The year was 1967. I was just 17 years old and already a freshman at Lafayette College, a decidedly patriotic institution of higher learning. The Vietnam War was in full swing and as such, all incoming students were required to take at least one year of Reserve Officers Training (ROTC). While only that one year was required, the army officers in charge strongly suggested that we take all four to become Second Lieutenants when we got shipped off to the bush. They reasoned that we’d get paid 7 G’s a year instead of the paltry grunt pay the have nots earned. It was all stated in monetary terms.
Here’s what they didn’t tell you: In addition to being reviled by the troops who saw the newly anointed officers as privileged pussies, Second Lieutenants in Vietnam had the highest mortality rate of any rank. They weren’t just killed by the enemy as they led men into battle. Their own troops were known to frag them from behind using the heat of battle to excuse the “mistake!” Yeah, whatever! Continue Reading
Watching ‘THE DEUCE“ on HBO last week brought back memories from that time when 42nd Street intersected with dirty funky Broadway and seemingly everything around that corner was about sex, drugs or muggings.
New York’s music business offices were almost all located just north of Times Square. So it figured that a young, ambitious lad like myself would naturally gravitate toward the maze of booths, lap dance parlors, squeeze-through windows and whatever other location a horny guy might enjoy visiting after hustling his butt trying to place songs or get work.
Somewhere in all this process, I happened upon a kindred spirit in the form of a street life man of color who scratched out a meager subsistence selling promotional copies of new records he’d get from labels. Having convinced them that he was a meaningful DJ who wanted to play their product at his club, it wasn’t that difficult. I didn’t necessarily approve of his hustle. But the guy (though tone deaf) had a knack for coming up with song titles and quick verses which complemented the tracks I could produce. Continue Reading
Speaking of misguided youth (see yesterday’s post), I broach the subject of KENNEKA JENKINS, a girl who will never score a record deal because after attending a party in a hotel where she got very high, Kenneka managed to stumble into a freezer and surprise surprise…froze to death.
Obviously, this is an unfortunate accident that shouldn’t be particularly newsworthy because kids do dumb shit and die young all too frequently yet don’t make it to the 6 o’clock telecast. It strikes me that had she been white, we may never have heard about it. But the truth is that this isn’t about race at all. Rather, mom has created an environment in which it suddenly is rather than what is should be about. Which is responsibility. Continue Reading
If a bear craps in the woods and nobody’s there…does his shit stink? And what does it sound like when somebody rolls over in his grave? Philosophical questions of this sort constantly occupy my mind. And I rarely had any of the answers until this morning when the soundtrack to the latter jumped out of my computer. I now know the sound of AHMET ERTEGUN, founder of ATLANTIC RECORDS, rolling over in his grave. It’s in a video of a new artist his old label signed.
DANIELLE BREGOLI, aka BAD BHABIE, has already garnered 23 million views on You Tube for her new release THESE HEAUX (pronounced predictably, these ho’s). Even more predictably, the rap describes how all the other bitches are fake while she’s not! How utterly trendsetting and original. You’d think she invented the twelve bar blues! Continue Reading
A friend asked “Why would you even do that? What are you trying to prove?” I really wasn’t trying to prove anything. I was bored and it was a beautiful day. And I wanted to do something new. Or maybe it was all those books I’ve been reading about Arctic expeditions or some wack job taking six months to row across the Northern Pacific. Hard to say.
And so yesterday morning, I hopped on my too heavy Fuji cruiser (which I bought for $100 from a Central Park bike renter after my Cannondale was stolen) and rode crosstown to the Hudson Greenway…over the George Washington Bridge…and all the way up to Nyack on 9W. I’d heard that there’s a nice bike excursion in New Jersey and I thought I’d give it a try. Continue Reading
HBO is the acronym a certain cable network uses to signify Home Box Office. But half the time it might be more apt to simply leave out the “B” and call it the HO Network. It seems as if they always have at least one series dedicated to the sex biz.
First, ya had “The Point” about all the street action in the Bronx. And then there was Denis Hof’s “Cathouse. ” Finally…that other show about grimy strippers whose name eludes me at the moment. Maybe we should call HBO the AAH Network? Ya know…All About Ho’s!
