toed cowboy boots. The children quickly moved on. Even my aunt was surprised at her daughters' ferocity and said,

"Oh, my babies!"

Another friend was walking alone when she found herself suddenly surrounded. They managed to empty her bulging pockets in seconds and were off. Sadly for them, she had a terrible cold and her pockets were stuffed with nothing but tissues full of snot and germs.

The best one happened to another friend while she was actually in New York City. This was her first visit to the New York, and she had had one of those magical days in the city that only New York can offer. She was marveling at the city, drinking it all in outside Saks on 5th Ave. when she looked over and saw some scruffy little gypsy children on the corner smoking. One little girl, who looked no older than 8, was provocatively dressed and strutting back and forth in front of the boys she was with, waggling her hips like some pint sized hooker. My friend said to her companion,

“Oh my God. Those kids are smoking.”

The little girl overheard her, and immediately ran up to her, sucked on her cigarette, exhaled and yelled,

“What the fuck did you say? What the fuck did you say, you fat fucking whore?”

My friend, in complete shock, froze, while the little girl continued,

“Hey, bitch. My brother over there," motioning to a boy no older than 10, "he wants to know… how much… you’ll charge…to FUCK HIM!”

Terrified, my friend whirled around to get away from the little girl, and when she whipped around saw this haughtily elegant woman in a full sable coat, loaded down with shopping bags, step off the curb to signal a taxi, trip, and faceplant right on the street.

That was just too much, and my friend grabbed her companion and ran off, laughing hysterically.

The Wisdom of Good King Herod



I am officially an adult librarian, but when I float at other branches I often work in the children's room. After a really long shift, especially one that involves the after school rush, my nerves are shot and I have to go and get really drunk.



Oh, I exaggerate, but children can be trying under the best of circumstances, and many of our littlest patrons are unsupervised latchkey children who have been dumped off and do not want to be there at all. Children's internet computers have introduced a really unsavoury element and set of undesirable behaviors to the library, as well. I especially despise the hardcore game addicts who treat the library like their own personal arcade. Like all addicts, they will lie and cheat and do anything for their fix, and they treat me with maddening insolence when I call them on it. Sometimes these children will play games like Tetris for hours, and I fear that their hands will soon be crippled and gnarled from repetitive stress injuries because our computers are all ergonomic time bombs. I can count on one hand the times I've see a child use the internet computer for research or homework. Forget a porn filter, install game filters on these computers, please.



Home schooled children are a delightful exception, though. They are invariably the sweetest, most well mannered children I have ever encountered. They'll come skipping joyfully in, and without even glancing at the computers, head straight for books on Medieval castles or mummies or science experiments. They fill the room with their wonder and joyful enthusiasm to learn. They engage me in intelligent conversation, ask interesting questions, and are eager to impart and share some interesting fact about whatever topic they've been studying lately. When they visit the library they brighten my day and make me adore my job. I do worry, though, that their parents will tire of homeschooling or their circumstances will change somehow and the innocents will be sent off to public school, where they will be eaten alive.

The Wisdom of Good King Herod

I am officially an adult librarian, but when I float at other branches I often work in the children's room. After a really long shift, especially one that involves the after school rush, my nerves are shot and I have to go and get really drunk.

Oh, I exaggerate, but children can be trying under the best of circumstances, and many of our littlest patrons are unsupervised latchkey children who have been dumped off and do not want to be there at all. Children's internet computers have introduced a really unsavoury element and set of undesirable behaviors to the library, as well. I especially despise the hardcore game addicts who treat the library like their own personal arcade. Like all addicts, they will lie and cheat and do anything for their fix, and they treat me with maddening insolence when I call them on it. Sometimes these children will play games like Tetris for hours, and I fear that their hands will soon be crippled and gnarled from repetitive stress injuries because our computers are all ergonomic time bombs. I can count on one hand the times I've see a child use the internet computer for research or homework. Forget a porn filter, install game filters on these computers, please.

Home schooled children are a delightful exception, though. They are invariably the sweetest, most well mannered children I have ever encountered. They'll come skipping joyfully in, and without even glancing at the computers, head straight for books on Medieval castles or mummies or science experiments. They fill the room with their wonder and joyful enthusiasm to learn. They engage me in intelligent conversation, ask interesting questions, and are eager to impart and share some interesting fact about whatever topic they've been studying lately. When they visit the library they brighten my day and make me adore my job. I do worry, though, that their parents will tire of homeschooling or their circumstances will change somehow and the innocents will be sent off to public school, where they will be eaten alive.

