til i can get online without having to purchase a $4 latte down the street…..

so, back to the adorably simple way he tried to seize a bike. he noticed that a man nearby put down his kickstand as he stopped to chat with a friend. not one to miss an opportunity, the wheelbo (hobo with a shopping cart, don’t give me a dirty look, i did not invent the term) scurried over, kicked up the kickstand, and casually started walking the bike back to his shopping cart. the bike owner called over, in a super-queeny voice, “ex-CUSE meeeee! that’s my BIIII-ike!”

and, without a word or acknowledgement of the reprimanding, the wheelbo wheeled the bike BACKWARDS back to the gay dood. not a peep. just put ‘er in reverse and park ‘er, put the kickstand back again, and walk away. that is one smooth wheelbo. and the queen went on chatting with his friends as though nothing had happened. it’s just another day in the park.

five years later and for the most part, things go on as usual for those of us fortunate enough in our losses to continue going on as usual. the subways this morning held fewer passengers and more cops. on my commute to work, i was trying really hard not to think about it, but that’s difficult when the woman across the aisle is reading a copy of the new york post and the cover isn’t plastered with the usual celebrity pic or pretty girl that disappeared but with two simple numbers on a stark black background:

8:46

9:03

so i stared at those numbers the whole hour uptown, acutely aware of when they matched the numbers on the subway clock and how the weather today is just like it was five years ago, all stunning blue sky and sunshine and brisk air. i wondered if everyone else was thinking about it too or if i was being unnecessarily dramatic and too easily chilled, saddened, still holding so much stake in an event that, at that moment in time, i only witnessed on a tv screen while getting ready for communications 101.

there seems to be a strong desire among new yorkers to lay claim to 9/11 grief. if you weren’t in new york city that morning, your feelings and observations are moot. if you were there, then you can talk, even more so if you knew someone that died or if you watched the towers crumble from your bedroom window. so i feel a little guilty that i have such a hard time with this day because my distance from the tragedy was much greater than most of the people around me. but now look at the scope of the tragedy– nearly everyone can lay claim to it. you may not have lost a loved one in the attack but you probably do know someone who was shipped off to iraq in our horribly misguided response to it, etc. maybe you’ve looked at the iraqi civilian death count lately, and you happen to care. today you don’t have to remember the smell of the smoke to hurt, not just for new york or for the US but for the whole world that is increasingly scary because of the way our government used fear to build support for a war that is doing nothing but breeding more hate. it’s no fucking wonder new yorkers are touchy about who lays claim to or grandstands on 9/11 grief. it’s like taking their name in vain, you know?

So earlier this week I’d had a terrible day and was feeling depressed, so I figured I’d take a quiet, solitary walk to the East River. I don’t hide my emotions well, but so what? Why should I bother hiding the way I’m feeling when I’m on a walk by myself? You’d be surprised how many folks have a problem with this. No less than 3 (THREE!) men admonished me to “SMILE, honey!” and “oh cheer up, it’s not THAT bad!” This, of course, just added to my grouchiness. First, what do they know about a stranger’s life? How do they know “it’s not that bad”? And what makes them think that their assession of something they know nothing about is somehow valuable and worth verbalizing? Second, and perhaps most annoyingly, I don’t think they’d give their advice to just anyone. They don’t hesitate to step into my bubble, but I betcha they wouldn’t say “smile, honey!” or “oh cheer up, it’s not THAT bad!” to some grouchy-looking tough guy on the street. No, this type of intrusion is reserved for women. It’s as though some people are offended by the sight of a woman not constantly smiling and looking eager to please.

I think it sounds like I’m overreacting… and I may be. But this is not a rare occurrence. I’m generally a happy person, and I smile easily and often, but in the occasional event that I’m not smiling, some man INSTRUCTS me to smile, sometimes even DEMANDS it. (At a ticket booth window: “I’m not giving you this ticket until you smile for me!” on the street: “c’mon, give me that big beautiful smile!”) I’ll feel less annoyed by it when total strangers start demanding that my male friends smile for them.