Ok! Enough of that stupidity. The new entry in HBO’s Ho Entertainment Network (HEN if you will) is a change of pace titled “THE DEUCE” which if you aren’t aware, was the nickname for Times Square many years ago. Having exited from New Orleans in favor of New York City’s bright lights in 1972, I’m certainly familiar with life in the Big Apple during the era depicted in the aforementioned new series. And I can tell you that the “look” of the presentation is fastidiously authentic. Up at 164th and Amsterdam, the production crew recreated 42nd Street as it existed 46 years ago. All of which is to the show’s credit. Continue Reading
Today I offer a two parter because essentially, I don’t really have a whole lot to say on either subject. To part 1: TURNING UP THE HEAT.
I’m not a huge fan of texting. In fact, I find it kind of retarded. The telegraph came first. And then the telephone almost 150 years ago. For some illogical reason, youth culture has decided to turn back the hands of time to an era when there was no telephone. I’m befuddled.
Initially, I simply resisted text messaging. But then one day, I missed a Village Voice ad when an on-and-off client decided to text her desire for an ad that week. It was then and only then that I relented and added texting to my repertoire. Continue Reading
The end of just one chapter in the saga of my legal problems is drawing near. I’ve been given a date for my collection due process hearing concerning the 750k I don’t owe the IRS though for bureaucratic reasons too mind-boggling to comprehend for my brain, nobody at the agency can see the obvious (that I do not owe that money).
In the communication I was given a number and name I’m free to call anytime up until the cdp hearing date. Of course, I did just that to see if I could finally once and for all rid myself of this migraine. And this is how it went:
Within a few seconds of me identifying myself, Ms. Smith (not her real name) had my paperwork in front of her (or actually some of it) and stated that I didn’t owe the 750 k the agency had initially requested but was responsible for over a year in interest payments and penalties due because I had not submitted the agreed upon monies in a timely fashion. But here’s the rub: Continue Reading
Well…while everybody’s taking the day off, I’ve been laboring. Laboring on my new track, that is. At this point, the only labor I really do is feeding the homeless. And that’s only part time. So this is a change of pace.
Anyway…today’s labor centers around writing and singing (ugh) my new opus which granted, ain’t exactly Beethoven’s 5th. But somehow despite my lack of aptitude, I’ve found my way to a good pop hook to go with the previously published track. The basic premise is bobby sox simple. Dude sees girl…likes what he sees…and wants to get next to her. He pleads his case only to have her laugh him off until finally, he wears her down and she decides to relent and accept his overture. Continue Reading
Recently while reading some book or other about the music business, I came upon the name of SAM TAYLOR as a seminal bluesman. Once upon a time, I’d met a guy named Sam Taylor. And the memory wasn’t a good one! Curious as to whether this Sam Taylor was the same Sam Taylor I recalled from my past, I googled “Sam Taylor + musician” and quickly discovered that the Sam Taylor I’d read about – and the one I’d met – were one and the same.
The year was 1975 (I believe). And the BT EXPRESS was a red hot outfit whose record DO IT TILL YOU’RE SATISFIED had started the disco craze. So successful had the first record been that all the Broadway songwriters wanted to get a tune on the next album. Knowing how desperately the organization would need hit songs in the near future, the Publisher actually hired two staff songwriters to churn out # 1’s (hopefully) for BT and another act (Brass Construction) which figured to be a chart-topper. Continue Reading
If you think “bootylicious” isn’t really a word, just look it up in the Oxford Dictionary. It’s there but the funny thing is…the meaning is wrong. According to Oxford, bootylicious means “sexually attractive.” I beg to differ. “Bootylicious” means the girl’s got an attractive butt. It could be big…or round…or smooth…or jiggly…or whatever. But the word is descriptive of a specific body part. You wouldn’t say a girl with a big chest and a small booty was “bootylicious” even if you found her sexual attractive.
How could the good people at Oxford blow that? Oh well. I guess they’re even lamer than I am! But then again…if you look up “ratchet,” I bet the definition will be “a tool.” What does Oxford know anyway? Continue Reading
If you think it’s just regular Joe’s who patronize escorts (and not the rich and famous), here’s yet another anecdote…this one courtesy of a guy who owned an agency that ran ads on late night Manhattan Cable TV…to prove you wrong!