We had some medical drama here yesterday at the branch. A young man who has been in here for the past few days, scruffy but certainly presentable by the low bar established by the kind of people who wander into this branch, fainted quietly on the little set of stairs leading up to the landing where the copy machine resides.



He had been making himself at home earlier that day, eating a sandwich and reading the paper at one of our tables in the back. When my manager told him that he couldn’t eat in the library he left but returned a short while later, queued up for the 15 minute express internet terminal, and then passed out. Maybe it was something he ate. When my manager couldn’t revive him we called 911. He was breathing and seemed like he was sleeping peacefully or had fallen into some state of suspended animation. Occasionally his hands and feet would twitch, like a dreaming dog. Or a pithed frog.



It made an interesting sociological study to observe how the other patrons reacted. One man seemed very put out that he had to squeeze by the unconscious man to get to the copy machine, like we were all inconveniencing him intentionally. The woman who was in line for the internet terminal seemed pleased that there was now one less person in front of her. Other people disappeared behind newspapers. One young man, probably a tourist, said excitedly,



“If he’s not breathing someone should give him mouth to mouth!”



Not to be insensitive to the man’s plight, but that sounded like a good way to get a mouthful of diseased vomit to me, and no one rushed forward to volunteer to give "the breath of life." Fortunately the man was breathing just fine so mouth to mouth was not necessary, and the EMTs arrived quickly to deal with the situation.



The man’s comment reminded me of the scene in Midnight Cowboy when innocent rube Joe Buck, fresh off the bus from small town Texas, is standing over the unconscious bum on the sidewalk of New York. He is absolutely dumbfounded that no one is rushing to the man’s aid and that people are callously stepping around the body. Unfortunately, Punky, Loretta, and their ilk have hardened most big city residents, destroying their Samaritan impulses and any willingness to get involved. Anyway, the EMTs could not revive him and wheeled him out on a stretcher to the awaiting ambulance. Unless the man returns we’ll never hear what was wrong with him or get any sort of closure, but I'm going to go ahead and dust off the plastic mouth shield from the first aid kit in case anything like this happens again soon.

We had some medical drama here yesterday at the branch. A young man who has been in here for the past few days, scruffy but certainly presentable by the low bar established by the kind of people who wander into this branch, fainted quietly on the little set of stairs leading up to the landing where the copy machine resides.

He had been making himself at home earlier that day, eating a sandwich and reading the paper at one of our tables in the back. When my manager told him that he couldn’t eat in the library he left but returned a short while later, queued up for the 15 minute express internet terminal, and then passed out. Maybe it was something he ate. When my manager couldn’t revive him we called 911. He was breathing and seemed like he was sleeping peacefully or had fallen into some state of suspended animation. Occasionally his hands and feet would twitch, like a dreaming dog. Or a pithed frog.

It made an interesting sociological study to observe how the other patrons reacted. One man seemed very put out that he had to squeeze by the unconscious man to get to the copy machine, like we were all inconveniencing him intentionally. The woman who was in line for the internet terminal seemed pleased that there was now one less person in front of her. Other people disappeared behind newspapers. One young man, probably a tourist, said excitedly,

“If he’s not breathing someone should give him mouth to mouth!”

Not to be insensitive to the man’s plight, but that sounded like a good way to get a mouthful of diseased vomit to me, and no one rushed forward to volunteer to give "the breath of life." Fortunately the man was breathing just fine so mouth to mouth was not necessary, and the EMTs arrived quickly to deal with the situation.

The man’s comment reminded me of the scene in Midnight Cowboy when innocent rube Joe Buck, fresh off the bus from small town Texas, is standing over the unconscious bum on the sidewalk of New York. He is absolutely dumbfounded that no one is rushing to the man’s aid and that people are callously stepping around the body. Unfortunately, Punky, Loretta, and their ilk have hardened most big city residents, destroying their Samaritan impulses and any willingness to get involved. Anyway, the EMTs could not revive him and wheeled him out on a stretcher to the awaiting ambulance. Unless the man returns we’ll never hear what was wrong with him or get any sort of closure, but I'm going to go ahead and dust off the plastic mouth shield from the first aid kit in case anything like this happens again soon.