holy boring story… i swear the heat slows my mind and lowers my IQ… anyways, if i were tiny enough, i wouldn’t be blogging right now, i’d be hanging out here:

sebastian:
1. encyclopedias
2. fermented things (beerwinecheese)
3. traveling
4. listening to the white album when you’re 8 years old and finding everything you knew about the world was wrong
5. connecting with people
honorable mentions: boots, languages

me:
1. poking at squishy things
2. jewish boys in hoodies (zip-up)
3. people having excited conversations in other languages, the kind so animated that you know what they’re saying even when you don’t understand the language
4. cheese/kaas
5. train rides with strangers, i myself a mysterious stranger to somebody
honorable mention: hypomania

i dunno, did we forget anything crucial? discuss.

yes. an ice cream truck. i used to have a fondness for ice cream trucks. that was before one circled my block playing the same obnoxious song 18 hours a day rain or shine!

and it’s just not fair, because the rest of brooklyn doesn’t have to suffer with me! i was comparing notes with my friend about the “kool man” trucks (there is a whole fleet of them) when i learned that some people actually have relatively pleasant ice cream songs in their neighborhood (bushwick).

nickers said, “yeah, our kool man truck plays the ‘children’s medley.’”
“LUCKY!!!”
“why, what does your kool man play? ‘turkey in the straw?’”
“i wish…”
“ohhh man, tell me you don’t have ‘do your ears hang low.’”
“it’s the truth, buddy.”
sympathetically, he patted me on the back.

and i thought i’d never have to hear “do your ears hang low” again, not since i stopped riding the school bus in 5th grade. i might ask my neighbors to crank up their reggaeton even louder.

also, have you ever heard that people have a tendency to look like their pets? i always used to think, “well, that’s unfortunate” but i think i am perhaps not immune to the phenomenon:

inquisitive peering!

head possibly a bit too large for body!

i know we will be the best of friends. we already have so much in common.

lack of swimsuits, broken hose, we ripped the plastic, ain’t nothin. the hardest part about drunkenly operating a slip n slide at 2am is finding a brooklynite with a back yard. so far i know… just one sod-advantaged boy!

it is true that my neighborhood gets much more expensive every year, with every new condo that replaces a building with bars on every window and every boutique that crowds out a bodega. the privilege to which these sidewalk sociologists allude DOES exist, i don’t dispute that (though honestly i don’t have a single friend with a trust fund, or even a checking account above $500). but, since we’re talking privilege, may i point out…

that unfortunately it is a PRIVILEGE and NOT A RIGHT to feel safe in your own neighborhood, especially if you’re a young woman? you point the “privilege” finger at me for living in williamsburg, i point it right back. i’d enjoy the privilege of feeling safe at night. i’d like to walk home at night without mace and a whistle. i don’t live here because i want to feel hip, i live here because it’s where my budget met (relative) safety in a little venn diagram. and like many other young women, i pay 60% of my income on rent in order to live in the safest place i can afford. hardly a “trust fund” lifestyle. i’d move out to a cheaper, more crime-ridden area in a hot second if i could feel as safe as my male friends who made that move.

it’s bullshit, isn’t it? women often don’t work the higher-paying night shifts because of safety concerns. and women often pay a much greater percentage of their incomes on rent than do men, because they want to live in a place where they feel safe. ta-daaa! fucked once, no, twice!

i’ll admit it right now, it takes a village voice-sponsored indie rock concert to get me out to coney island, but i’m glad i did it. once. i can see how it appeals to urban families with beach-loving children, but to me it is like hell on a boardwalk. garbage everywhere. lines everywhere, especially to get a nasty $3 hot dog. “coney island whitefish,” aka used condoms floating near the shore. bathrooms with an inch of urine on the floor. i am barely exaggerating.

but there were highlights. the character of the place, a sense that little has changed since the park’s heyday in the first half of the 20th century, but what was exciting then is merely kitschy now. there’s still a game called “SHOOT THE FREAK,” but instead of someone with an oddity of some sort, some ordinary joe runs around taunting “you can’t get me, nyah nyah nyah” while people point paintball guns at him. and the characters of the place, like a man who danced for my friends and i, exhibiting a very penis-centric bump-n-grind routine before dropping to the floor for about 100 fast-motion pushups. then he said to us, “are you ladies gonna dance with me or just sit there like barbie dolls?” we gave a half-assed barbie pose and skedaddled.

