Wednesday, November 16, 2005


I owe you an entry, people. I know, I know.

In fairness I should disclose today that I am a blogger looking for something really easy to blog because, let's face it, I'm sick of doing the deep-dive for these entries. Fine, medium-dive, but same sick-itude. I know of seven people who I entertain with these slavishly pecked out words and one is myself and three are my family members. So no more suicide/murder musings for an empty house and for sure, no more complaining about the weather. Today, I just describe a thirty-second (possibly less) exchange I had with a mid-twenties boy who I'm pretty sure was wearing foundation makeup. Then I knock off.

The setup: My friend Shelley and I had dragged her nap-deprived two-year-old into a gallery in SoHo featuring huge psychedelic geodesic structures and a room jammed wall to wall, floor to rafter with rotating multicolor spirals. The sensation of the show was alternately impressive and nauseating and Shelley's son had had enough just after crossing the threshold and was letting us know. Plus he was hungry. The gallery attendant, the boy with the powder perfect skin, was eating his lunch at the reception (har) desk (behind the black and yellow ball above) and completely ignoring us while catching up with friends. We probably seemed like we weren't going to understand or buy the roomful of spirals. Well there's a lost commision, Nancy boy, but I digress.

The exchange:
Me: Um, excuse me?
(The friends part and stare at me as I approach the desk. Palpable judging is palpitated. By me.)

Him (surely irritated, sort of mean, but cute anyway): Yes?

Me: Do you mind telling me where you got that?

Him (looking at his blouse): This?

Me: Oh, no. But that's great. I mean, where did you get that dumpling?

Him (gesturing with a wooden chopstick): This?

Me: Yeah.

Him: Broome Street (shows me the take-out bag.) Here's the address (we read it together.)

(He picks up part of the dumpling with his chopsticks and we regard it together.)

Me: That looks really good.

Him (quiet and flattered): Thanks.

In the end, Shelley, her baby, and I did not go get dumplings. We got noodles somewhere else entirely.

But I may go back for the roomful of spirals.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

quality, not quantity. and you're oozing with the former.


11:16 AM  
Anonymous Robert said...

I'm a faithful reader too. I love your blog. I'm a former co-worker and racquetball partner of your brother's.

11:24 AM  
Anonymous Tommy Williams said...

I'm a regular reader you probably aren't counting. I found you via your brother's blog but I keep coming back because I love your writing.

I would love to know how you and your siblings learned to write because those of you whose blogs I've read (Fatty's, Errorista's, and CJ's for the brief time it existed) make the stories flow and I get a strong sense of personality from each blog.

3:55 PM  
Anonymous fatty said...

in the past, i've always tried to gain the respect of effeminate dudes by affecting a lisping "British Dandy" accent. i can see that admiring their taste in food might be a better approach.

the problem is, though, if i were to tell such a man that i liked his lunch, he'd almost certainly assume that i meant to grab it from him and begin eating it on the spot.

5:50 PM  
Anonymous BIG Mike said...

Sounds a bit like the shop assistant that wouldn't serve Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

10:13 PM  
Anonymous A. Toad said...

You should've said something like, "Oooh, How simply droll, dahling. I positively love dumplings. I shall buy the restaurant at once." Then, turning to your friend, "Shalliegh (pronounced like Raleigh), be a dear thing, won't you, and tell Cahbunkle to bring 'round the Towncah."

I've found that store clerks are generally much better gauges of one's social position than dumpling-eating receptionists. For example, when I lived in Seattle, I once got snubbed by a clerk at the Northgate Target. Ahh... The joys urchinhood.

PS: Sorry for not posting a comment before... But, if it helps abate my rudeness, I've been lurking here since that curious post with the YMCA catalogue on it.

10:20 PM  
Blogger ZinniaSoCA said...

Well, hey, what passes for a medium blog in your world would be a major blog in other worlds.

It's always nice to read whatever you want to write. I mean, hey, the Celebrity Bus passes all the homes of the stars every day but people don't always expect to see the star him/herself waving from the lawn! At least I don't think so, having no experience with them. So if I don't see you waving when the Celebrity Blog Tour Bus stops here, I still get to look at the paintings and such and while I miss the blogs, it's something.



11:17 PM  
Blogger newbrooklyner said...

Thanks, y'all. That's warm fuzzies. Seriously.

10:34 AM  

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