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Craig, darling…Don’t do it.
Craig Ferguson Fans and Fans of Nightime Odysseys:
I have not been up all that much but when I have been fortunate to hear the sultry voice of the Late, Late show I’m catching the warning signs of a changing relationship. Toying with the formula? Flirting with an earlier spot? Say it aint so!
- the stage is better lit. Turn down the lights! You’re ruining the mood. Don’t you get that for a lot of women you’re doing more than simple jokes? You know that! Look at how every woman melts in the chair during an interview.
- a skeleton side kick? Ok sorta of funny, but hopefully not because you think you need one like the other hosts use.
- More jingles for recurring skits?
- a shorter haircut (and not the longer, floppy, just-f*cked you teased hair?)
Just pointing out some of the obvious signs that are tampering with a formula.
Give me some Arabian Formula
C-mixto spotted this uptown pharmaceutical in a local b odega. Who needs illegal over-the-bodega-counter viagra when you can down some Arabian Formula? Not only will it rub your genie the right way, it will turn your woman into a groveling harem sex slave. Available in any fine bodega that also carries beet dietary supplements (because in the Heights, beets cure everything).
Grumpy McGrumpy Won’t Take Me to Disney World
I lied! I want Orlando bad! Someone tell C-mixto that he should share. I’ve traveled 1,074 miles and am stuck in the 3rd circle of Dante’s Inferno of Air Conditioning Hell (because I threw it there) attending work conferences while the sun is blazing a glorious 95 degrees with 100% humidity outside onto a pool that is screaming for me to come inside, in a hotel in Seaworld that is the splitting replica of the one Chevy Chase had a marital crisis in when taking his family to Walley World. Walley World! That’s where I am- a mecca for consumer happiness, entertainment and rides…
I want to see Mickey and buy some mouse ears! I want cotton candy and to see the demonic dolls sing in maddening cacophony, It’s a Small World After All, because still it rings in my ears 20 years later… Disney is a drug- a brainwashing homing device placed in all our American hearts, a surrogate parent that beacons you to return to it if you come too close. Start the petitions- we only have 1 day. Tell C-mixto to take me to Disney World!
Dear Orlando…
Dear Orlando:
Finally, I’ve reached you after how many years apart? You were once an object of fantasy- an unobtainable tease that left me wanting. I was such a young girl then, let’s be fair. So now that I am a full fledged woman, what do my eyes see with eyes sharpened by wisdom, a heart less naive? You are flashy, dear Orlando. Flashy beyond your swampy roots. Once I valued how hot you were; nights with you were steamy and free… your tropical ways were a delight. Now? The truth is you are chilly dear Orlando… chilly because most of us never get to feel the real you. That’s right, us. I know there were others. Many. And this distance is your fault too. Why have you constructed so many barriers around yourself? You have us peer from concrete pillars, high, encased and removed from the warm depths of your heart. How could I have been tricked by your majesty as a young girl? The Magical Kingdom promises, the role playing characters you liked to play, like the Mad Hatter with a trick of cards up his sleave. And did you ever make the journey to visit me? No! It was always about you- sending messages through your goofy friends like that short chap Donald. Dear Orlando, I think you might be played out. I’ve said it. The magic is over, I don’t want to wish upon your star. And with me gone from your life, with my absence, how quickly will you see how wrong you were, how vast the planet is without me, and that really it isn’t such a small world after all.
thanks for depressing me, PBS
Saturday night… 9pm-1am on PBS is an exciting part of my week. After some jolly British comedy (Keeping up Appearances, As Time Goes By) I await the classic film (will change the channel if it’s not black and white), a short film, and if I’m still up, an Independent film. So PBS is celebrating Hispanic Heritage month so it lines up “Stand and Deliver”, (a hilarious short animation “The Lost Tribes of New York City“), and then the independent film, “Manito” shot in Washington Heights. Celebrate Hispanic Heritage! Let’s watch two films that show just how fun it is to be poor and brown. Your schools suck, your teachers mostly suck except for that one that believes in all human potential and sticks it out in the system as long as he/she can, and even if you do get good grades you will be accused of cheating because you’re not supposed to achieve anything. (Stand and Deliver). Learn the necessity of being a hustler to get bills paid, male promiscuity, how the hood swallows you no matter your SAT scores or scholarship offers, and poverty is a viscous cycle that brings you down. (Manito). I look forward to Masterpiece Theatre tonight.
Salsa Characters
I’ve been dancing long enough to start a list. That’s right, a list of salsa characters. This list will only continue to grow. Note that this is man-list. I am sure some of you can come up with an equivalent list of female salsa characters. But let’s start here. If I could come up with some cards of these characters like my Marvel Universe 1st edition ones, I would.
