Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Category: New York City (Page 22 of 24)

The Devil Wears Converse

July 6, 2006 / / 34 Comments

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Since I’m still in New York for the rest of the week, I decided to go into Manhattan for a job interview with Anna Wintour at Vogue Magazine.

Anna:  “So, Neil, how much experience do you have in the fashion industry?”

Neil:  “None. ”

Anna:  “None?”

Neil:  “Well, I did write two pieces about fashion.”

Anna:  “At which publication?”

Neil:  “It was on my blog.” 

Anna:  “I see.  Your blog.  And what were these “pieces” about?”

Neil:  “One of them was to call for a boycott of the fashion industry and the other was about some ridiculous jeans that revealed male pubic hair.”

Anna:  “And this is your ONLY experience with the fashion industry?”

Neil:  “Well, I read La Coquette.  I think she does something with fashion.  And a lot of female bloggers write about shoes, so I know a little something.  And Sophia has dragged me to a lot of stores where I’m bored out of mind.  Even Fictional Rockstar recently wondered on her blog, “Why do women torture men like that?”

Anna:  “Do you know who Jimmy Choo is?”

Neil:  “Of course.  Didn’t he played Bruce Lee’s adversary in “Five Fingers of Death?””

Anna Wintour sighs.

Anna:  “Do you usually come to an interview wearing torn jeans and a tee shirt that reads “I almost f***ked in a rowboat?””

Neil:  “I try to have my own style.”

Anna:  “And exactly why do you want to work for Vogue Magazine?”

My Penis interrupted me before I could answer.

Penis:  “Simple.  Have you seen the hot women who work here?”

Neil:  “Please, Penis, I’m in the middle of an interview.”

Penis:  “Neil, I just want to make sure that I’ll be comfortable working here.  Aren’t we a partnership?”

Neil:  “OK, Penis, go ahead.”

Penis:  “Ms. Wintour, I notice that most of the editorial staff  consists of women who are size 2 and under.  Do you have any women employees with a little more meat on them, maybe in the accounting department?  I prefer f***ing women with at least some tits and ass.”

Neil:  “Penis, can you act professional for once in your life?”

Anna:  “I think this interview is over.  How in the world did you ever think that Vogue would hire you as a fashion writer?”

Neil:  “Well, I saw this movie last night called “The Devil Wore Prada,” about a “serious journalist” young woman with stringy unwashed hair (but was a goddess after a fashion makeover) who got a job with a fashion magazine simply by walking in and mocking the the industry to the editor-in-chief’s face.  And this hard-to-believe movie was based on a hard-to-stay-awake-while-reading bestselling book that women just loved to read.  And the bestseller was based on the ungrateful writer’s own experience.  So, I figured, what do I have to lose?”

Anna:  “If I hire you, do you promise to write a roman a clef based on your negative experiences working here while portraying me as a crazed monster?”

Neil:  “Absolutely.”

Anna:  “You’re hired!”

The Noble Savage

July 4, 2006 / / 40 Comments

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I’m a long time admirer of 18th Century French philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau, even though his beliefs are a bit nutty. 

Rousseau contended that man is essentially good, a “noble savage” when in the state of nature (the state of all the “other animals”, and the condition man was in before the creation of civilization and society), and that good people are made unhappy and corrupted by their experiences in society. He viewed society as “artificial” and “corrupt” and that the furthering of society results in the continuing unhappiness of man.

“Man is born free but everywhere is in chains,” said Rousseau.  His solution:  “Let us return to nature.”

Last week, I returned to nature.   I became a different person.  I didn’t shave.  I let my hair grow wild.  I did physical labor, I took my shirt off, I tried to f**k a woman in a rowboat.  Eventually, I just gave up wearing clothes completely.  I became a wild man.  At night, I would sit by the lake and talk with the ducks, as if they were my long-time friends.

But, soon it was time to go home.   The four hours back to New York City were the longest in my life.  As Sophia and my mother played “20 Questions,” I had a harder task — to slowly return to civilized society.  When we hit Poughkeepsie, NY, we stopped at a Mobil station.  I went into the restroom and shaved my beard off.   When we made it to Yonkers, we stopped at a McDonald’s.  I carried my clothes into the men’s room and covered my nakedness for the first time in three days.  It made me feel “civilized” again, but it also felt restrictive, as if I were wearing a mask.   By the time we crossed over the Throng’s Neck Bridge into the Bronx, I was beginning to speak words again, although I thought I was communicating fine with just my grunts and scratching of my chest hairs.  After all, if you think about it, words, like clothes, are facades we hide behind as we manipulate and abuse each another.