Back before the Feds effectively shut the whole operation down, several escort services used to run bare bones 30 second spots – complete with mood-setting background music – on Channel 35 of Time Warner cable. Given the limited budget, where did the advertisers get that music? Continue Reading
I’m currently in the middle of a book written by a stand-up comic/journeyman actor named Fred Stoller who describes his career as basically consisting of cameo appearances on 70 something sitcoms, never quite achieving his goal – that of actually starring in one. In pursuit of his dreams, Fred has been humiliated or failed miserably on more than one occasion. It’s not that I can relate to Fred as I’m not an actor…but reading his book did remind me of one disastrous experience I had long ago in his realm.
I know I’ve mentioned my days as ad salesman and editorial contributor to an egregious taxi rag – and that its owner and publisher sent copies of the newspaper to all the New York media outlets in his quest to attain fame and notoriety. And to a certain extent, his effort worked. We at the office became go-to media sources on anything taxi-related. Continue Reading
While it seems like escort websites have been around forever, it is in fact a phenomenon only 20 years old. And I distinctly remember the first day I was introduced to the concept.
Back in 1996 when I got my job at Action mag, the advertising options for escorts were limited. Screw and Action were the only two publications which featured display ads (pictures of the actual girls – or fakes representing them). The NY Press, Voice and NY Mag sold only tiny line ads to their adult advertising customers. And that was it! That was the entire smorgasbord of options!
As a result, Action had a big reputation when I was first hired. The paper worked…girls knew it…and I was immediately treated like a player in the community simply by virtue of my employment at the paper. It was a little strange but hey! No problem. Hot women treating me with respect? That didn’t happen when I drove a cab! Continue Reading
Unlike previous summers when I did more hiking and fewer bike rides, this year I’ve reversed that trend forever in search of a new thrill. As chronicled previously, circumnavigating Manhattan had a distinct downside (not a continuous nor especially scenic ride). Ditto for going up Manhattan’s East Side to Randall’s Island and then the shoreline in Queens and Brooklyn. Staten Island has a few good spots but nothing sensational. Inwood Hill Park similarly has a few moments but again, nothing orgasmic. But the CLOISTERS was a pleasant surprise.
I can’t remember the first time I discovered the Cloisters. But I imagine it was on a Sunday cab ride (while driving) that I first beheld the wonders of northern Manhattan. I’d always been curious about actually visiting the park (rather than passing through) but never had until yesterday when I decided to ride on up. Continue Reading
In the beginning, it was an amazing story. Young girl lost in the woods for 25 days – surviving on mushrooms, berries and muddy water? Who couldn’t feel good about that ending?!?! And the way she looked! Kind of like Jody Foster in “NELL.” But scratch the surface and in fact, this isn’t a feel-good story at all.
LISA THERIS is a 25 year-old girl who before returning to her parent’s home and enrolling in a local community college, was living with a boyfriend and waitressing at (drum roll) HOOTERS! While home from cohabiting for just a month, Ms. Theris managed to get arrested for disorderly conduct when she blew a gasket and caused a scene in a courtroom at a friend’s appearance. Maybe I’ve been around escorts too long, but right away, I’m getting a picture here. Lisa ain’t no goody goody Harvard undergrad. Continue Reading
I just finished reading a new book titled “BLUE ON BLUE,” an expose written by a cop who headed NYPD INTERNAL AFFAIRS for 20 years. Interesting subject matter! But while reading, I harbored all sorts of suspicions about the author. At times, it sounded like a paid political announcement in favor of the department. Like the part about 99.9% of policemen (and women) are good cops. Really? To be introspective, I wasn’t so sure that my thinking wasn’t biased. So I searched my soul to figure out why I rolled my eyes one too many times while reading and remembered back to a couple of significant moments which shaped my opinions on the men in blue.
