Manhattan Offender

This Halloween give the kids poppers

Ghosts of Halloweens past: 1978

Evansville, Indiana 
1978

The social pecking order was decided and on a daily basis reinforced in one place during fourth grade.  The two most popular kids in the grade were in charge of the lunchtime ritual (regardless of whether they were in Mrs. Johnson's or Mr. Stone's homeroom).  From the decisions made by those two most popular, the next popular in rank were also evident.  Each day at noon the order was decided during the picking of teams for the daily football game.

Two grades previous, my rank as the newest kid at Perry Heights elementary was near the bottom for the first month, but over time the miracle of genetics had me not only as the tallest in class, but one the earliest picks as well.  Within the top third of picks my place was reinforced daily as "above averagely popular".  There my position would stay as the tallest, strongest and fastest (although not necessarily very good and thus never being one to pick teams).

In late summer of 1978, just before the start of fourth grade, the Tomlin family moved in across the street with an total of three children, the oldest of whom, Jay, would be in my grade (though in Mr. Stone's group and not with me in the far hipper because she was African-American and thus very interesting Mrs. Johnson's). 

Jay was a natural athlete and due to socialization during Little League that summer entered the school year immediately popular.  So popular in fact that within two weeks he was regularly chosen to pick a team, replacing the long tenure of Amy Braun who over the summer had become 'girly'.  On Jay's coattails I too rose in the ranks, becoming the first round draft pick.

Be it complacency to my place in the order or simply a self-awareness that my football ability was just slightly above mediocre, my new rank confused me.  So one mid-October Saturday afternoon while exploring the woods behind the Tomlin house my curiosity became conversation. 

Jay's words stuck with me:  "Rod, you're fast and you can catch.  If you believed in yourself more you'd be a great player."  It was then that I decided that football was awesome, Jay was awesome, and maybe I could be awesome too.

We would practice plays every day and argue about his Dallas Cowboys and my Denver Broncos.  We also did some studying together and terrorized some of the neighbors as a team.  On Halloween we had a course set out so that we could hit all of the houses we knew would be providing well based on my foreknowledge of the neighborhood.

MOcabulary

[mid-ling]
verb

• sleeping between two people in a non-sexual manner.  (well, maybe semi-sexual but that's not the point.)
• common activity of "affection vampyres"
• I went over to Jake and Sergio's last night and ended up middling them.

[dey-lahy-tid]
adjective

• to receive the surprise of bright sunlight upon exiting a dark environment
• to think it's night and be surprised that it, in fact, is morning
• to go out at night without sunglasses and find oneself blinded upon exiting a venue or home
• When Sergio's roommate came home, he threw a lifelike hissy and threw us out of the apartment.  We were so daylighted.

[pohst-pop]
adjective

• state of freedom felt when the moral disambiguity is reached and you realize that you could not give two shits about Jessica Simpson, Kevin Federline, or Billy Bush
• making of purchase decision based upon quality rather than marketing
• My postpop life of happiness began when I cancelled my subscription to People.

 

Madoprah

Taking the picture away from the story, here's what a re-interpretation:

Oprah:  Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?
Madonna:  I am.
O:  Madonna?
M:  Hi, Oprah!
O:  What are you doing in my mirror?
M:  You asked for the fairest and here I am.  I'm all about tolerance,world peace and cultural hegemony.
O:  I was more going for fair as in beautiful.
M:  Lucky you!  Here I am!
O:  Wait.  I borrowed this self-affirmation mirror from my good friend John Travolta.  I don't underst...
M:  I'm quite self-affirmed.
O:  [flustered] Get out of my self-affirmation!  Do you ...  Do you even know what hegemony means?
M:  What does it matter?  I pronounce it beautifully.

... and scene.

(I originally posted the above as a comment on Gawker, but it seemed good enough to stand on its own.  Granted Gawker probably owns said comment now and will probably sue me.  Since my only investment over the years has been Helmut Lang clothing, here's hoping that someone there is a 42 chest and 31 waist.)

Phone-cam quickie: Keeping appearances

There is a certain irony that someone cares so much about their personal appearance that they will go to the extreme of doing a complete personal makeover on the subway.  Between my entrance to the 6 train at 59th and my exit at 28th, the following occurred:

• The subject gave herself a vigorous facial massage, pulling and tugging her skin in an effort to perhaps invigorate the skin cells.
• Foundation and concealer were applied.  (She missed a spot on her forehead by the way.)
• Lip color was applied during a time when someone stood between us.  The lips went from pale to vivid while at Grand Central.
• The final part of the routine involved pointing an eye pencil directly at each eye on the lurching train.  This is perhaps as logical as trimming one's nose hairs with scissors on a train.  Or trimming one's pubic hair with a machete on a train.
• Throughout the transformation process her face contorted in a myriad of expressions to ensure that the applied cosmetics were appropriate from ecstatic happiness to coquettish shyness to serious businesswomanliness.

So in order to keep an impressive impression throughout the day, she abandoned all propriety in public.  Can someone explain the logic?