As we drove into Queens, my Berkshires vacation became nothing more than a memory.  I couldn’t visualize the lake anymore or hear the sound of the water. I forgot the names of the ducks and how I befriended them.

By the time we drove into Flushing, we were starved.  I remember that Mrs. Mogul wrote a comment a few days ago insisting I try East on Kissena Boulevard, saying it was one the best Chinese restaurants she’d ever eaten in.  We quickly headed to the restaurant to have some dinner.  Mrs. Mogul was right.  The food was absolutely delicious, especially the duck.

Yes, we were back to urban life.

Confucius says, “A wise man lives with ducks in nature, and eats them in the city.”

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A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  The Body Woman

NY Bloggers

June 23, 2006 / / 40 Comments

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When you meet another blogger on his home turf, it is a good idea to meet him in a establishment that mirrors the blogger’s unique personality.

Sophia and I met the sophisticated Tatyana at the Cafe Sabarsky.   Housed within Museum Mile’s Neue Galerie, the restaurant is patterned after the old-style Viennese kaffeehaus. We talked about architecture, politics, and why Austrian cafes serve coffee with a glass of water and metal spoon on top of the glass. 

(The answer:  Viennese tradition bids to serve a glass of water together with the coffee, although this is coming out of use in our hectic days. Originally the water was served as an excuse for the customer to keep his seat even when he had finished his coffee, to be able to read the newspapers provided in the café, or to have lengthy discussions. The latter was important because the “Kaffeehaus” in Vienna was used as a meeting point for writers, artists, etc.)

The next night, we met the mysterious Retropolitan at the Cabana Cafe, a restaurant designed to look like a cafe in pre-Castro Havana.  We talked about 1940’s radio shows, Retropolitan’s perfect radio voice, and the hardships of breaking up with a significant other.

The next day, I met the very professional and talented Amanda at a hip business-lunch cafe near Union Square.   We talked about our blogging “styles,” writing, and relationships.  

One caveat:

1)  Tatyana gave her cellphone number to Sophia, but not to me.

2)  Retropolitan, on leaving us, said, “It was a nice to meet you, Neil.  It was ESPECIALLY wonderful to meet you, Sophia.”

3)  Amanda, on hearing that I alone was coming to see her, “What a disappointment!  I was hoping to meet Sophia.”

Do you see a trend here?   Next time, maybe I’ll just send Sophia with a cardboard cut-out of myself.

 

Those Were the Days

June 21, 2006 / / 55 Comments

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EXT.  QUEENS NEIGHBORHOOD – DAY

A typical middle-class Queens neighborhood.   We hear a piano playing and two voices singing an old song:

“Boy the way Glen Miller played
Songs that made the hit parade.
Guys like us we had it made,
Those were the days.”

INT.  QUEENS LIVING ROOM – DAY

Neil and his Penis are singing together at the piano.

“And you knew who you were then,
Girls were girls and men were men,
Mister we could use a man
Like Herbert Hoover again.

Didn’t need no welfare state,
Everybody pulled his weight.
Gee our old LaSalle ran great.
Those were the days.”

After they finish singing, Neil sighs wistfully.

Neil:  “Being back in New York certainly makes me nostalgic for the old days.  Handball in Flushing Meadows Park, flipping baseball cards, playing the game of “Life” in my room with my friend Rob.

Penis:  “Being here makes me nostalgic, too.”

Neil:  “Really?  I didn’t figure you as a sentimental type.”

Penis:  “Sure.  I had youthful dreams like everyone else.”

Neil:  “Like what?”

Penis:  “Well, like you actually f***ing someone before you turned ** years of age?”

Neil:  “I’m sorry about that.  I was shy.”

Penis:  So, I had to suffer?   You should have let me do all the talking.”

Neil:  Penis, I really don’t want to get into this conversation again.” 

Penis:  “I’m still upset about Debbie Rosenzweig.” 

Neil:  “Not Debbie again.”

Penis:  Clearly she wanted to f***k you after that concert — what was that band’s name?  They were my favorite — ”

Neil:  “The Talking Heads.”

