A day ago I had a dream that I was in a bookstore with a whole bunch of white people from PBS programs studio audiences. I don't know why my subconscious pays attention to the audiences on the public television network but there ya go. They were an friendly bunch. They were having wine and mingling--it seemed to be a book party. A lot of 30-something publishing and banking Manhattanites. The women were laughing heartily; twirling straight black shoulder-length hair with their fingers. Coquettish eyes, inviting body language--I'm telling you the husband hunters were on the offensive. The bookstore was sort of cramped. I busied myself checking out books on a shelf while I'm waited for the author to sign my copy. Uruguayan author Eduardo Galeano is hanging out by a book island in the middle of the store. He was listless. Flipping boredom through a hardback on the table. He gave me directions on how to exit the store and visit the rest of the town. The part of Washington D.C. that wasn't talked about, he whispered to me.
Outside the store, the town resembled Port-Au-Prince more than Pennsylvania Ave. I decided to take a short jaunt through the nearly-deserted tropical town.
On my walk, I saw a lot of street children and starving cats and dogs. Every so often a mom would yell out of a window for a kid to go inside the house--lots of yelling, lots of hostility and stress in their interactions. There was a black woman dressed in a lobster costume shimmying and shaking beside two men wearing glittery tuxedo/cumberbun costumes. The men played the guitar and maraca respectively as a line of outdoor restaurant tables filled with tourists ate their surf-n-turf meals. The diners hardly noticed the troupe. It was a pathetic sight. Even though I walked down a straight boulevard, I got lost on the way back. There weren't street signs, names, or numbers. I kept asking locals but they quickly grew frustrated with me because I didn't see the directional logic in their system. Finally I started counting down the house until I found the mall/center place where the store was located.
Inside, I freaked out because I noticed that growths, like the kind that spud from old potatoes but in a Sour Punch green apple shade were sticking out of my left wrist. I start asking people at the party what they were. Only one woman turned around and answered. The rest brushed off the growths as if it were as common as dandruff or a hangnail. She said, "Ooh, don't worry. It's fine. It's nothing." Then Galeano, in a heavy-accented English, said "D'own wori. It's, it's your roots." Then I just stood there. Dumbfounded. Staring at this thing that didn't hurt but was freakin' me.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Monday, September 04, 2006
Sexed-up Sin City swap
Last week, I borrowed some movies from the Mid-Manhattan library: A Place in the Sun (very good b&w Liz Taylor 1950s flick), American Graffiti (so-so), Sin City, and I don't remember the other (ha, must've not been so good).
So I go at the last hour after having my usual bouts of 'should I go, should I not.' I think I had a book due so I thought I ought to be responsible and every cent does count these days. Anyhow, I take Andiamo with me (in his doggybag not just in my bookbag as I've also done). But turned out to not be enough to get him into the library, cuz the security dude said his boss would yell at him. So here I am, at the corner of 40th & 5th on a Friday, an hour until closing (okay, granted it's open on Saturdays) and no possible mode of entry. I mean, who was I going to leave him with, the handbag seller? Andiamo would get trampled in the crowd of cheap tourists and poor secretaries. Or I'd get sued because he'd bitten one of them in the heel. So I chose to tie him to the street sign that's visible through the library's windows. And, in the guard's line of vision who I asked to keep an eye on him.
Okay so I go in. Dash to the express reserves picked up some books, went to the movie section, didn't even bother to go to the DVDs, I mean I JUST turned 25 I don't have a death wish. Meanwhile the announcers counting down the minutes until closing. Not having enough time to peruse, I grab recognizable titles (hence my choices) and making sure to visit the rolling cart because I figure if they've been borrowed then they must be good or at least interesting. Plus, I have this thing about viewing classics and other universally-known and -mentioned movies. I really like knowing what the references are when they're mentioned in books, the media, etc. Like when someone says 'oh wow, that was a real Sophie's Choice-type of decision' I like knowing what that means. (BTW, Sophie's Choice is about a Holocaust survivor who's haunted by choosing between her children when a Nazi threatened to shoot all of them. Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline are excellent in it.) Haul ass to the line (mind you my vicious poodle tied up outside), as I stood on line I glance at the new non-fictions and picked up the latest Deepak Chopra and Wayne Dyer titles.
As I wait until it's my turn to checkout my treasures--the library is my Bloomingdales or literary candystore--I see about five women (yentas, really) surrounding my poor little freaked out Andiamo. They're looking around and working themselves up. One of them has her cell in her hand, by that time, I'm able to knock on the window and motion to her that he's mine. In her exasperated voice and exagerated affect, she yells 'then geeet out hee-ah.' But I'm on the bag check line with about five people ahead of me.
The exit guard approved of my choices particularly Sin City and Matchstick Men. Matchstick Men with Nicholas Cage--that was the fourth one. And it was good btw. It had one of those Usual Suspects sort-of endings (see I do it too, lol. ) which I should seen coming considering the premise of the movie. I won't spoil it but, Cage plays a con artist with OCD that meets his teenage daughter and teaches her some of his cons.
