Manhattan Offender

Christmas Memory Project III

The meal had been delicious, and we all eagerly awaited dessert.  Grandma's cream pies had always been the highlight of a holiday dinner.  Granted, she had abandoned the more arduous meringue and whipped cream toppings for the simplicity of Cool Whip

™ a while back, but it didn't take away from the perfect melding of richness with sweet always found inside. 

From the first bite of the chocolate cream pie, we noticed something was not right.  While the flavor was off, we couldn't place this overpowering sharp taste that had replaced the velvety chocolate taste.  Still, we ate every bite out of politeness and said nothing.  Her suspicions were instantly in play when no seconds were requested.  Grabbing a slice for herself, she spit it out at the first bite. 

Her Appalachian twang asked an unknowing crowd, "What the hell is wrong with this pie?"  Going to her dry goods cabinet, she noted that the cocoa powder was not up in front; in the place where something recently used would and should be was cinnamon.  While we shared a quick laugh, you could see in Grandma's face a loss of confidence and the fear of an aging mind.

If you've been looking all over for that perfect holiday gift, worry not, Christonaut, you don't have to make your own Naked Clown Calendar because you can just buy one, on the Internets.

Wonkette : Wonkette’s 2008 War On Xmas Gift Guide.

Christmas Memory Project II

It was the first Christmas in the "suburban" house with the huge woods out back.  The assortment of presents that year all received lots of attention, except one.  In its plastic yellow case, the neglected one confused me, but I could tell from the attention he was giving it that the Erector Set was specifically from Dad.  Requiring planning and patience, needing screws and nuts and tools to fasten it's disparate parts, and resulting in a skeletal structure, The Erector Set was unlike its main competition for my attention.  The Legos snapped right together with little thought to form bright colorful follies.  Dad's frustration was evident though, so I took time to play with him and the little metal beams and pulleys, even though my heart wasn't in it.  In time he realized my disinterest and left me to my own devices, realizing that in getting a gift with which we could bond, he only pointed out the differences between us.

Past, Over - When sex clubs were landmarks

Sometimes I receive telephone calls from The Past, a mysterious entity that remembers where things used to be in New York before Starbucks and Whole Foods came to town.  Originally posted at Gawker, May 3, 2007.

"Hello?"

"Aw, lickylobes, you poor thing."

"Poor thing?"

"Don't be sensitive. Then again, I guess I understand. Everything flavorful in the city seems to have become milquetoast. Anything of consequence destroyed."

"You're exaggerating. There are still plenty of substantial landmarks."

"Oh! You just said the key word. I think there is one particular place from my time that must still be open."

"Okay, I'm game. What was the key word? Exaggerating?"

"No, taint-tickler—'Landmark.' On the corner of Hudson and Christopher! It's the Gay Landmark Bookstore."

Christmas Memory Project I

The year I decided I didn't believe in Santa anymore, my dad had one of his coworkers come to our house on Tremont Road dressed as Santa where I spilled on everything I wanted. The Big Jim Sports Camper was one of those things. Come Xmas morning it was under the tree, unwrapped and laid out as as seen in the picture. I was six years old and totally believed in Santa Claus for the very last time.

Question of the day

Does watching/listening two pigeons fucking make me a pervert?

Retail activism

In the manner that PETA activists throw blood on fur-wearing fashionistas, now is the time to throw twigs at noncanvas bag-bearing shoppers.

Gay panic hits Manhattan as the annual Toys for Tots benefit sells out (before I got tickets either)

The word started spreading via Facebook status alerts late yesterday.  Paul, Eric, Corey, Adam and all the other gays started to cry out for tickets.  Then the emails started coming, sounding as beneficial junkies craving charity fixes.  Come Sunday, one can expect the Metropolitan Pavilion to surrounded by gin-deprived gays, Oozinators in hand, tears in eyes.

Post-jump, that "Ten Toys That Made You Gay" video that was so popular last spring.

Status

Rod is the bicycle in the garage that you're not allowed to ride because grandma is here and you have to "visit with her".

Subconjunctioned tone piece I

Laughing out loud is so not my style, but Thirty Rock was just doing it for me tonight, granted it's been a long week with seeing friends every night and the general pickup in preholiday socializing so it's right here on the tired side that is catching the light of the television glare and sort of just feeling the Liz Lemon vibe, which is the popular answer, but actually it's more of the Jack thing looking at these folks in Middle Wheremerica and seeing them with their boats and their houses and their ownership and thinking wow that would be a great freaking life but then doing the whole, "Hey, that's a life, but is it living?" and so you run off the stage, throwing the mike to the ground and saying the name of your town the way that only those of us who do can.