Penis:  “Right…  she practically had her hand down your pants.”

Neil:  “Debbie was my friend.”

Penis:  “Exactly!  And she wanted to get more friendly!”

Neil:  “I didn’t want to ruin things with us.”

Penis:  “Jeez, they should revoke your license to be a man.”

Neil:  “Aw, c’mon, Penis.  we’ve had some good times together.   I’ve probably spent more time playing with you than all of my friends combined.”

Penis:  “I guess we have had some good times.  And It’s nice being back in the old stomping ground of Flushing, New York.”

Neil:  “But the neighborhood looks so different.  The Greek deli — gone.  The Garden Bakery, with those amazing onion rolls — out of business.  All my friends — moved away.  I guess time really does march on. ”

Penis:  “I miss the old days myself.”

Neil:  “Yeah?  In what way?”

Penis:  “For one thing, being a Penis used to be a lot more prestigious.  I remember when a girl would go crazy when I would make my appearance in the bedroom — proud and strong, like a U.S. Marine.  Now every woman has some sort of exotic vibrator at home with more controls than a Tivo.  How can I ever compete?” 

Neil:  “C’mon, women will always have a place for a Penis.”

Penis:  “Are you so sure about that?  I hear there’s a new vibrator coming out with a docking station for the woman’s iPod.”

Neil:  “Wow, I didn’t realize you were as insecure as I am.”

Penis:  “Sometimes I worry that my Glory Days are gone.   I remember when the C**k was King.     Now it’s all about cunnilingus.  It’s the fault of that damn ‘Sex and the City’!  Now, every woman wants the tongue.  What are we — men or puppy dogs?  It’s like the c**k has become a second class citizen.  Soon they won’t even call you “Citizen of the Month” anymore.”

Neil:  “I guess we both need to adjust to the times.”

Penis:  “Adust?  Me?  No, I’m gonna keep on f***ing MY WAY until I’m ninety years old.  I’m even hoping to get a little action here during this NY trip. 

Neil:  “You do realize that Sophia’s here.”

Penis:  “I know.  And I applaud you for renting that romantic lake-side cabin in the Berkshires next week.  Finally, you’re doing something smart.”

Neil:  “Uh, maybe I forgot to tell you… but my mother to going with us.”

Penis:  “Please.  Shoot me now.”

A Question, not a Post

June 11, 2006 / / 21 Comments

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Sophia and I are going to be in NYC in about two weeks, so I look forward to meeting some of you in the NY area.  Seeing that staying in Flushing all that time may get claustrophobic after a while, I’d like to also get away for three-four days to a cabin or rental on a lake or river somewhere on the East Coast.  Any suggestions — maybe in upstate New York or the Berkshires?”

Clock and Crow

May 17, 2006 / / 43 Comments

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I think I made a giant step forward in my appreciation of poetry today (as a participant in Lynn and Liz’s Poetry Thursday).  I was asleep this morning; it was about 6AM.  The morning light drizzled through the blinds and rested on my naked body sprawled across my bed like the Roman God of Virility announcing to the world, “I am Man.” 

“Damn alarm clock!” I said, as this annoying sound pounded into my ear.  I slammed the alarm clock into “snooze” mode.  But the sound continued.  It was not my alarm clock.  It was some stupid bird outside in a tree (a crow, perhaps?).

To me, this crow sounded like an alarm clock.

Now, what does this have to do with poetry?

On Monday night, I went to the Beverly Hills Library and skimmed through some poetry books.  I noticed that poets are always using nature as a way of describing their lives.

“She was as angry as a tornado.”

“Her green eyes were like leaves of grass.”

Etc.

Now, I grew up in New York, and spent much of my adult life in Los Angeles.   I love nature as much as the next guy (despite being allergic to most of it).  I’ve seen the greatness of Yosemite — and even got a cool Ansel Adams poster at the gift shop.   I love the sound of rivers flowing.  I’ve enjoyed Vermont and her colorful Fall.  

But I’m not really at home with nature.  It doesn’t really feel natural for me to describe Sophia as “a tiger in the bedroom,” because I have no idea what a real tiger would do in a bedroom.  I’ve seen tigers in the zoo.  I’ve seen tigers at the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus. I know a tiger mauled Siegfried — or was it Roy?