Wedding Bells Ring for Punky



My manager was having coffee at a popular neighborhood café this morning when Punky the bike thief prison recidivist (see Jan 29th entry for more details) promenaded by with a woman about 30 years his senior on his arm. The woman he was squiring about had the sallow, sunken looks and jerky gait of a professional junkie, and despite the unusual heat was modestly attired in a baggy long sleeved shirt, probably to cover her track marks and abscesses. They stood before the outdoor tables for a moment until Punky's special lady friend announced loudly to no one in particular, “We just got married!”



After sharing their news, the happy couple headed off to the park, I'm sure to celebrate their union by getting loaded and doing various things that will fill tourists with revulsion and amazement that a city in America tolerates that sort of behavior in its public spaces. Punky and his gang probably also make the Chinese trying to do tai chi in the park actually pine for the totalitarian regime from which they immigrated. I imagine you don't see a lot of people in China carrying on like Punky does in the park.



Junkies are not known for their veracity, so I’m not sure if they really are married. I don't see how the junky lady ‘scored’ Punky anyway, since it as well known fact that he is a gay hustler. As I understood it, his homosexuality is genuine and not just opportunistic or for professional reasons or a prison survival strategy. So, I’m not sure what Punky is up to. I believe California is a state with conjugal visits, so maybe he is just planning ahead for some companionship the next time he’s in prison, which I predict will be very soon.



Speaking of suspicious marital arrangements, there is a group of semi-homeless derelict men who are regulars in the park who belong to an immigration scam ring. Every five years or so these guys are cleaned up by this consortium and sent over to China to marry some female Chinese nationals desperate and willing to pay a lot of money for US citizenship. To fill their end of the bargain, all the men have to do is stay in China for a few months and not marry again for 5 years, and they are paid $5000 for their trouble. My manager has spoken to one of the ‘grooms’ who confessed that consummating the marriage is not part of the deal. I’m sure that the Chinese women would sleep with a knife to ensure this if they were ever forced to share a room for appearances. Even though the standards of the ring are not high, there is no way Punky would be eligible because even the most burned out, apathetic, corrupt INS agent would not buy that he legitimately married one of these women.



Elizabeth is a little hurt that Punky chose this day to get married, because today is her birthday and now Punky has stolen away some of her attention that she deserves for her special day, so let us all give our best wishes to both Elizabeth and the newlyweds.



And no, I'm not sure where Punky is registered, but I'm sure that the liquor store that gives him credit on the corner would like a cash gift to offset his tab.

Wedding Bells Ring for Punky

My manager was having coffee at a popular neighborhood café this morning when Punky the bike thief prison recidivist (see Jan 29th entry for more details) promenaded by with a woman about 30 years his senior on his arm. The woman he was squiring about had the sallow, sunken looks and jerky gait of a professional junkie, and despite the unusual heat was modestly attired in a baggy long sleeved shirt, probably to cover her track marks and abscesses. They stood before the outdoor tables for a moment until Punky's special lady friend announced loudly to no one in particular, “We just got married!”

After sharing their news, the happy couple headed off to the park, I'm sure to celebrate their union by getting loaded and doing various things that will fill tourists with revulsion and amazement that a city in America tolerates that sort of behavior in its public spaces. Punky and his gang probably also make the Chinese trying to do tai chi in the park actually pine for the totalitarian regime from which they immigrated. I imagine you don't see a lot of people in China carrying on like Punky does in the park.

Junkies are not known for their veracity, so I’m not sure if they really are married. I don't see how the junky lady ‘scored’ Punky anyway, since it as well known fact that he is a gay hustler. As I understood it, his homosexuality is genuine and not just opportunistic or for professional reasons or a prison survival strategy. So, I’m not sure what Punky is up to. I believe California is a state with conjugal visits, so maybe he is just planning ahead for some companionship the next time he’s in prison, which I predict will be very soon.

Speaking of suspicious marital arrangements, there is a group of semi-homeless derelict men who are regulars in the park who belong to an immigration scam ring. Every five years or so these guys are cleaned up by this consortium and sent over to China to marry some female Chinese nationals desperate and willing to pay a lot of money for US citizenship. To fill their end of the bargain, all the men have to do is stay in China for a few months and not marry again for 5 years, and they are paid $5000 for their trouble. My manager has spoken to one of the ‘grooms’ who confessed that consummating the marriage is not part of the deal. I’m sure that the Chinese women would sleep with a knife to ensure this if they were ever forced to share a room for appearances. Even though the standards of the ring are not high, there is no way Punky would be eligible because even the most burned out, apathetic, corrupt INS agent would not buy that he legitimately married one of these women.