Non-squitor:
A school bus song from many moons ago:

Stick your finger in your eye, in your eye!
Stick your finger in your eye, in your eye!
Stick your finger in your eye,
And prove that you are blind,
Stick your finger in your eye, in your eye!

Lessons learned at Big Lug

Lessons learned at the opening party for Big Lug:

1. If you think you are Clark Kent and you think your little buddy is Jimmy Olsen, you will be surprised when Jimmy takes your camera and proceeds not to take pictures of the party but instead take pictures of mostly himself.
2. Lois Lane will always surprise you.
3. Don't tell Perry White your secrets.  He will write about them.
4. The Daily Planet will remain busy and will in fact be even busier long after open bar.
5. Miller Light is Clark Kent's kryptonite.
6. Clark should never file a story after massive repetitive exposures to kryptonite.

After the jump, pictures of Perry, Clark, Lois and way too many pictures of Jimmy Olsen.  (Oh, and Streaky the Super-Cat, too!)  Really, there would have been more and better pictures if it weren't for the kryptonite.  Follow the links to Jimmy and Perry for more and better pictures!  Clark Kent is going to sleep now ...

Ich denke nicht, daß ich ein hoody in meinem Haus tragen müssen sollte

From nyc.gov:

Heat Season Began Oct. 1
During Heat Season building owners must maintain hot water year round and adequate heat when the outdoor temperature falls below 55° between 6 am and 10 pm and 40° between 10 pm and 6 am. 

The heat in the bedroom is slightly emanating some warmth.  Nothing in the living room.   The pipe in the bathroom that provides that several-times-per-heat-season burn on the usually left but sometimes right buttock is cold.

So I'm just chilling in my hoody.  And my guitar is out of tune.

'Brooklyn' Pizza as seen through Michigan eyes

The commercial has the look of a Spike Lee movie without the style or intelligence of a Spike Lee movie.  The assortment of colorful characters are there.  A Russian cab driver and his sassy passenger.  An Italian woman yelling out her tenement window.  An African-American man that cannot be heard over his boom box.  The scenery is correct as well with a public park, street scene and tenement-style building.  In all though, the Brooklyn feel is more CBS sitcom than Spike Lee by a mile.

This new commercial from Ann Arbor-based Domino's advertises a new style of pizza.  The Brooklyn Pizza appears to be a thin-crust pizza with a brickoven look to it.  Closeup images in the commercial however show a shiny greasy veneer that one would expect from Domino's. 

Unfortunately the Brooklyn Pizza ad hasn't found its way to YouTube or Google Video.  The pizza itself isn't even mentioned on the Domino's website.  And I'm not invested in this enough to actually call Domino's and order said pizza, not to eat it, just to take a picture of it.  (Add the above to the fact that Domino's is a big contributor to the Republican Party.)  So let's just put it out there without evidence; the Brooklyn Pizza (probably/most likely/undoubtedly) sucks.

Meanwhile, here's an ad for Domino's in Egypt where a man threatens to kill his daughter and wife!  Bon appetit!

P.S.  If you really want good pizza in Brooklyn, Brick Oven Gallery is amazing.  A somewhat dowdy decor hides some the freshest, delicious pizza ever!

Monday Madness: Wonder D'Onofrio

Why was I googling Vincent D'Onofrio?  Because he is perhaps the template, looks-wise, of what is perfect in a man.  And if you happen to know a gay version of him, be sure to give him my contact info.

Why did this image come up in my search?  I don't know.  In fact, I don't want to know.  It's madness.

Opening lines: Two rich or two thin

Number three in a series of beginnings of short stories/novels that may never actually be written:

Pastel greens, oranges, and yellows of the fruit salad offend me.  Surely this is the easiest item in the store to consume, but it doesn't appeal to me.  I really need something to appeal to me.  It's definitely Sunday evening and that means my last meal was about 36 hours ago. 

If I don't eat then my body will start storing fat, if it hasn't started already.  Duke's mantra is ringing in my head:  "There's nothing sadder than a fat junkie."  Force myself to eat and then take an Ambien and then get to the gym tomorrow by seven.  My life is killing me.

But my focus needs to be on the produce aisle right now.  Neurons are crying out for more chemicals.  Cocaine, cigarettes, Cheet-ohs.  That's the bad thing about coming down.  The choices suddenly aren't clear and easy choices are most appealing.  The fruit salad is not appealing, but this hot man with a cart full of food suddenly walking toward me and staring me down is appealing.

My self-imposed rule about boys in the neighborhood is to avoid them at all cost based on my history of meeting manics on ManHunt.  There are exceptions to every rule and these hazel eyes are rule-breakers.  They stare me down as he approaches and then suddenly turn to red seedless grapes.  He makes a selection and then turns to the next aisle, looking back at the last possible moment.

Now my time at Grocery-opolis is extended.  I'm lifting cans, reading labels, poking loaves of bread, and mostly timing myself to see this guy every third aisle.

Then it occurs to me.  Is he looking at me in interest or is it because I'm wearing sunglasses past sundown while staring at the staggering varieties of LaYogurt?