Every summer it's the same thing: sacrifice one activity for another. BBQ or beach? Biking or beer? Boy or boys? The choices are everywhere, and confounding. For the past three weeks, the choice has been "____________ or blog?" with _____________ typically winning. This leaves stories untold, pictures unposted, and readers, well, gone!
The problem is partly a loss of direction. What is "Manhattan Offender"? Or more so, what should it be? I'm not vain enough to think the details of my life are interesting, yet knowledgeable enough to know that the little stories are often the best. While it's easy to regurgitate things found elsewhere and just sprinkle in your own occasional point of view, is that enough to sustain a readership? Answer: it totally is.
So, away we go with MOv8.3 or something like that. Let's get started ...
Winter doldrums had me tired of looking at the same things in the same places, so it was time to switch some things and freshen things up in the apartment, yet not break the bank. Following is the breakdown.
Heavy Duty Steel Shelving Home Depot - $263.91 (for three) In combination they take up what was an underused desk space (moved to the bedroom) Books and magazines moved from multiple locations to one. Lights at the top of the shelves and smaller lamps on shelves prevent it from becoming a dark monolith. (Delivery was arranged with a man in a van in the store parking lot, less than half of the in-store service and far more timely.)
Angry wife chair (vintage) The Furniture Market (Astoria) - $90 Facing directly to the front door, this leather chair was made by an H. Frank company on Park Avenue South, probably in the mid-1960's. My vision is of an angry wife sitting in it at five in the morning, greeting a drunken husband with an icy stare.
Danish credenza (vintage) The Furniture Market - $250 While definitely Danish (with the right markings) the wood is a faux-teak that I can't place. It hides away all components and all porn. There are still some wire management issues, but for the price it's a bargain.
MO: Just use a number two all over, then blend the beard a little. Barber: And the mustache too, yes? MO: No just bring the sides of the beard down to better match through the sideburns and up to the hair. Barber: Okay, but I can do the mustache for you. MO: No, really, I like it the way it is. Barber: It's very full. MO: Yeah, I like it that way. time passes. hair flies. Barber: So I'm just doing the sides of the beard? MO: Evactly. Barber: But the mustache is so full. MO: Because it looks good that way. Barber: Actually, with your hair cut now. I see it. It suits your profile. time passes. beard trimmed. money exchanged. MO: Eid Mubarrak! Barber: What? MO: Oh, sorry, I thought you were speaking arabic. Barber: No. I'm russian. Do I look like an arab? MO: I have egyptian friends with blonde hair and blue eyes. I thought you were speaking arabic. Barber: No. That's my fault; I was mumbling. But what did you say? MO: Eid Mubarrak, it means happy holidays. Barber: Happy holidays to you too, man.
Going back to sixth or seventh grade, there was a competitive feeling amongst the guys regarding the development of facial hair. Some claimed to have developed early and would talk about shaving but you could see no indication on their faces. Others would brush the subject off and say they were glad they didn't need to shave, which was a complete lie as everyone wanted to have facial hair. In fact, some of those whose claim of shaving made little sense when observed in the post-gym shower, not that I was looking, but I was.
As the first glint of peach fuzz developed in the sideburn area and upper lip, there was a determination to be among the shavers. The problem was that there were no books on the subject and it seemed embarrassing to ask my father how to go about the process. As my parents left one Saturday morning for a boating excursion (common during the summers when you grow up on a river), I stayed behind and decided that would be the day that I would become a shaver.
The process involved first trying to figure out how the razor worked. My father sported a full beard throughout most of his adult life and rarely shaved. The safety razor he used seemed to possess strange mechanical properties and to not possess a blade. Finding and applying the blade, there still seemed to be something amiss as nothing was being removed.
Having the shaving cream shoveled off with the (probably with the blade facing the wrong way) safety razor, my face still was covered with glistening peach fuzz which at a distance of one foot from the mirror was so very obvious. The next thing to catch my eye was a blue Gillette Good News. (For comedic effect a round pink Daisy razor was almost put in here, but that would be a lie.)
The blue agent of death was not only successful in removing the peach fuzz but also resulted in at least twenty cuts all over my face. With fault being more in my lack of knowledge than in the razor, just as Jack Tripper would have done in Three's Company, tiny pieces of tissue were applied to the assorted cuts, creating a bit of a papier mache beard of their own.
