The Destroyer of Bed-Stuy is ushering in the end times.

CONTENT ADVISORY: Please be advised that this video is of a very graphic nature. You should not view it if you are pregnant, think you may be pregnant, have liver disease, are in the advanced stages of HIV, or are a pre-op transsexual.

This frightening footage was provided to me by Woman as evidence that indeed the Apocalypse is upon us. It is worth noting that the disturbing attack occurred on the one-year anniversary of this very blog.

Dear readers, keep wearing those clean undies because you never know when it's going to happen.

My heart goes out to the families of all the individuals lost during Tuesday's noon massacre. A neighborhood-wide block party will be held this Saturday from 10:00 am to 4:00 pm to raise money in order to provide assistance with the funeral costs. There will be streetball, a "Walk It Out" contest, food vendors, choirs from various local churches, alcohol from various local liquor stores, curious but intimidated hipsters watching from 2nd-story apartment windows, grown men on tiny bikes, appearances by some of your favorite loiterers, a mobile police unit, and a 15% discount off all merchandise at Fat Albert's.

Happy Birthdays are ushering in the end times.


Exposed brick walls are ushering in the end times.

I became unemployed on August 3. Since then, with the exception of my week-long trip back to Texas/Kansas, I have been trolling for apartments here in "New City" (coined by my three-year-old niece). I'm tired. I'm discouraged. And my pits are sweaty. I can't handle another complicated train ride out to _____ Heights (fill in the blank with all the options) only to find that the apartment's bedrooms are railroad, something omitted in the ad. Thank you, but I'll pass on roommates sneaking through my bedroom for a midnight bathroom run. Or that as of now there aren't floors or walls. Or that the apartment doesn't have heat, and the current tenants had to deal with leaking holes in the ceiling and no hot water for three months. I've even resorted to walking up and down, around and about neighborhoods we actually like (and just might be able to afford), calling the numbers listed on For Rent signs and stopping at apartment buildings to see if they have availability. My six hour stroll through Woodside and Sunnyside in Queens may have shaped my calves but added nothing productive to the hunt.

See, last year we did a stink job of finding a place. We entered into the apartment search with two non-negotiable criteria: a neighborhood in which Little V felt safe, and three bedrooms roughly the same size.

We failed meeting both. Little V can't make it to our place in Bed Sty without receiving the special attention that only strangers know how to lavish on young women. And Little V beds each night in a storage closet with a window. Funny thing is, it was Little V and I who decided on the place. We saw the exposed brick walls, and our bodies went limp.*

We're really trying to be smarter this time around but know very well that we will not find the ideal. I had to inform my incredulous mother a few times that almost nothing we can afford will have air-conditioning. "Nothing?" "No. Put air-conditioning out of your head. Banish it!" In the end it will come down to what we're willing to give up. Quality neighborhood? Closets? Convenient subway? Late-night chicken joint?

"I've Been in the New City Real Estate Trenches" List

1) Want fictional neighborhoods? Craigslist has them. East Williamsburg - the less threatening name for Bushwick and/or Bed Sty. Upper West Side/Washington Heights. What? Where did Harlem and Morningside Heights disappear to? And Bushiburg?!?

2) Blocks from the train. How about 30. Close to all transportation. Close to nothing. In addition, a 7 minute walk to the subway is never 7 minutes. And that 15 minute commute into Manhattan? Dump that in the same rubbage bin where you abandoned Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, and the American Dream.

3) Up-and-coming neighborhood. You will be part of the initial wave in the gentrification process, so prepare to deal without a Starbucks until the second round of white settlers move in.

4) Brokers! Brokers! Brokers!

"Look at this view." I'm staring at the back of a warehouse wall. "You can see the Empire State Building from here!" Leaning. Leaning further out. Straining to see around the bulky, elevated subway platform. Leaning. Leaning... "And the garden's right below." The weed patch and chain-link fence.

"The neighborhood has everything." Not true. "Grocery stores." Shady bodegas that only sell Doritos, soda, and liquor. "The most beautiful park." Yes. Half-a-mile away. "Restaurants." Pizza and Chinese you order through a hole in the protective glass window separating the customers from the employees.

"Do you all have jobs? Look at this. Brand new! No one's used this stove top. No one's used the oven. You will be the first. You'll be the first to turn on the gas, place your head into its womb and end it all! Look at these ceilings! You could store a giraffe in here! A giraffe and it's mother! Is everyone employed? Why would you want a living room? You each have beautiful bedrooms. 1, 2, 3 beautiful bedrooms. You just eat in there. Close the door. It's your own. Yes, the bathroom's small, but all you need to do is get in and get out. Do you want a closet? I'll build you a closet. Oh, you want a door? I'll build you a door. I will make it out of dirt and spit. It will be ready by tomorrow. How many of you are there? Does everyone have a job?"