At age 10, I attended a lawn party at my aunt’s house where family and friends were celebrating my cousin’s Sweet Sixteen. Auntie lived in a swell house in an equally cushy town. And for whatever reason, there was a local Nassau County policeman on the premises to ensure everything went off without a hitch. Now even at that tender age, there were some things I understood. Like you’re not supposed to drink and drive – or steal something that wasn’t yours. Continue Reading
No, I’m not about to tell y’all that I don’t belong with escorts. I’m way past that stage. So anyway…I have several t-shirts bought for me by an old “girlfriend” which I’ve never worn. And last week while I was rummaging through my closet to see what I might give away at the soup kitchen (yes, they give away clothing as well), I happened upon these shirts many of which still had their H & M tags on them.
Well today I went visiting and stuffed the t-shirts in my backpack to see if maybe I could swap them for something else in the store. Without the receipt I didn’t figure I could turn them into money…but with the tags still on the apparel there was a possibility I could get a store credit. Continue Reading
AL GOLDSTEIN, the founder of SCREW Magazine, was a lot of things to different people. Blowhard? Pornographer? Lawbreaker? Intellectual? Fat slob? The dude wore a lot of hats. But two-faced back-stabber? Not many people knew him as such. Thanks to my diligence in a novel area, Al was revealed as just that.
The story begins when Goldstein’s empire began to crumble owing to the development of the Internet and his concurrent unwillingness to downsize and cut back on his over-the-top consumerism. Swimming in accounts receivable, Goldstein added a distributor which essentially left him in the embarrassing position of cheating on his longtime friend (and exclusive distributor) to increase sales and thereby generate more revenue for himself and response for his advertisers. When the longtime friend (who had actually mortgaged his house to bail Al out of jail when he was arrested for harassing an ex-employee) discovered the truth, Goldstein swore he wouldn’t use the other distributor anymore. Continue Reading
Normally, my “mirror mirror” style entries are about who’s the fairest escort of them all? Or gives the best “service?” Alternatively, the theme might broach an escort’s entitlement – and that she needs to do a “mirror check” to have a look at the world’s most spoiled brat. But today’s “mirror mirror” is different. Allow me.
Becoming a federal defendant offers a myriad of indignities I won’t take the time to enumerate on this page. I’ll simply choose one: Peeing in a cup with another dude you don’t know present – even though my crime had nothing to do with drugs. Now don’t get me wrong. This is a botheration which pales in the face of IRS agents seizing 6.56 million dollars. But in the context of a sex/escort blog, I figured you guys would be interested in today’s subject. Continue Reading
I had an interesting conversation with an escort recently. And I thought I’d share a little of the insight I gained from our verbal intercourse. The girl was considering raising her price and wanted to know if I thought her business might suffer as a result. What came to mind initially were the old supply and demand curves and elasticity (and inelasticity) of demand I learned as an Economics major. But I knew “professing” that bull shit wouldn’t fly. She’d just look at me as if to say “I ain’t lookin’ for no smart guy/school guy. I want some street wisdom.”
So I took a different route – considering the conservation aspect of the decision. “Let’s say you raised your price…saw 33% fewer guys…but made 10% less than at the lower price. Would you be happy about that?” And her answer was precious: “Well, you know I like the action.” Continue Reading
When it comes to recognizing coming trends and predicting the future, I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer. But there have been times I peered into my crystal ball and got it right. And here’s one of them:
For the wonderful week I worked at the Village Voice (I quit – the boss was a douchebag), longtime employees were rightfully concerned that the joint was about to close down and they’d all lose their jobs. Being that I was a new employee and already making carloads of cash from my ersatz advertising agency, I didn’t really give a crap. But they did!
Anyway…I predicted that in fact, the paper wouldn’t go away – owing to its cachet as the world’s first and most influential alternative weekly. Somebody with deep pockets who didn’t care that he (or she) might lose money on the deal would eventually buy in just to put ownership of said entity on his resume. And sure enough, in 2015, that’s what happened. Continue Reading
I just finished reading a fluff piece on Yahoo about body language and how to read the signs to see if your date is interested in you or not. Now, I wasn’t born yesterday and I do know how to read the signs. Ya know…simple stuff like whether she inadvertently touches you while conversing. That would indicate she’s interested. Or if she has her arms folded in front of you? That would indicate she’s guarded and more than likely not into you.
