Classic NYC Story

A poem about perpetual motion

I have just been over at the Fish Bowl and it must have been my lucky day because I won an award! Yay! Well… he passed this award along to all of his readers which included me at just that moment, and so I’m going to accept it gracefully and without question, and in kind pass it along to all of my readers.

I attempted to leave the house today. I promise that I did. I got all showered and dressed and everything… but after missing two trains I’m starting to think that the universe wants me to stay in my borough today. So now here I am, sipping on a ginger-and-cinnamon brandy alexander and eating some black cake I got from the Jamaican store down the street with money I really had no cause to be spending. Fuck it, my family will be home soon and I choose to enjoy this moment.

While I was singing, a gentleman (most probably more drunk than I) approached the stage and stood inches from my face to call-and-response the lyrics: “How sweet is he, baby? How sweet is he? Talk about your sugar!” So I looked him in his eyes and sang it to him as though he were my ex-husband… as though he were my husband. I got just a little bit dirty. I growled just a little bit. “Like sugar and spice and everything nice, he’s sugar to me…”

I passed by the old man in Times Square. I knew he would be there; that’s why I went. I dropped my scarf into his instrument case as I walked by. I thought it was funny. When I came back for my scarf a few minutes later, there was money in the case. My scarf brought him good luck, he said.

Written while watching the Union Square artists finish up the last of their various art sales and pack up slowly to leave

I hate it like I hate chauvinism. I hate it like I hate racism. I hate it like I hate looking at pictures of the holocaust. I hate it like I hate police corruption. I hate it like I hated the Bush administration. I hate it more than I hate my mother, more than I hate disrespectful men, more than I hate bad music, more than I hate Boston sports teams…

A few video excerpts from Make Music New York, which was a day long music festival on the first official day of summer (which was yesterday). I didn’t see all of these shows… I can’t be in that many places at once. Thank you, youtube!

Inspired by a bass player I heard yesterday who was damn good.

I have never in my life told a man there was a possibility of sex or a deeper relationship when that possibility did not at least minutely exist. Once I have told a man in no uncertain terms that I. Am. Not. Going. Home. With. You… if he still desires the privilege of spending money on my pleasure, I would be a fool to decline. But that doesn’t mean that I’ve changed my mind about going home with him.