ם Things I Saw Today…
A topless, obese woman in a wheelchair being pulled down the street by an out-of-control German Shepherd.
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ם Things I Saw Today…
So I was walking home through the park, when suddenly I get passed by a nun (in complete stereotypical nun attire) sprinting at full tilt.
After I got home, I realized I forgot to stop at the hardware store, so I went back out, only to get passed again right outside of my building by the selfsame nun still running full speed.
ם Things I Saw Today…
A crazy guy getting into a fight with a fire hydrant. It was a physical fight, not a verbal one.
ם Things I Saw Today…
In one of my classes, the same kid always sits in front of me. We’ve only had the class three times so far, and:
- Day 1: He’s eating a banana, but has this strange wrist-flipping technique that un- and re-sheathes the banana in its own peel between bites. A little strange, but nothing to comment on. Until…
- Day 2: He’s eating an orange. Okay, so he likes fruit. No big deal—but what’s this? Hmm… he’s not sectioning the orange and eating it like, well, an orange. No, instead he’s eating it like an apple, taking direct bites right out of the side. Weird.
- Day 3: Today, he’s got an apple. But does he eat it like an apple? Of course not! No, instead, he’s peeling it with his fingers as if it were an orange.
Seriously, what gives?
ם Things I Saw Today…
- Two police officers with an untwisted wire hanger trying to break into their own squad car that they had locked themselves out of.
- Two construction workers swordfighting with rebar.
ם I’m Back
Hi there. It’s me again.
Sorry for the extended absence. In the viciously fought battle for my attention, New York City in the summer has been defeating the Internet hands down. My sincerest apologies.
The good news: after two months of searching (including five days of homelessness), I found an apartment! It’s much bigger than the picture lets on, and it now has significantly more furniture. And the location is downright fantastic, so I think the two month search was worth it. The jury’s still out on whether the hefty broker’s fee was worth it. Eeeesh.
Also, Jimi Hendrix used to live in my building, so that’s pretty neat.
Moving on, you know when you’re watching Law & Order, and Jerry Orbach knocks on some apartment door or stops some random dog walker, holds up a mugshot, and asks him if he’s seen the guy? And the tenant/dogwalker/shopkeeper/underpaid extra invariably answers something like, “Oh yeah, I know the guy. He owns a bakery down on 51st and 10th.” Preferably he’s a walking stereotype, sporting a thick Brooklyn accent and doing something like carrying a crate of oranges from a delivery truck down to a basement wearing fingerless gloves. Then Jesse L. Martin writes down something in his little police notebook thingy, and Jerry Orbach makes some kind of lame, could-only-be-delivered-by-Lennie-Briscoe joke like “his pastries are going to be stale tomorrow” or some pun about how “soon he’ll have a lot less dough”. Then the screen fades to black (dæung dæung!), and we never see our friend the extra again.
Well, after three years of living in New York, I finally got to be the real-life equivalent of that guy.
I was at home, just putzing around my apartment about to head out the door, when my buzzer rings. “NYPD! Buzz us up or come downstairs.” Now, I’m not one to just buzz up anyone, so I head down. Through the glass I see two detectives (one of whom was wearing an unexpectedly-powder-blue bulletproof vest); they flash some badges and I open the door. Out comes the mugshot of a 50–60ish year old woman.
Him: You even seen this woman before?
Me: Oh yeah, I know the guy. He owns a bakery down on 51st and 10th. Um… no?
Blah blah blah, they ask me some more questions. Turns out the woman did something-or-other, is out on parole now, and the address she gave the po-po was my address. I tell them I’ve never seen her before, and no one lives in the building who looks remotely like her. (The shopkeeper next door chimed in at this point to say that he’s never seen her either, which actually carries a lot of weight, because he just sits out on the sidewalk in front of my building on a stool roughly 28 hours a day. He’s also very tall, but that’s a story for another time.) Anyway, satisfied with my answers, out comes the little police notebook thingy, and they take down my name, phone number, address, date of birth, shoe size, favorite movie, blood type (O+), GPA, fondest childhood memory, etc. Then they hopped in their unmarked car and took off. Dæung dæung! [Fade to black.]
There was unfortunately no Lennie Briscoe-esque quip.
ם The Fall of the Spice Girls
A text message recently sent from my phone, taken out of context:
baby spice should have had a stronger immune system
Discuss amongst yourselves.
ם Things I Saw Today…
Two men having a conversation in Spanish. The taller one delivered his dialog in speech, as expected, but the shorter one carried out his entire half in song.
I wish I knew what they were talking/singing about.
ם The Strangest Request His Dealer Ever Heard
Keith Richards, apparently having run out of new things to snort, did a line of his cremated father’s ashes.
He once snorted the remains of his own dad, Bert, leavened with a bit of cocaine to make it go down easier. “He was cremated and I couldn’t resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow. My dad wouldn’t have cared … It went down pretty well, and I’m still alive,” says Keith.
What a character.