So of course after reading the article, I began to analyze the people and situations in my own life. The problem is that when dealing with escorts, body language and its interpretations can get really complicated. A girl may touch you or lean “in” not because she’s actually interested – but more because her job involves acting – and she knows that giving off the standard “come hither” body language will bring you back to spend more money. Thus, even if you understand body language, you have to suss out the truth when dealing with escorts. And sadly, with pay-by-the-hour ladies, you have to assume it’s fake – unless you relish getting sucked in – and relieved of – all your disposable income! Continue Reading
Hanging at the bar after volunteering two Saturdays ago, I found myself supremely bored. The volunteer group – for all their virtue – can tend to be vanilla. Searching for some sort of entertainment, I decided to pose an experiment in the form of a question which I thought at least a few people would answer correctly (silly me).
Pursuant to the coming solar eclipse (which has been in the news), the following is what I asked of my compatriots: “Line up the celestial bodies in a solar eclipse and lunar eclipse.” By me, this is a snap. In a solar eclipse, the moon comes between the sun and the Earth. Hence…sun – moon – Earth. In a lunar eclipse, the Earth comes between the sun and moon. Hence…sun – Earth – moon. Continue Reading
It should come as a shock to nobody that all the reality shows we watch on the boob tube aren’t entirely realistic. And that would be putting it mildly. The bull shit is so staged by the reality whores who produce this crap that it can almost be laughable. Like just for example…many years ago one of my fellow Grand Jurors told me during recess that he worked on “ICE ROAD TRUCKERS,” and actually took part in staging an accident. The show was becoming something of a sleeping pill and in the absence of any drama, the network had to do something to liven it up…all of which brings to mind my experience with “TAXICAB CONFESSIONS,” yet another dog and pony show produced for the entertainment of the totally naive.
As promised two days ago after writing TOP 7 REASONS TO BECOME AN ESCORT, I will now feature the yang of that yin (or vice versa – not sure) with today’s TOP 7 REASONS TO NOT BECOME AN ESCORT. Yes, everything I wrote in the last entry had a “true that” component. But as I mentioned, there’s always a price to pay when you sell your soul and so…here goes with all the negatives to making the big bucks, meeting lots of guys, and getting tons of sex. Continue Reading
While it’s true that escorting ranks as one of society’s least dignified professions, the work actually does come with some incredible perks – that is – once you get by all the stigmatization. Thus, if you’re an offbeat, antisocial sort who really doesn’t give a crap what squares think, selling ass clearly has its upside. Pursuant to that thought, I now present the TOP 7 REASONS TO BECOME AN ESCORT:Continue Reading
Of all places and all people where and from whom I might find my next bikin’ & hikin’ adventure, it was a nun down at the Catholic Worker who hipped me to INWOOD HILL PARK, located at the northern tip of Manhattan Island. And so yesterday (Sunday), when I awakened to a cool crisp day, it seemed appropriate to take her advice and do a little exploring.
Now I’ve been up the Hudson River Greenway and am well aware the entire route is complete and without interruption (unlike the East Side – see last week’s entry). For a city ride, it’s about as bucolic as it gets. But I’d only been past 179th Street and the old GWB lighthouse a few times. The hill from that juncture up to Washington Heights is prohibitive. I’ll put it to y’all this way: With my Cannondale, I could just about make it up without dismounting. But my current ride (a heavy but comfortable Fuji hybrid)? There was no way. I had to walk the last part. Continue Reading
Many years ago, my own mother offered that my life ambition was to never have to get up in the morning. Given that I’m generally up and out nowadays at 6:30 (even if it’s just to get some coffee at Mickey D’s), her observation seems kind of harsh. But in fact, she wasn’t all that far off…as my real life ambition was (and is) to never have to wear a suit (and tie – especially).
Here’s an interesting question for y’all: Who the fuck invented the suit and tie? I’d imagine he rates just a notch below Adolph Hitler on history’s most notorious list. I am happy to say I own exactly one suit. If I were a man of my convictions, I’d own exactly no suits. But alas, back in 2001 when my nephew got married, I knew I couldn’t show up in blue jeans and a hoodie.
