KILL IT, KILL IT NOW. If I hear that commercial one more time I'm getting a rifle and limping up a tower and shooting at every motherfucker in Hollywood. Especially the ones who made this movie. Oh, and in case you didn't know, and you probably don't, all analog TVs will be obsolete next February. The 18th of February. Of 2009. In case you haven't heard, which you probably haven't.
Hey, look at my banner. The colon is back! When I registered it for trademark status I didn't have the colon on all the merchandise so I had to take it off this site until it went through.
I'm over at Uproarious today, talking about one of my favorite comics EVAH. I've added their widget to my sidebar. It will take you directly to the blog and can also be used as an ATM machine.
And I'm walking.
It's amazing all the things you take for granted in life. Like walking. Even though I'm doing it on crutches and the boot is a doppelganger for the Empire State building, it makes me feel human again. And for those of you who know me, I am not often called human. And in case you're wondering, I have no idea how to make an umlaut on the keyboard.
The night anxieties have come back. It means restless leg syndrome, eating late at night with no hunger required, carbs only bien sur, and an inability to fall asleep before 5 a.m. I have no idea what triggers this and have suffered from it since I moved to California during the Gold Rush. GOD MAKE IT STOP.
And speaking of things you take for granted.
When I lived in NYC, we had a super(intendant) named Victor. He was Peurto Rican, very handsome and a Ford model who had just gone past his prime modeling years a twee.
An ex-Viet Nam vet, he was also a hero in our neighborhood on the Upper East Side. This was back in the 80's, before gentrification popped our hood on its ass. We were at 90th and York, just north of the richest part of the Upper East Side. I had a kickass view of the East River and all the behemoth tankers that used to glide by, slowly and gracefully. Gracie Mansion, where the Mayor lives, was right across the street surrounded by a beautiful park and boardwalk.
Victor used to wrangle all the juvies in our part of the jungle and make them do physical activities to keep trouble at bay. Everyone loved him.
Turns out the reason Victor lived with only his Doberman Pinscher Sukie and became a super was because he had recently separated from his wife and child. He was, unfortunately, a cheat. He had affairs left and right and even ended up with one of my friends, which they both tried to keep from me. FAT CHANCE.
Finally Victor cleaned up his act. And wanted his wife back. He called her over and over and she refused. He had just abused her trust too many times. So one day he locked the Dobie in the bedroom, called his wife, begged her to take him back, and when she once again refused, shot himself in the chest, in the heart. Over the phone.
He survived the Viet Nam war but not his marriage.
We lived in front of a bus stop, the first one on the 86 crosstown line. We all knew the bus dispatchers by name. Victor's wife had called 911 and they sent cars and an ambulance over but everyone was afraid to go in because of the Dobie. No one knew the dog had been locked up so they assumed he was standing guard over poor Victor. The police decided to send in Vinnie, one of the dispatchers, since he at least had had contact with the dog.
Later on Vinnie told us what the apartment looked like and said no one should ever have to see something like that.
The next day I took the 86 bus over to the West Side. I got off at Central Park West, which I never did. There are no shops on that street, just apartment buildings. But I needed to walk, my usual refuge for when I need to think things over. I looked up at the trees in the park. I couldn't believe how beautiful they were and how supremely gorgeous the park appeared. I was so happy to be living in the most fabulous city in the world and I just stood there, awestruck. New York and all its beauty overwhelmed me.
And then I thought, "I can't believe Victor would leave all this."
A park and a city I knew like the back of my hand, including where all the bathrooms were in all the major hotels. I had never seen them before like I did that day. Not really.
End of chat.