Elizabeth is a little hurt that Punky chose this day to get married, because today is her birthday and now Punky has stolen away some of her attention that she deserves for her special day, so let us all give our best wishes to both Elizabeth and the newlyweds.

And no, I'm not sure where Punky is registered, but I'm sure that the liquor store that gives him credit on the corner would like a cash gift to offset his tab.

The Passion of the Loretta

"Can a man not control his bitch with violence?"*



Today the Fiesty of Old Broad told me with rather unchristian gleeful malice that Loretta had been beaten and robbed, which might explain why she looked more forlorn than usual when I saw her outside the library this morning. The aggressor, a tall and skinny white guy who has been frequenting our internet computers lately, had insinuated himself into Loretta’s entourage last month. He courted her and pitched woo and bided his time until ‘payday’ (the first of the month when she receives her SSI check), when he viciously assaulted her and ran off not only with all of her cash but also her heart, like an especially cruel confidence man.



Her situation is almost just getting too sad to write about. The FOB told me that the reason Loretta has been on crutches for the past month is because one of her regular beaux stamped on her foot last month when she balked at giving him a cut of her SSI money. Her health is really taking a turn for the worse, because in addition to all of her other ailments she's drunk herself into diabetes. The diabetes has slowed circulation to her extremities, so her foot is not healing like it should, and I'm not optimistic about her being able to hang on to it.



She remains banished from the neighborhood homeless center, so March is going to be a long month for her. The weather is getting milder so she should be all right, but it looks like 2004 is not going to be Loretta's year.



*Ronnie Dobbs, the Musical

The Passion of the Loretta
"Can a man not control his bitch with violence?"*

Today the Fiesty of Old Broad told me with rather unchristian gleeful malice that Loretta had been beaten and robbed, which might explain why she looked more forlorn than usual when I saw her outside the library this morning. The aggressor, a tall and skinny white guy who has been frequenting our internet computers lately, had insinuated himself into Loretta’s entourage last month. He courted her and pitched woo and bided his time until ‘payday’ (the first of the month when she receives her SSI check), when he viciously assaulted her and ran off not only with all of her cash but also her heart, like an especially cruel confidence man.

Her situation is almost just getting too sad to write about. The FOB told me that the reason Loretta has been on crutches for the past month is because one of her regular beaux stamped on her foot last month when she balked at giving him a cut of her SSI money. Her health is really taking a turn for the worse, because in addition to all of her other ailments she's drunk herself into diabetes. The diabetes has slowed circulation to her extremities, so her foot is not healing like it should, and I'm not optimistic about her being able to hang on to it.

She remains banished from the neighborhood homeless center, so March is going to be a long month for her. The weather is getting milder so she should be all right, but it looks like 2004 is not going to be Loretta's year.

*Ronnie Dobbs, the Musical

Check out this superfan site. He has compiled a list of quotes from Loveline, a call in radio show for people who have questions about love and relationships. It is one of the most entertaining show I have ever listened to, mostly because of the lightning wit of host Adam Corolla and his perfect foil, Dr. Drew Pinsky, a medical doctor and addiction specialist.



After hanging up on a caller, "Ryan," because he seemed hopelessly stupid:

ADAM: You know, there are a few levels of retarded. There's, like, Level 1, and then there's the basement.

DREW: DefCon retarded?

ADAM: Right! DefCon retarded. In the event of some sort of retarded emergency, you crawl into Ryan. There, you'll withstand the bomb.



Talking to a caller about paganism:

CALLER: I'm a witch.

ADAM: Well, the real question is, how fat are you?



Talking to a female caller who began having sex with a guy when she was 13:

CALLER: I lost my virginity to him when I was 13.

ADAM: 13. And then you stopped having sex with him?

CALLER: Yeah. Because I got in a lot of trouble and ended up having to move away to Alaska.

DREW: Because of this guy.

CALLER: No, not because of him, just because I started sneaking out and stuff, and just getting in trouble. And my mom finally got tired of it, and she was like, "You need to go to Alaska." So I ended up just having to move away, I dunno.

DREW: Just picked Alaska from a map?

ADAM: Your mom just threw a dart at a map, and that's where you had to go?