I thank him for his approval and chalked it up to small talk, maybe a little flirting, or, from what I gather boys really dig Sin City with all of its comic book-ness, violence, and special effects. So I don't think anything of it and brace myself for the hens to ambush me. They yell at me, attacked me w/ hypotheticals like he could been hit by a car (which would be impossible unless someone runs over the entire block and I think Andi would be of minor importance in that situation); he could've been stolen, he could've bitten someone, they would've called the police if they hadn't seen me, he could've appeared on an Al Qaeda video...everything. And then they point to him saying he's all anxious because of being left alone, yada yada yada when in reality it's due to everyone causing this big commotion around him. I mean there was a guy snapping photos of him w/ his cell, for goodness sake. Then the "Get out here" woman starts showing me photos of her yorkie and maltese in her wallet. Ugh, I hate it when people show you pictures of their pets and then wait for a minute staring at photo adoringly. What are you supposed to do, pet the picture? Simultaneously other people asking his breed combination, calling his name, saying he's so unique. Meanwhile, entrance security dude stands by the door with a concern yet bewildered look on his face, you know the one the president does when talking about war or something bad. I swear, he's useless (the security guy AND the President too, but this time, the security guy) . Why does he have to inspect peoples' bags before entering the library?
Whoa this is getting long.
I get home watch the first movie A Place in the Sun--good. Montgomery Clift, the gay icon and star of the movie, is entrancing. There's definitely something intriguing about him. I look him up on IMDB after and found this place called findadeath.com and read all about his life. Turns out he died at age 45 of a heart attack brought on by years of drinking, pill-popping, and smoking. Apparently, his whole life was shadowed by his conflicting feelings about being gay and sought those subtances to numb himself, I guess. I forget who said it but he said that Clift had the longest suicide in Hollywood.
Sin City next. I pop in the movie. A blonde woman blowing a dildo appears on the screen. I stop the movie rewind it to see if someone tampered with the tape and recorded a porn after the movie. Seconds later, the rewind ends. I press play and after the usual warning sign, the same blonde shows up and I see her hotline ad from the beginning. I'm like 'okaaay I can't believe these guys would start a movie like this.' I thought that the chick would be the victim of a mysterious murder and Sin City would be about how Benicio del Toro or somebody solves it. Another ad starts and the next one, there was even one about chicks w/ dicks. Which honestly I always wondered about the usefulness of having a little of everything on one body, but never have actually seen. After seeing this porn preview, I don't get it. It's a citrus toothpaste-type of thing for me: both good things individually, but not appetizing together.
At this point, I'm rereading the video's cover blurb to see if this had anything remotely related to what I was watching on my telly. (Which I had to mute b/c I live on the first floor and I can hear everything that goes on on the street, sometimes I even get cigarette whiffs so I imagine porn sounds would clearly make its way to my neighbors' ears.) I fast fowarded through the previews and the movie is a porn too! I turn it off and start googling "Sin City" to see if there was some sort of library-wide manufacturing mishap. The only thing I found was a kid that got a NBA video game from a Walmart that turned out to be porn. And, there also turns out be a"Sin City" porn.
Now my dilemma shifts from the source of the switch up to should I report it to the library. Or should I leave it be? I was afraid what if the person after me reports it and they'd think I recorded it? Then, I was thinking what if some little boy puts the tape in only to see the dildo woman doing her thing, ruining his childhood, and I let that happen by being an embarrassed chicken instead of a responsible decent member of the library community.
In other words, my brain ran amok. I thought about the guard's comment. Did he know about the porn? Or worse, he was slyly sending me some dirty, perverted thumb's up?
I'm starving. I'm going to go make dinner. I'll fill you in on what I did in my next post.
So I go at the last hour after having my usual bouts of 'should I go, should I not.' I think I had a book due so I thought I ought to be responsible and every cent does count these days. Anyhow, I take Andiamo with me (in his doggybag not just in my bookbag as I've also done). But turned out to not be enough to get him into the library, cuz the security dude said his boss would yell at him. So here I am, at the corner of 40th & 5th on a Friday, an hour until closing (okay, granted it's open on Saturdays) and no possible mode of entry. I mean, who was I going to leave him with, the handbag seller? Andiamo would get trampled in the crowd of cheap tourists and poor secretaries. Or I'd get sued because he'd bitten one of them in the heel. So I chose to tie him to the street sign that's visible through the library's windows. And, in the guard's line of vision who I asked to keep an eye on him.