oooh and you see those pink bracelets there? VIP passes, sucka. those got us right up in the front row for every show, and if we tired of shows, we could go drink cold beers with the bands and other “industry people” backstage. i was pretty giddy about it. much love to a friend of mine who hooks me up in ways that tend to make me feel a bit more awesome than i actually am.

hello tapes n’ tapes, i could have touched them if i were feeling sassy!

some photo props to bruk.

but… i am about to have the ultimate houseguest! guess who is visiting… the one the only the brilliant BRUK! the amsterdam to berlin to toronto to nyc bruk!

if you don’t know her you should. because she’s everywhere blogwise and photowise and travelwise and i cannot wait til she’s brooklynwise! and she’s just the kinda girl i need more of, you know, chill and independent and adventurous and loving of people and life. she needs to be around more so she can shake some sense into me more often, and by shake some sense i mean just exude her presence because she reminds me of how i want to be living. refreshing and real. so, new york, look out come the second weekend in july. we will be tearing up the streets from boswijck to haarlem with our digital cameras and sno-cones and brightly colored shoes and wind and sweat and dirt in our hair, with one eye on the street and one eye on the boys and enjoying life in the most simple and most precious of ways.

back back back in the amsterdam days. when biertjes were 1 euro!

said the dominican man to me as i walked home from the subway:
“HEY! you got good credit? cause i need to date a white girl with good credit!”

i told him i only fulfilled half of his demand; sadly, we are not meant to be together.

the parade kicked off with some mime action. after their dance routine, they ran over to me and “sucked my brains out” with a giant straw. then they handed me a promo postcard that said, among other things, “so cute but terrible virus!!!!”

then the men in drag started showing up. this guy was negotiating with the NYPD over parade logistics.

the cops were trying to be all hard-ass with the parade organizer, but they just sounded like assholes since everyone in the parade was well-behaved and their spokesperson was very diplomatic. truly, this was a family-friendly event. i got such a kick out of the wee new yorkers mingling with queers in drag while their parents ran around taking pictures. i felt fuzzy inside for all the opportunities these kids have to experience all kinds of people, and what kind of people that will make them someday. then i felt for all the kids whose parents would whisk them away from a drag parade, the kids who would be taught from birth that to be gay is to be disgusting and disgraceful. sad. i found the whole event to be so life-affirming: a celebration of friendship and camaraderie and community and individuality all at once. the paraders even incorporated the ubiquitous tompkins square bums into the fun. when one of the crazy homeless dudes started being a little shkeevy in the crowd, they simply made a circle around him as he danced, so that he could have his moment in the limelight. everyone was welcome.

and look, this nice guy bought ice cream for the children:

he’s also got a pink undies wedgie, i don’t know if you noticed that or not. the look on the ice cream peddler’s face was priceless.

a reporter for the occasional fag:

and the only thing funnier than a guy on a scooter is a guy in drag on a scooter.

*kevin.

today i was telling my friend about it, she said, “ugh, who wants to see naked jersey people?”

exactly. and that is what made it so awesome. seriously, i know you’re supposed to act like you’re not people-watching at a nakey beach, but puh-leeeze. everyone is, and it’s fascinating. not just people’s nakedness; the novelty of that wears off rather quickly. one can only look at so many wrinkly uh-uhs (boys, what you have to look forward to in your old age is not pretty). the fascinating part is the way that people respond to nakedness. some, ain’t no thang. they’re just doing normal beach things like sleeping and reading. i imagine that they go home, eat granola, and tend to the garden in their birkenstocks. but most people are looking around a lot, even the prevalence of dark sunglasses cannot hide that. some are looking around nervously, strategically hiding their nakey parts, like, “i want to say that i’m cool with this but… oh god can we please go to the regular beach now!” then there are some that are brazen lookers. this one little gnome-like man must have walked by my towel about six times. and, no surprise here, the manhattan gay boys were representing. i’ve got to give them credit… they know what they’re looking for and they know how to find it. cruuuuuisers! they were also the most attractive people there. interestingly, the people who were most likely to be naked were the ones with the bodies that are considered least attractive in american culture. old, plump, saggy. ain’t no cancun. but it makes you wonder about the kind of wisdom and self-acceptance that comes with aging.

on the way out of the beach, there are shirts you can buy that proudly proclaim “GUNNISON BEACH”, which strikes me as a little ironic.

now i can cross another thing off my “must do before i die” list.