CALLER: No. My aunt and my uncle live there.

ADAM: Listen, I'd be pissed if the trouble-making, whoring, young niece of mine was sent over to squat my frozen farm in Alaska.

CALLER: Whatever! I am not a whore!

ADAM: No, baby, I didn't mean that in a bad way.



To a 20-year-old guy who is having sex with a 15-year-old neighbor:

CALLER: SHE kept coming over to MY place.

ADAM: Listen, if her frisbee kept coming over the fence, would you start humping it?

CALLER: No.

ADAM: Stop having sex with her. Don't be an idiot.

DREW: (Sarcastically) But she keeps coming over!

CALLER: Yeah!

ADAM AND DREW: [sigh]

ADAM: Go kick your dad in the nuts for me, will you? Somehow he's failed you.



CALLER: I want to get my penis pierced.

ADAM: Are you into the Goth scene?

CALLER: Yeah.

ADAM: That means somebody molested you.



Talking to a caller named "Kresta":

ADAM: When somebody calls your name, or pages you in a restaurant, does it always come out sounding like "Krista"?

KRESTA: Yeah.

ADAM: Which is why you should go kick your mom in her fat ass.

Check out this superfan site. He has compiled a list of quotes from Loveline, a call in radio show for people who have questions about love and relationships. It is one of the most entertaining show I have ever listened to, mostly because of the lightning wit of host Adam Corolla and his perfect foil, Dr. Drew Pinsky, a medical doctor and addiction specialist.

After hanging up on a caller, "Ryan," because he seemed hopelessly stupid:
ADAM: You know, there are a few levels of retarded. There's, like, Level 1, and then there's the basement.
DREW: DefCon retarded?
ADAM: Right! DefCon retarded. In the event of some sort of retarded emergency, you crawl into Ryan. There, you'll withstand the bomb.

Talking to a caller about paganism:
CALLER: I'm a witch.
ADAM: Well, the real question is, how fat are you?

Talking to a female caller who began having sex with a guy when she was 13:
CALLER: I lost my virginity to him when I was 13.
ADAM: 13. And then you stopped having sex with him?
CALLER: Yeah. Because I got in a lot of trouble and ended up having to move away to Alaska.
DREW: Because of this guy.
CALLER: No, not because of him, just because I started sneaking out and stuff, and just getting in trouble. And my mom finally got tired of it, and she was like, "You need to go to Alaska." So I ended up just having to move away, I dunno.
DREW: Just picked Alaska from a map?
ADAM: Your mom just threw a dart at a map, and that's where you had to go?
CALLER: No. My aunt and my uncle live there.
ADAM: Listen, I'd be pissed if the trouble-making, whoring, young niece of mine was sent over to squat my frozen farm in Alaska.
CALLER: Whatever! I am not a whore!
ADAM: No, baby, I didn't mean that in a bad way.

To a 20-year-old guy who is having sex with a 15-year-old neighbor:
CALLER: SHE kept coming over to MY place.
ADAM: Listen, if her frisbee kept coming over the fence, would you start humping it?
CALLER: No.
ADAM: Stop having sex with her. Don't be an idiot.
DREW: (Sarcastically) But she keeps coming over!
CALLER: Yeah!
ADAM AND DREW: [sigh]
ADAM: Go kick your dad in the nuts for me, will you? Somehow he's failed you.

CALLER: I want to get my penis pierced.
ADAM: Are you into the Goth scene?
CALLER: Yeah.
ADAM: That means somebody molested you.

Talking to a caller named "Kresta":
ADAM: When somebody calls your name, or pages you in a restaurant, does it always come out sounding like "Krista"?
KRESTA: Yeah.
ADAM: Which is why you should go kick your mom in her fat ass.

Literary Feuds



In response to John's comment, here is a good and nasty exchange between Dominick Dunne and Gore Vidal, which Dunne wrote about in Vanity Fair. Vidal's comment to Dunne on class in America:



"Why do you suppose Irish Catholics are all such social climbers? Is it because their mothers were all maids? Oh, I don't mean you."

Literary Feuds

In response to John's comment, here is a good and nasty exchange between Dominick Dunne and Gore Vidal, which Dunne wrote about in Vanity Fair. Vidal's comment to Dunne on class in America:

"Why do you suppose Irish Catholics are all such social climbers? Is it because their mothers were all maids? Oh, I don't mean you."