So, as I woke up this morning, I gave some thought to the statement:

“That annoying crow sounds like my alarm clock.”

I’m sure if Yeats was alive today and living in my crappy apartment instead of me, and the alarm clock would go off, he would have look over at the clock and say:

“That weird clock with a smiling face sounds just like a crow!”

He knows about crows, but nothing about alarm clocks.  I know about alarm clocks, but nothing about crows. 

Maybe I would enjoy poetry more if I can find some poems that related to me in a more personal way — more about how crows sound like alarm clocks rather than how alarm clocks sound like crows.   You know, the way women eat up all those chick lit novels because it relates to their own lives. 

So, today I searched around for poems that focused more on the urban experience, and I found quite a few.

I particularly liked the following poem by Amy Lowell (February 9, 1874 – May 12, 1925).  Lowell, was an American poet of the imagist school, who posthumously won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1926.  Many of her poems have lesbian themes, but this poem focuses on the darkness of Industrial Age New York City.

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New York at Night by Amy Lowell

A near horizon whose sharp jags
Cut brutally into a sky
Of leaden heaviness, and crags
Of houses lift their masonry
Ugly and foul, and chimneys lie
And snort, outlined against the gray
Of lowhung cloud.  I hear the sigh
The goaded city gives, not day
Nor night can ease her heart, her anguished labours stay.
Below, straight streets, monotonous,
From north and south, from east and west,
Stretch glittering; and luminous
Above, one tower tops the rest
And holds aloft man’s constant quest:
Time!  Joyless emblem of the greed
Of millions, robber of the best
Which earth can give, the vulgar creed
Has seared upon the night its flaming ruthless screed.
O Night!  Whose soothing presence brings
The quiet shining of the stars.
O Night!  Whose cloak of darkness clings
So intimately close that scars
Are hid from our own eyes.  Beggars
By day, our wealth is having night
To burn our souls before altars
Dim and tree-shadowed, where the light
Is shed from a young moon, mysteriously bright.
Where art thou hiding, where thy peace?
This is the hour, but thou art not.
Will waking tumult never cease?
Hast thou thy votary forgot?
Nature forsakes this man-begot
And festering wilderness, and now
The long still hours are here, no jot
Of dear communing do I know;
Instead the glaring, man-filled city groans below!

A year ago on Citizen of the Month:  A Letter to Diane Keaton 

Archives now here.  Links now here. 

Neilochka Stalker

March 20, 2006 / / 37 Comments

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Last week, the Gawker website launched a new Gawker Stalker feature that can immediately post celebrity sightings on the internet, complete with a map.   According to the Daily News:

"We’ll be using the Google Maps program," the snarky Web site’s editor, Jessica Coen, told [Lloyd Grove of the Daily News], "and people can look at them as soon as they come in — as close to a live sighting as possible."

This stalker feature was big news in the New York internet world.  Gothamist weighed in:

It’s a pretty simple concept: each day they’ll have an intern manning an email address, and as "Gawker Stalker" missives come in, the intern will plot them on a map. This way, you can stalk your favorite celebrities in real time. Why you would want to stalk Lindsay Lohan is beyond us– but that’s an entirely different story.

Some, like New York journalist Felix Salmon, thought that Nick Denton, the publisher of popular websites such as Gawker and Wonkette, had produced something quite scary.

Part of what makes cities work is the anonymity conferred by large crowds. One of the reasons why people move to New York from Smalltown is that in Smalltown, everybody knew where they were and what they were doing at all times. Here, you can walk down the streets wearing nothing but an inflatable crocodile, and no one will care. Gawker Stalker Maps is an exercise in taking those comfortingly anonymous crowds and turning them into a million-eyed intelligent beast, collating and organising information on hundreds of individuals unlucky enough to be recognisable in public.

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Frankly, I’ve never understood why so many people have Gawker on their blogroll.  They’re never going to link to you.   All you’re doing is helping this money-making entity increase their ad sales.  It’s like you’re wearing a Nike cap or Coke t-shirt, giving a company free publicity without getting anything in return.