Narcissus: Let’s start with you, Narcissus, as you’re so easy to spot. You are the not-salsero who asks a girl to dance, but spends the entire time watching yourself dance in the mirror. You are fond of the side-step because it allows you to position yourself at an angle where your dance partner doesn’t obstruct your view of yourself in the looking glass. When you do remember you have a dance partner, it is only for a moment, because you adjust the girl’s grip on you as a queen would rearrange a diamond bracelet so that it better highlights her wrist.
Predator: As vulgar as the one in the movie, you don’t salsa to dance. You salsa to get a quick feel and three minutes of hand-holding. Your favorite target are the beginners, not so much because they are your choice; the more advanced girls don’t have to dance with you anymore. And besides, those girls already got your predator number. You come in all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and ages. Guys, it’s less frustrating on all of us to just drop the money on a good lap dance at Hustler. They have a taxi stand right outside their doors to take you home when you’re done.
Frog to Prince Charming: Oh, you’re a delight! You are the guys whom most would least expect to be great dancers. Either because you’re no Fabio in your outer shell, you emit a rhythmless vibe off the dance floor, or you’re straight out of Revenge of the Nerds. When the clave sings, POOF! You bedazzle us with the smoothest moves, showing us, indeed, there is such thing as Clark Kent and Superman. Salsa Characters – continue reading …
The return of the paperboy
NYC’s free newspapers, Metro and AM New York, have resurrected a chummy memory of the 1930’s: the talking newspaper, or the paperboy. Newspapers usually remain mute, sitting on newsstands, bookstore racks or milk crates outside a deli or bodega. They lost their human liaison of the 1930’s, a time when we relied more on human interaction to learn of local and global events, to discern our individual and collective experiences, and when information downloads were less a private affair than a community one.
But walking out of the subway in the morning recently, I’m hearing not just the hustle of Metro versus AM and the advertiser of the day who happens to be sponsoring the news… Now I’m hearing clips from what you read inside. And I time travel back to the 1930’s. I feel a momentary connection to the news bearer. It is pleasing because besides reminding me of the chumminess of the old newsboys, it forces me back to the collective world of news and not just my office-based and personal one.
For a history of newsboys, the Depression and the marketing scheme that helped bring it to be, read: Masculine guidance: boys, men, and newspapers, 1930-1939 Postol Enterprise Soc.2000; 1: 355-390 .
For an early history of newspaper publishing in New York, “The Early History of Newspaper Publishing in New York State”
Miami knows what’s up
This Miami sign was submitted by JPLogan, passed along from others… More smart urban planning.
the loneliest taxi stand…
When in a cab migrating north or south on the Henry Hudson during evening hours, if I’m not scanning the Hudson river sparkling with city lights, then my head is often turned towards that interesting territory adjacent to the highway where the city starts. One thing that always captures my attention but never the lens of my camera is the lonely taxi stand outside of Hustler. That’s a strip club, for those not in the know. Taxi stands are not a familiar sight, at least in the parts of the city I find myself in. Usually every where you step is a taxi stand, created by your very own self when you peak outside the sidewalk with a raised hand. Voila. Taxi stand. But right off the highway is a canopied (glass?) stand with a large sign, “Taxi” around the corner (but out of sight of) Hustler’s doors. I’ve never seen someone standing in it, and I’m always looking whenever I pass. And I just have to think that it is the loneliest taxi stand, without a person and more so if someone’s in there. There is no hiding your nocturnal activities if you’re standing in this glass box with a glaring sign,-Hey, I’ve just been enjoying some gyrating, pole happy tits, fantasy is over and now I need to go home… if you are trying to be discreet. And if you weren’t in Hustler and just need a cab, people will probably never believe it. I’m waiting for the day I see someone waiting in it, to imagine all the stories that accompanies standing in the taxi stand in front of Hustler on the West Side Highway. What probably bothers me is that it is a scene set for a character who hasn’t walked onto the pages yet.
Have any other lonely taxi stands, or thoughts on this one?
Chutes and Ladders
This story idea and link was submitted by JPLogan of NYC.
Recent salsa reflections had us commenting on gender dynamics. Here’s a look into some theory that’s out there which seeks to explain gender dynamics, from a guy who seems to have approached the male/female game as a graduate internet thesis project. It pretty much goes like this: gals keep two “ladders” where they put men: a friend ladder and a f*ck-ables ladder. Men keep one ladder and there is a hierarchy of women on the ladder based on attraction. Here is a snippet from the webpage, “Ladder Theory”: Chutes and Ladders – continue reading …
