Currently browsing 'it’s a man’s world'
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 …
Et en Arcadia
The most memorable moment of our recent Sicilian odyssey did not happen in a city, but between cities. We were on one of those two hour car drives, this time our destination was ceramics from Caltagirone and chocolate from the city of Modica. We were winding our way through the Sicilian countryside. Our cars followed a well paved highway. We were surrounded by fields of golden wheat, distant hills with olive trees, and flattened sun-dried grass with bundled haystacks that looked like round suitcases left long ago by the Cyclopean race. The highway served as an unlikely wormhole through an Arcadian landscape; we passed through it encased in our vehicles. For a long while the only reminder of human contact with the land was passing trucks. They swayed with heavy loads of agricultural bounties I imagined harvested from these golden fields. I was entranced by paradise. Et en Arcadia – continue reading …
Salsa puts you (ladies) in place
In my current quest to integrate women’s styling with number counting and stepping, life lessons of salsa continue to reveal themselves (or I keep looking and finding them). I’ve joked that salsa is an invention concocted by some clever men, simply because of the salacious moves a woman does in front of or against a man and the fact that it is the man choregraphing the dance to which the woman follows. What’s struck me this past week are lessons to take home from the dance floor, or, more insight into the baseness of our gender distinctions.
One complaint men have about women learning how to salsa is that we “cling to them” when dancing. Our hands should be free so that they are free to do their next spontaneous move. As a woman, you lightly hang on the man’s hands (those providing, working hands), lightly, dainty and passive. You are at his whim. Don’t hold him back. Do not cling when a man is turning you three times while you are wearing stiletto heels on a slippery dance floor. Ladies, we got it bad. We’re supposed to levitate too. Salsa puts you (ladies) in place – continue reading …
Oh, Rio!
This one’s for C-mixto.
C-mixto thought it romantic to whisk me away to Brazil a few years ago. Rio to be exact.
If you’re never been to Rio, here are three points to consider before going:
- If a woman traveling with your man, be very secure in yourself (I mean your looks and your relationship).
- If you’re a man traveling with a woman you’re not crazy about, reconsider your travel plans; you will not be able to hide this once you land.
- If you’re a man traveling solo or with other guys, you probably already know what’s up, hence why you’re going there to begin with.
One night, dining along the shores of Copacabana, C-mixto suggests we go dancing. To the “biggest club in Latin America”, he claims. We hail a cab, get in, and C-mixto tells the driver our destination. The driver begins to drive, but with hesitation. Oh, Rio! – continue reading …
Dante’s Inferno, Ninth Circle: Archie
Archie was the fluff of my comic book library. The girl in me came out to balance my X-men, Excalibur, etc…
So word has it that Archie will propose to Veronica. And I say screw you Archie of Riverdale.
Let this be slightly off topic, but the fires of Dante’s called for Archie to be thrown in. Now this is just media hype- Archie’s gang will always be timeless, the gals forever stuck as sixteen year olds with some mean C cups and seventies fashion swagger. This might not all play out. But Archie, here is your life if you marry Veronica in my little crystal ball: you will be p*ssy-whipped with a father-in-law complex, you will scramble to make up for the money and class you will never have, Veronica will be f*cking her yacht boys as she vacations on her own in the Mediterranean. Betty will be scarred by lost love, will realize the time she wasted in chasing a man (never do this. never) and move on as a fierce woman who you’ll lust, long and lament for as you realize that you were bedazzled by an ice-queen.
Now I’m not hating on Veronica. She has sense to play the field. But she lost points by being a hater on Betty. Betty, get over carrot-top. Let it be stated how couples who the entire world rallies against sometimes create very beautiful lives that work for them. Archie and Veronica might make a lovely couple. One never knows. But…
Freeze with your neck up to ice in the ninth circle, Archie.
Rolling with the tide
This is a non-conventional blog entry, when Nova spirals into a literary piece (though blogging nevertheless because my stories require multiple edits, while blog entries are raw). I try to balance these entires with urban odyssey shots to even things out.
Let’s time travel a bit, to a sunny beach in St. Petersburg, Florida. Nova is about twelve in her urban odyssey. She has parents who feel she must be exiled to a sunny, southern state with immigrant war-scarred grandparents every summer. It’s part of a city kid’s odyssey: everyone tells you how horrible it is that you grew up in one, and your soul gets saved by sending you to foreign states just when finally think you’re free because you’ve just been released from school for the summer.
This entry speaks to rolling with things that sometimes present themselves as obstacles and hardships in our journey back home to Ithaca. Rolling with the tide – continue reading …
A League of my own
Let’s talk about Chicago. Been there once but not long enough to really talk about it besides mentioning the charm of the downtown layout, streets, river, diversity and its contribution of Barack Obama. I was on a work trip and was required to stay at a place called “The Union League Club of Chicago”. The name struck me as strange for a hotel, so I looked it up and learned that it was a club. Club like social clubs grown-ups join to replace play-dates parents of like mindedness make.
My first clue that I was in for a change was a very strict dress code spelled out in every email confirmation, receipt and reminder they sent to me. No jeans, No shorts, except on weekend evenings, and an expectation that you would adhere to businesslike attire.
When we arrived there I understood why God hath made me a woman. A League of my own – continue reading …