Okay so I go in. Dash to the express reserves picked up some books, went to the movie section, didn't even bother to go to the DVDs, I mean I JUST turned 25 I don't have a death wish. Meanwhile the announcers counting down the minutes until closing. Not having enough time to peruse, I grab recognizable titles (hence my choices) and making sure to visit the rolling cart because I figure if they've been borrowed then they must be good or at least interesting. Plus, I have this thing about viewing classics and other universally-known and -mentioned movies. I really like knowing what the references are when they're mentioned in books, the media, etc. Like when someone says 'oh wow, that was a real Sophie's Choice-type of decision' I like knowing what that means. (BTW, Sophie's Choice is about a Holocaust survivor who's haunted by choosing between her children when a Nazi threatened to shoot all of them. Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline are excellent in it.) Haul ass to the line (mind you my vicious poodle tied up outside), as I stood on line I glance at the new non-fictions and picked up the latest Deepak Chopra and Wayne Dyer titles.
As I wait until it's my turn to checkout my treasures--the library is my Bloomingdales or literary candystore--I see about five women (yentas, really) surrounding my poor little freaked out Andiamo. They're looking around and working themselves up. One of them has her cell in her hand, by that time, I'm able to knock on the window and motion to her that he's mine. In her exasperated voice and exagerated affect, she yells 'then geeet out hee-ah.' But I'm on the bag check line with about five people ahead of me.
The exit guard approved of my choices particularly Sin City and Matchstick Men. Matchstick Men with Nicholas Cage--that was the fourth one. And it was good btw. It had one of those Usual Suspects sort-of endings (see I do it too, lol. ) which I should seen coming considering the premise of the movie. I won't spoil it but, Cage plays a con artist with OCD that meets his teenage daughter and teaches her some of his cons.
I thank him for his approval and chalked it up to small talk, maybe a little flirting, or, from what I gather boys really dig Sin City with all of its comic book-ness, violence, and special effects. So I don't think anything of it and brace myself for the hens to ambush me. They yell at me, attacked me w/ hypotheticals like he could been hit by a car (which would be impossible unless someone runs over the entire block and I think Andi would be of minor importance in that situation); he could've been stolen, he could've bitten someone, they would've called the police if they hadn't seen me, he could've appeared on an Al Qaeda video...everything. And then they point to him saying he's all anxious because of being left alone, yada yada yada when in reality it's due to everyone causing this big commotion around him. I mean there was a guy snapping photos of him w/ his cell, for goodness sake. Then the "Get out here" woman starts showing me photos of her yorkie and maltese in her wallet. Ugh, I hate it when people show you pictures of their pets and then wait for a minute staring at photo adoringly. What are you supposed to do, pet the picture? Simultaneously other people asking his breed combination, calling his name, saying he's so unique. Meanwhile, entrance security dude stands by the door with a concern yet bewildered look on his face, you know the one the president does when talking about war or something bad. I swear, he's useless (the security guy AND the President too, but this time, the security guy) . Why does he have to inspect peoples' bags before entering the library?
Whoa this is getting long.
I get home watch the first movie A Place in the Sun--good. Montgomery Clift, the gay icon and star of the movie, is entrancing. There's definitely something intriguing about him. I look him up on IMDB after and found this place called findadeath.com and read all about his life. Turns out he died at age 45 of a heart attack brought on by years of drinking, pill-popping, and smoking. Apparently, his whole life was shadowed by his conflicting feelings about being gay and sought those subtances to numb himself, I guess. I forget who said it but he said that Clift had the longest suicide in Hollywood.
Sin City next. I pop in the movie. A blonde woman blowing a dildo appears on the screen. I stop the movie rewind it to see if someone tampered with the tape and recorded a porn after the movie. Seconds later, the rewind ends. I press play and after the usual warning sign, the same blonde shows up and I see her hotline ad from the beginning. I'm like 'okaaay I can't believe these guys would start a movie like this.' I thought that the chick would be the victim of a mysterious murder and Sin City would be about how Benicio del Toro or somebody solves it. Another ad starts and the next one, there was even one about chicks w/ dicks. Which honestly I always wondered about the usefulness of having a little of everything on one body, but never have actually seen. After seeing this porn preview, I don't get it. It's a citrus toothpaste-type of thing for me: both good things individually, but not appetizing together.
At this point, I'm rereading the video's cover blurb to see if this had anything remotely related to what I was watching on my telly. (Which I had to mute b/c I live on the first floor and I can hear everything that goes on on the street, sometimes I even get cigarette whiffs so I imagine porn sounds would clearly make its way to my neighbors' ears.) I fast fowarded through the previews and the movie is a porn too! I turn it off and start googling "Sin City" to see if there was some sort of library-wide manufacturing mishap. The only thing I found was a kid that got a NBA video game from a Walmart that turned out to be porn. And, there also turns out be a"Sin City" porn.
Now my dilemma shifts from the source of the switch up to should I report it to the library. Or should I leave it be? I was afraid what if the person after me reports it and they'd think I recorded it? Then, I was thinking what if some little boy puts the tape in only to see the dildo woman doing her thing, ruining his childhood, and I let that happen by being an embarrassed chicken instead of a responsible decent member of the library community.
In other words, my brain ran amok. I thought about the guard's comment. Did he know about the porn? Or worse, he was slyly sending me some dirty, perverted thumb's up?
I'm starving. I'm going to go make dinner. I'll fill you in on what I did in my next post.
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