Maybe I’m being hard on Gawker, but I am angry at their lack of concern for privacy.   I’m especially bitter over their latest internet entity, Neilochka Stalker.   I really don’t appreciate my friends and acquaintances (that includes you, Sophia!) sending in tips to their special email address telling the world where I am 24/7. Just look at this morning’s postings on the Neilochka Stalker site:

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one.png  March 19, 2006 @ 9am  Neil spotted in bed, annoyed at being woken up by the stupid birds outside, just when the dream about the two hot female bloggers washing his back in the shower was getting good.   Neil scratches his balls and heads for bathroom. 

two.png March 19, 2006 @ 9:20am  Neil spotted peeing in bathroom, than taking shower.  He mumbles something to himself about the "dream" shower being "a hundred fucking times better" than the real shower.  The next door neighbor turns on her shower.  Neil is scalded with hot water.

three.png March 19, 2006 @ 9:40am  Neil is spotted wearing his new light blue boxer briefs.  He spends a few minutes posing in the mirror in various muscle man positions.  Neil sees female neighbor in adjacent apartment window.  Neil smiles at her.   Her boyfriend suddenly appears at window.  Boyfriend puts up middle finger at Neil and they both laugh at Neil.  Neil closes shades.

four.png March 19, 2006 @ 10am  Neil spotted in kitchen, grabbing orange juice and bagel from the refrigerator.  He is seen opening his front door and picking up his Los Angeles Times from the hallway.  He looks down the hall, pissed, when he discovers that someone already stole the "magazine section" and the classifieds.

five.png March 19, 2006 @ 10:40am  Neil is spotted sitting on couch, reading article in "Calendar section" about successful screenwriter/director complaining about the hardships of his tremendous success.  Neil dozes off again.   He dreams that he is back in the shower with two hot female bloggers.  

six.png March 19, 2006 @ 10:50am  Neil is spotted on the couch getting woken up by ringing of the telephone.  It is Sophia.  She reminds him of some chore he is supposed to do for her parents.  Neil says he will do it "right away."

seven.png March 19, 2006 @ 11:15am  Neil is spotted sitting at the computer rather than doing "chore for Sophia’s parents."  He is writing an amusing comment on the site of one of the hot female bloggers, hoping he will impress her with his wit.

eight.png March 19, 2006 @ 12:01pm  Neil is spotted sleeping at his desk.  The phone rings.  Neil doesn’t answer it.

nine.png March 19, 2006 @ 1:00pm   Neil is spotted watching "Escape from Planet of the Apes" on DVD while eating Cheerios from the box.  This is the 124th time he’s seen this movie.  Neil finds himself becoming strangely aroused by Zira, the kind-hearted chimpanzee female scientist.

ten.png March 19, 2006 @ 1:50pm  Neil is spotted lying on the floor, still watching the movie.  His cell phone rings over and over again.  Neil answers it.  It is Sophia, angry.  Neil says he is on his way to her parents.  His excuse:  he was delayed because they were running "The LA Marathon" right in front of his apartment and he couldn’t leave just yet.   Sophia apologizes for getting upset.  After he hangs up, Neil laughs.  He mumbles something about loving the LA Marathon!  He returns to watching the movie.

Blogger’s Fashion Emergency

February 9, 2006 / / 61 Comments

I know many of you wonder what it would be like to meet me.  I know you visualize me as someone ultra-sophisticated and artistic-looking, a cross between George Clooney and Bono.  But I have a feeling that when you finally meet me, your first thought will be, "Gee, Neilochka dresses really bad."

I know this is a shock to you:

I have very little fashion sense. 

I went from being dressed by my mother as a child, to dressing myself shitty in black "Queen" concert t-shirts as a teenager, to being dressed by Sophia, back to dressing myself shitty again.

Here is my current uniform:

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My father wasn’t a very good dresser, either, but at least he wore a shirt and tie everywhere.  And I mean EVERYWHERE, even to the beach.  We once had to leave this touristy "Cowboy" steak restaurant in Tucson because there was a sign reading "No ties allowed.  We will cut them in half."  And there was an actual guy with scissors standing at the front door. 

We ate at the Olive Garden instead.

DING DONG. 

"Oh, it’s the door.  What is this?   Danny?  Akaky?  Melissa?  Helen from Malaysia?  Is this a Blogger’s Fashion Emergency?  Sophia, did you set this up?

Where are you all going?  Into my closet?  You’re not throwing out all my clothes, are you? Not the Queen t-shirt!  I know it’s too small.  But isn’t that bearing-midriff style fashionable now?  And That’s Freddy Mercury on the back of the shirt.  The "Bohemian Rhapsody" guy.  I can sell that shirt on E-bay!"

