Re-boot

Ok, so it has become clear that my hands and wrists do not appreciate being overused, and that they really don't have much time for fleshing out my conspiracy theories, because they tend to get long-winded.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still anti-robot, and I will try to post short bits about their constant attempts to take over the world when I can, but I want to keep this thing afloat. It's important to write stuff I enjoy amidst the constant other writing projects for other people. And obviously, you guys need me.

So, I'm going to try to write up short bits and pieces more often, chronicling... chronical-ling... chron... however you spell it... the daily weirdness of living in New York. The weather is warming up, and the crazies are coming out to play from wherever they winter (subway tunnels? subway cars? who knows). This makes the daily commute and experience of simply being in the city much more entertaining. I'll share:

Tuesday, 4/28:
The gallery was closed to the public as the art handlers finished hanging a show that was to open at 6:00 pm with free wine and people-watching. At 5:00 a gentleman walked in - having somehow gotten past the security guys in the lobby - and proceeded to explain to me that he was good friends with the artist, but had to catch a plane that evening. He had the air of "I'm a very important person so just let me look around," and he was nice, so I let him
When he left, I took a peek at what he'd written in the guest book. It was a personal note to the artist, signed:
"Your friend on a wire,
Phillipe Petit"
...and there was a little cartoon of two tall buildings with a wire strung between them, with a little dude walking on it.
Yeah...anyone heard of the documentary "Man on Wire" about the tightrope walker who walked a tight rope between the Twin Towers in 1974 in a daring act of illegal performance art? Phillipe Petit.
He obviously wanted me to recognize him, but as the movie is on my Netflix queue and has not yet arrived, I didn't. Felt kind of bad for not pandering to him as he obviously wanted me to do, but oh well.

Later that evening, after a glass of wine at the opening reception for Julio Larraz's new exhibit and a good hour of watching horrendous examples of plastic surgery, bizarre-o outfits and little dogs, I made my way toward the subway to head home. As I stood waiting to cross the street at 59th and Lexington, I heard the very distinct sound of someone 'blowing a raspberry.' You know, sticking your tongue out and blowing, producing a hilarious and spittle-flinging fart noise?
Turned out it was coming with a fairly dignified-looking older gentleman who was dressed normally, clean-cut, totally normal looking. But he was sticking his tongue out and blowing raspberries as he hurtled down the sidwalk at high speed. There were two women about twenty feet behind him, one of whom was pushing a baby stroller, who were looking at him over their shoulders in the stances of people who had obviously just been bumped into or pushed aside as someone moved past them.
The raspberry man turned a bit to scream over his shoulder, "Come on!! What the fuck is your PROBlem?!" before hurling himself through the crowd on the corner, blowing raspberries the whole time.
I laughed the whole way home.



More to come, I'm sure, but I'll leave you with this delightful tidbit from OverheardInNewYork.com:



Suit to man with cat on his head: Why is there a cat on your head?
Man with cat on his head: Why isn't there a cat on your head, douchebag?

--Union Square