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| Someone has missed the point of living in a wealthy, decadent country by jeep 08/08/2004, 3:04pm PDT | ||||
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Kthor wrote: You don't have to go on TV and beg for sex and money like sko edgy Cato Kaelin, kthor. You're sharp enough to do something smart and make enough money at it for the very best hookers in NYC. Look at Hokie, he gets to have the wife and kids and all the economics groupies he can handle, and all he has to do is show up to class and spew buzzwords now and again. You telling me you couldn't swing something like that? That way you're not humiliating yourself in public and you don't have to work around other people's schedules... ...not that I have ever done such an interesting thing as solicit prostitues, unless getting waspy republican floridian coeds high counts. I find doing little to nothing to be far, far better than suffering the consequences of the kind of stupid shit I did ten years back. Bad instincts and a worse temper will burn the crazy right out of you. Course I'm a lazy bastard with no initiative or ambition who's frittering away his remaining pre-alzheimers grey matter pretending to be a sociopathic natural philosopher, so whatever floats your boat. The dozen or so times I visited NYC one image sticks out in my mind. Not the cool german op-art in the MOMA that TOTALLY MOVED WHEN I LOOKED AT IT WASTED. Not the one gay guy on 3rd St and Avenue A who got in a fight with the other gay guy becuase the second guy's dog KILLED AND ATE the first guy's dog on the sidewalk right in front of me. Not whipping Tarantino's ass at pool in the Cherry Tavern, or watching a couple of gutter punks tell Kevin Spacey at the top of their lungs how gay he is. Not the homeless guy near Washington Square Park who took one look at me my first visit and said "I know you're just off the bus from Worcester, MA, kid. Give me a quarter" or the other homeless guy who tried to sell me crack while we were standing right next to four NYPD, the only people awake and outside in Greenwich Village on a Sunday Morning while city employees chlorine-blasted the urine off of everything. and certainly not the unmitigated greatness of Times Square a year before the DisneyBomb went off. We were walking back from that same bar, me and my friend Shawn who lived at 3rd St and Ave A, and went to Hunter, and these two chicks who went to NYU, a rich one who lived in the same building as him and a REALLY rich one who lived in Miami or something and painted shitty pictures when the modeling career got boring, and couldn't believe that I gave her the last of the Afghani quarter with the two Thai sticks hidden in the papers (I wasn't going to take it with me back to Worcester, but I guess no matter how rich your dad is, there's still something sacred about that plant.) Anyway there was this chick, a hooker I guess, sitting in the busted ground-floor window of what looked like an abandoned school. The only light right there was a small streetlamp at my end of this little courtyard of broken glass that seperated us, and I stopped and stared. Latina girl(?) white shirt and pleated plaid skirt, back before Britney and that horde made it OK to appeal to that in a guy. Couldn't see her face for the long, curly black hair. I wasn't inclined to do anything, but the image, the picture of it sticks with me, I'd have painted or sketched it with charcoals a thousand times since then if I had the ability. You walk away from your TV lark with an image or a sound like that in your head, stuck in your memory forever, I figure it was worth it. Anything less and...you can draw, you know? There's better ways to waste your time is all. /jeep/ |
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