So on a hot August Wednesday in the middle of picking up Village Voice and New York Press deadline money, I mozied over to Men’s Whorehouse…excuse me…Men’s Warehouse and dropped a whopping $200 for a presentable suit. When I yanked what was probably in the neighborhood of 5 k out of my pocket, the salesman went crazy trying to sell me shoes, a shirt, and pretty much the entire inventory. Boy did he have the wrong guy! It was all I could do to not ask for a rebate when 4 days later, I went back to get the altered suit and discovered that my $200 garment was now on sale for $170! Continue Reading
Two distinct news stories caught my eye today simply because they’re integrally associated with my current or previous lives. In the first, KIDD CREOLE of GRANDMASTER FLASH fame has been arrested for the murder of a homeless man. Now 57, Creole apparently had some sort of run-in with a 55 year-old second degree sex offender without a home and stabbed him multiple times whereupon the victim bled out and died on a street corner after stumbling off from the attack. If the theme of Grandmaster Flash’s huge hit “THE MESSAGE” was to turn the other cheek, clearly Creole wasn’t taking his own advice. Or you might invoke and change slightly the question posed by MC LYTE all those years ago when she queried “Whathca got a knife for?”
Carrying a knife around New York City might be considered a good idea by some on society’s fringe. But obviously, if Creole wasn’t carrying a knife, he wouldn’t currently be accused of second degree murder. I recall a really low-grade client years ago who disappeared for weeks only to call one day to let me know he was back. Asked why he’d disappeared, Chino responded that he’d been involved in an altercation outside a strip joint and stabbed a guy – which landed him on Rikers Island. I continued….”Why were you carrying a knife?” His response: “I’m Puerto Rican.” Draw your own inference. I hope that wasn’t Creole’s excuse. Continue Reading
I know I occasionally snap on the girls for being irresponsible, sloppy or unappreciative. But there are an equal number of times when I’ll be their advocate as well. Take the issue of what a girl is willing to do in the room with a stranger. That’s a woman’s choice if you ask me! The “our body ourselves” feminist motto is one with which I’m in total agreement.
First and most obvious and at its inception, the credo addresses a woman’s right to terminate an unwanted pregnancy. But today I expand the concept to include an escort’s right to do what she wants – and conversely refusing to do what she she doesn’t want to do – with her customers. (It’s her body and she has the right to do only what feels comfortable with – and nothing more.) After all, it’s an accepted reality that escort work carries very little dignity…and as undignified as the work is (though it can be very profitable), it’s my opinion that a girl should be able to establish her parameters with a customer without having to answer for it on some review board or other. Continue Reading
As we all know, the term “reality show” is already an oxymoron. Like…who in his right mind would believe that crap isn’t completely staged? Well anyway…in the course of doing nothing all day, I happened up on a Backpage ad run by a girl I’d spoken to before. With nothing else to do, I dialed her up to work some sort of magic. And during our meandering verbal intercourse, the subject of the Dennis Hof’s House of Horticulture (aka the Moonlight Bunny Ranch) came up. Without any provocation on my part, she began to tell the story of her employment at the Nevada oasis a few years back. And trust me…it wasn’t pretty…and absolutely nothing like what you see on HBO. Continue Reading
Years ago when the Village Voice and New York Press were king, I actually did a substantial amount of bike riding. On nice summer days, I’d pedal to 42nd Street…get on the subway with the bike in tow to ride out to 82nd and Roosevelt…and then proceed to hump the two-wheeler around Jackson Heights…then out to Forest Hills…sometimes Flushing…close to La Guardia…over to Astoria…and then all the way back to 10th Street in Manhattan. Just another deadline Wednesday rounding up cash for the papers. Well…those days are way in the rear view mirror. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still cut the mustard.
So yesterday…it being so beautiful…I decided to revisit my glory days and wear some tread off the tires. I’ve already done Staten (not a huge ride) and the West Side Greenway to the GWB this summer. So I decided Randall’s Island would be appropriate. Poor idea as it turned out. Continue Reading
Every so often – especially when a girl seeks my advice on something or other – I’ll think about how I’d operate as an escort. Like…would I work for an owner? Or rent a room…run some ads…and go independent? And who would I accept as a client? Anybody with the toll? Or would I discriminate? And what about a boyfriend? Could I lie 1000 times a day – or simply realize that if I were to work as an escort, having a mate would be out of the question?