In honor of New York’s Fashion Week, I am going to transform myself into a stylish man this weekend.. 

For my makeover, which of these fashionable looks do you most prefer?

1)

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2)

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3)

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4)

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5)

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6)

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My hair is also a mess.

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Which hairstyle would work best for me?

1)

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2)

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3)

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4)

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5)

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6)

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Thanks in advance!  I know I can always depend on my readers for good advice.

Fact-Finding Mission

January 30, 2006 / / 27 Comments

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Skid Row in downtown Los Angeles is one of its most shameful spots.  Thousands of homeless roam the streets in this scary 50 square block section of the city.  But finally, Los Angeles city officials are tackling this problem.  A delegation of Los Angeles leaders, including representatives from downtown Los Angeles’ business, law enforcement, and political organizations, travelled to New York’s Times Square on a "fact-finding mission."

New York famously cleaned up Times Square in the 1990s. More than $1 billion has been poured into the area for shelters, housing and cleanup. Times Square saw a 68% decrease in crime between 1992 and 2005. Once a cluster of sex shows and run-down buildings, it is now a bustling city center and tourist destination.

Can Skid Row learn from Times Square?  This 30-member delegation wanted to find out.

Of course, there are huge differences in these two areas.  New York’s Times Square has been world-famous for a hundred-odd years and is located in the middle of the city.  Skid Row is in an grungy dangerous part of town that Angelenos wouldn’t travel to for any reason, even if Pamela Anderson announced she was going to strip naked there on Friday night.  

Some wondered if the trip was really necessary at all.  After all, isn’t the man who "cleaned up" Times Square, former NYPD head William J. Bratton, now the Chief of Police of the LAPD?  Why not just take him out for lunch here in LA and ask him?  Why travel 3000 miles and spend our city’s dollars? 

But City Council members were adamant that this trip was necessary in order to learn what New Yorkers do right — and to find solutions to Los Angeles’ homeless problem.

I feel honored here at Citizen of the Month to be able to sit down with several members of the delegation, to discuss their trip — and what it could mean for Los Angeles.

Councilman Ed Cheatem (D) said,

"My assignment was to see as many Broadway shows around Times Square as possible.  I was especially impressed by the enthusiastic crowd at "Spamalot."  If Los Angeles was able to build several Broadway-sized theaters on Skid Row, imagine how that would help clean up the area?"

Asst. Police Commissioner Manuel Dinero disagreed.

"I saw "Spamalot" and wasn’t impressed.   The biggest problem facing Skid Row in Los Angeles is the lack of fine eating establishments, like they have here on Times Square.  I chose to eat dinner 3-4 times at Becco on West 45th Street.   To taste Lidia Bastianich’s Antipasto Misto, an assortment of marinated and grilled vegetables with assorted seafood, was a real eye-opener.  If we were to open an establishment like this in skid row, I would think our problem would be solved.   Most homeless people cannot afford to eat in a restaurant like this, so they would just move away to a place like Riverside or Oxnard."

Not everything for the delegation revolved around education and "fact-finding."  After all, they were in the "city that never sleeps."

State Senator Igor Misleadi said,

"I’m sure the taxpayers understand that part of our mission in New York was to behave like a typical upscale tourist, in order to learn ways to improve our Skid Row as a tourist destination."

It was State Senator Misleadi himself who chose the fashionable W Hotel, Times Square, as their home base.

"We definitely need one of these on Skid Row!" said downtown LA real estate developer Will Steel.

While most of the group went out "clubbing" during their second night in New York,  Los Angeles Administrative Officer David Embezzlo and former Council Supervisor Mario Fraude, remained in the hotel, continuing with their work.  As part of their research, they asked two high-priced hookers to come to their rooms.  They were eager to learn what differentiates upscale New York hookers from the prostitutes on Los Angeles’ Skid Row.   Knowing that finding streetwalkers is impossible in visitor-friendly Times Square, they chose instead to deal with an escort service that operated from the Upper East Side. 

Supervisor Fraude spoke about his findings: 

"The fact that these women had to travel to Times Square did nothing to hamper their abilities to perform their services.   I was very impressed.  The obvious difference between these upscale New York hookers and their Skid Row counterparts is that these New Yorkers were much more attractive.   I also felt less fear of catching some disease.  Although their prices were a tad high for a typical county supervisor’s salary, I would say that a New York hooker puts a great deal more effort into her blowjob than the typical prostitute on Skid Row."