Shaving has never become something enjoyed. It was merely something that was supposed to be done. Years of sustained scruffage resulted in conversations regarding the professionalism of being scruffy, resulting in a well-shaved face for several years. Which was misinformed, really. The look now is sometimes beardy and, more recently, a scruffystache - sort of a trimmed down beard with a mustache. The beard left unfettered can get a bit amishy but the scruffystache affords the tactility of facial hair and the lines of the beard. Plus the ability to store extra liquids in the mustache section is always useful on a hot day.
Losing your wallet is easy, but doing it properly requires some effort.
Reject current fashions. By rejecting the current deep pocket of the popular, yet unflattering, baggy cargo shorts, you can more easily have the wallet slide out of the shallow, yet slimming pockets.
Planning is everything. By losing your wallet at the beginning of Saturday, on the way to meet some friends on Long Island a
nd later Fire Island, you can totally maximize the impact of the loss. Additionally, banks and lost and found departments are closed on the weekends so you can ensure your paralysis until Monday.
Ride public transportation. Riding the subway and sitting in the comfortable seats is a great way to nudge your wallet out of your pocket. Be sure not to check your pocket until you are well out of the station. When you tell the booth attendant of your loss, they will let you back into the station, but your train will be long gone. Dejectedly ride back home, and re-plan your entire weekend.
Make the necessary calls.
In your rush to cancel your credit cards, be sure to call 800-555-1212 to get the numbers that you need. Don't worry about writing down the numbers, just do it from memory. And once you've called American Express (800-528-4800) and you've fully explained your situation to the friendly voice that answered the phone, don't buy their whole line of "Sir, this is 'Feed The Children (800-528-4820)'." They're just playing with you.
Realize who is profitting off of you. American Express will rush a card out with a UPS shipment of your card to your office for Monday arrival. Citibank, where your debit card is held, doesn't promise anything until at least seven business days, although you can go to the branch, which is closed because it's the weekend.
The mayor should know about it. Call 311. They're really the nicest, most compassionate people in your life at the moment. Make a note to meet and date a 3-1-1 operator. Especially the one that took your call with that amazing voice and a desire to take care of all your troubles. Avoid the temptation to say, "Thanks, daddy" when the call is near it's end.
Remember that Peter Kalikow runs an antiquated system. Once 311 gives you the number of the lost and found for the MTA (212-712-4500), expect nothing once you can call them. (They're not open on the weekends.) Reject the impulse to be be nasty or sassy when you call on Monday to learn that items lost over the past weekend will not be "in the system" for at least another week. Accept the fact that the woman on the other end of the line has a full schedule of disappointing for the day and that you are keeping someone else from their disappointment by delaying her.
Get the word out. Measure your friendships by those who automatically reach in their pocket and offer you cash, food, drink, other consumables and/or sex versus those that offer you mere condolences. Add this information to your ManHunt profile.
Luxuriate. Chances are that your wallet will come back to you in the mail within a week or so, probably without any cash in it, but back nonetheless. This is your chance to have a weekend sitting back, enjoying video-on-demand, and partaking in the kindness of friends and strangers.
The awesome quality of a beard to catch and retain chin sweat was finally enough to entice action. With beard trimmer in hand, the beard was hacked away after being thoroughly dried. Not being a precise manscaper, the handlebar was chosen as it requires less skill than the formation of a mustache. And scruff was maintained for friction.
Just because you're single now does not mean that this can become one of those "gay man as Carrie Bradshaw" type sites. The world does not need any more of those. And you're more the Samantha type anyway.
With every annual visit to the doctor there comes a recommendation of "you should start taking (insert name of supplement here) once a day. Currently my array of GNC Mega-Man B++, Fish Oil, generic aspirin, and ginseng provides the choice of either displaying several huge plastic bottles of vitamins or tuck those bottles away and, without a doubt, forget to take the meds.
Thinking back to old apothecary shops the idea of featuring the pills and tossing the bottles seemed like a solution. Decorative pills. Hot. The only problem now is that the pills are lackluster in color. Maybe my doctor could prescribe some pretty blue xanax to improve the color scheme?