While I slaved for an owner in my cab-driving days (and never even considered owning my own taxi), I wouldn’t go that way as an escort. And for one very good reason. Girls who work for an owner can’t turn down a customer. That wouldn’t be me at all! I’ve listened in on phone conversations (girls have held the phone to my ear so I could hear) and I can tell right away which guy is going to be respectful and which is a slob I wouldn’t go near for all the money in the world. When I sold ads for this blog, I didn’t take everybody’s money. And it would be the same if I were an escort. Continue Reading
Nowadays when people think of footprints, they think of carbon footprints – and how much pollution any one person or entity contributes to mankind’s eventual demise. But lately when I think footprints, I think about the person living next door to me. And it ain’t about their contribution or lack of same ecologically. It’s about how light or heavy that footprint is.
I’ve probably had 10 different neighbors living across a flimsy plasterboard wall from me over the years. I heard tone-deaf Nat bellowing along with Stevie Wonder. I heard Melvin snoring…and Jerry’s thunderous, earthquake-like gait. But three neighbors ago, I got lucky: a nice, quiet white bread girl moved next door. While her quietness was paramount in my mind, one of the IRS agents who interrogated me in the hallway got a quick crush on her as she stepped over us casting a suspicious eye on the proceedings (as in why are these official-looking guys with pad, pen and paper – and my neighbor – sitting on the floor in the hallway at 9 AM)? Continue Reading
For a “senior,” I actually embrace a lot of the new stuff my grandparents probably wouldn’t have. But reality tv – and especially the Kardashians – don’t make the list. Consider this: The entire family mythology began when the paternal Kardashian (a lawyer named Rob) successfully defended a murderer – actually getting him off for a crime his client clearly committed.
I know that every defendant is entitled to legal representation. But that doesn’t mean a lawyer can’t reject a client (unless he signs on as a public defender). It’s not like they’re cab drivers who by law must pick up every fare (unless they’re intoxicated) who waves at them. So by me, Rob (and Johnny) were whores. They knew their guy did it – but they took the big paycheck regardless. Anybody notice that they both died before their time? No, I don’t think their early demises had anything to do with their defending a murderer. But some people might. Continue Reading
Every so often I have a moment of inspiration and yesterday was one of them. Here it is: synth bass, trap kit, two pianos, fake trumpets and some sort of sound effect/keyboard part and a couple of guitars. It’s a work in progress. And no pre-programmed loops. Everything is original.
As noted previously, I used to get a kick out of the tranny vernacular when I sold ads in that subculture. I mean…to call women “fish” was just so rude and to the point. “You better work, showgirl,” was another that tickled my funny bone. Didn’t matter how “passable” or attractive a “girl” was, you were a chick with a dick? You were by definition…a “showgirl.”
Another word I found entertaining was “spookable,” a term which defined just how hidden a “girl’s” original gender was at a venue where she was trying to pass as born female. Believe it or not, the pursuit of unspookability is high art in the transgendered world. Trannies don’t want a gay boyfriend. They prefer straight guys and as a result, like to go out on the town…attract a “straight” man…and then “turn” him. Meaning, he gets so hot and horny for the “girl” that the moment of revelation becomes irrelevant. As in…”You got a dick? Whatever! Let’s get it on!” Generally, the activity begins with a blow job. And if the tranny is lucky, she can get him to progress. Continue Reading
The other day I ran into the same girl who’d called me “white boy” during a pretend robbery (see entry a few weeks back)…only to have her greet me with the old “What’s up, my n—ah?” (Apparently, my complexion must have appeared darker that day.) She went on: “I heard you datin’ that girl from the party. I didn’t know you liked squares.”
Well, it turns out that the girl from the party actually isn’t a square (or wasn’t) after all. And because I’m friendly with her cousin who already told me she used to sell ass – and she doesn’t want me to know about it (and she smokes cigarettes) – I passed. Whores are good at chicanery. I’m not! But that’s not what today’s entry is about.
Getting called the dreaded “n” word affected me not. Funny thing about that. When a black person calls a white friend n—ah…this is the ultimate compliment. The other way around? Not so much! Continue Reading
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