Administrative Officer Embezzlo agreed.

"I really learned a lot during this "fact-finding mission" to New York.  I’m hoping we gain as many insights during our upcoming "research" trip to Paris."

My Brilliant Literary Career

January 19, 2006 / / 49 Comments

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Last week, Sophia was all upset about the James Frey story and his fraudulent memoir, "A Million Little Pieces." Well, actually, she was more upset at me. 

"It’s pretty clear that the book got sold because they thought he was an alcoholic and drug abuser."

"So?"

"So, you have no grit in your life.  You don’t even like beer."

"I like Merlot."

"No one wants to buy a memoir from someone who drinks Merlot.  You’re like that depressing guy from Sideways."

"I’ve smoked pot."

"When was the last time you smoked pot?"

"When I was 14.  But I didn’t really inhale."

"Jeez, you’re so vanilla.  Did you know I once went out with someone who liked to be spanked."

"Weirdo."

"He was a college professor."

"Why would anyone want to be spanked?  All my life, I’ve been proud that my mother never once had to spank me when I was a kid.  What would I tell her now?  Sorry, Mom, now I get spanked all the time."

"Hopeless."

So much for anyone ever buying my boring memoirs. 

But what about fiction? 

Well, today, there was another nail in the coffin for my non-existent writing career.

"Did you read Gawker today?" asked Sophia.

"No."

"Have you heard of Opinionista?"

"No."

"Well, it’s a blog written by an anonymous blogger, and it’s all about the inside stuff going on at her law firm."

"So?"

"So, she just revealed herself as Melissa Lafsky!"

"Do we know her?"

"No, but read this."

Sophia handed me "The New York Observer."  There was another article about this woman:

In recent months, Ms. Lafsky has been fluffing the pillows for her landing, a sort of “soft opening” phase for her product launch. Profiled but not named in The New York Times in November, she posed so that her face was obscured; in this month’s The American Lawyer, she hinted that her identity would soon be revealed; and her blog plugged an interview with The Observer minutes after the interview was complete.
 
Of course, prior to this week’s non-spontaneous self-disclosure, Ms. Lafsky had already procured herself an agent—ICM’s blog-adoring Kate Lee —and worked up 100 pages of a manuscript loosely based on her life as a lawyer-blogger. (“It’s not a roman à clef,” she said. “It’s not The Devil Wears Brooks Brothers!”)

melissa2.jpg
(Talented, Beautiful, and can Blog without looking at the monitor)
(photo by Melanie Flood)

I wasn’t sure what Sophia wanted me to make of all this.

"Good for her," I said.   "Or is this another one of those "I hate Stephanie Klein – type stories?"

"Don’t you get it," Sophia replied,  "There have been a number of anonymous bloggers that have gotten a lot of buzz by creating a mystery about who they are… and then they make a big reveal.  Do you see where this is going?"

"No."

"Only a really dumb blogger starts using his real name right from the beginning.  Like Neil Kramer.  You should have just been "Citizen of the Month" and then had a big reveal."

"Too late now."

"There’s nothing new for you to reveal.  Nothing buzz-worthy."

"I don’t know.  We can say I’m gay."

"Hmm…not bad.  We’re already separated.  We can say we got separated because you decided you were gay. 

"Good… good.. just how long do I have to be gay for?"

"Until you sell a book."

Jeez, that could be a long time."

"Well, you’ve always had a problem with procrastination.  Finally, we found a way to keep you focused.   No sex with a woman until you write a book."

"I’m not too sure about this idea." 

"Too much like a bad sitcom episode?"

"What if I’m gay, but you decide to transform me back to being straight again."

"Yeah, then I can write a book instead of you! — "The Gay Blogger and How I Made Him Straight Again.""

"Would I have to go around the rest of my life being known as "The Man Formerly Known as The Gay Blogger?"

Note:  After Melissa Lafsky signed with ICM agent Kate Lee and resigned from her law firm, she posed in a nightgown for a spread on female bloggers for a future issue of Fashion Week Daily.

Luckily, I’m all ready for my fashion shoot with my new Texas hold’em pajamas. 

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