5) A liquor store must always been accompanied by a church and vice versa.

6) And, most importantly, if you're walking down the street on your way to an open house and you think to yourself, "Now, this is a cute block," don't worry - your apartment will not be on this block. It will be on the next block over. The one with the dilapidated row of disgruntled brownstones and apartment complexes with dime bags on the ground in front and entry doors with the street number spray-painted on them. (The same applies for apartment buildings. The cuter the building is, the more likely it will not be the one where your future hovel will be found.)

*Regarding those exposed brick walls, the mortar slowly and continually crumbles off onto our appliances, window sills, and floor. Even after we demanded that a second coat of shiny something be applied, the Great Shedding continues. At night I can listen to the tiny cement bits say goodbye to their loved ones and jump from the brick ledges, fatally landing on boxes and plastic bags far below.


New headshots are ushering in the end times.

After intensive elective surgery and colorization.


A wide-eyed innocent poses for the uber-talented Sylvia Renick and marvels at the wondrous instrument she holds in her hands, a magical contraption that can capture his image better than any tintype. This black and white boy knows nothing of the color spectrum and believes that sunshine and happiness grow in gardens alongside rows of bell peppers and okra. In a few months, this boy will somehow convince himself that George W should be reelected.


Three years later I've realized that I had to stop buying relaxed fit jeans, that life takes a little seduction now and then, and that the only headshot I had limited me to playing the role of the 16-year-old preacher's son. Inspired by the teachings of Queen B, I decided to upgrade my headshots in order to give myself a little versatility. Here for your consideration, dear readers (if I haven't already driven all of you away with my glacial posting), are a few results from my sitting with photographer Laura Rose.

Now it's time for reader participation! Kick ass! Vote for your favorites. Help me decide what I should use for my commercial look (casual, open, endearing) and my legit (intriguing, more serious). Also, which shot is the most smug? And which look is most likely to get me into your pants? I'll post the results if anyone actually votes. How cool is that!

"Commercial" Look


3) WINNER (see February 25th entry)

4) 5)

6) 7)

"Legit" Look




4) 5)

6) 7)

8) 9) WINNER (see February 25th entry)

10) 11)

12) 13)


Inactivity is ushering in the end times.

My former kingdom.

Oh how I'm not doing anything.

Remember my last post (way back in '88)? About me leaving my toy soldier position? Well, once again I'm saying adieu to employment. Honestly, I don't want to make this a habit, but I can't deny when a job is ending. I could if I wanted to. I could try and pretend I didn't see the inevitable finality of it all and continue to iron my button-up shirt, carefully select a sweater vest, and arrive every morning at 8-ish to 787 7th Ave. However, such willful oblivion won't produce a paycheck. So I must turn to unemployment and address him directly:

Mr. Unemployment, I welcome you as a temporary guest. Make yourself at home because I know this will only be a brief stay since you must soon leave to pay a visit to Dennis Hastert. Mr. Unemployment, I thank you for enabling me to return home to see my family and to spend more time apartment hunting. But, Mr. Unemployment, remember you are a guest in my home, and you will respect my rules. Please take off your shoes at the door if they are muddy. Do not leave food crumbs on the dining table nor hookers in my bed. And under no circumstance will you touch my bank account. I have hot water on the stove. Feel free to make yourself some tea.

Now some of you may be asking yourself, "Baby girl, what job is d.a.vid leaving?" Well, I was the temporary administrative assistant at BNP Paribas's Asian Equities desk. A position I acquired through eavesdropping, thank you very much. It all started when.....

It was a magical June day, the kind which gives you faith in God. David was meeting his friend for a night of theatre at Lincoln Center. As he stood at the railing of the lobby's mezzanine, he overheard a voice which sounded like sweet cherry blossoms. A woman spoke with frustration to her friend about the disappointing performance of her current temp. David was curious and continued to lend an eager ear to this conversation. According to the woman, the temp came in late and never stayed past 5. Apparently he was a thorn-in-the-side to all her coworkers too.

When David's friend arrived, he told her of the situation and asked if he should introduce himself. His friend replied, "David, you are a sparkling star in this night sky. Recognize your abilities and offer yourself to her like the human sacrifice you are." With those encouraging words and both of their respective friends momentarily absent, David approached this woman and attempted to initiate oral stimulation on her if she would only allow him to interview for the job. The woman demurred, but David insisted that she at least consider him for the position because he was capable and as gregarious as a chipmunk. The woman, named Grace (How wonderfully true!), said, "What the hell," and the two exchanged information. They then returned to their own friends and entered into the glorious world of Theatre.

All this occurred as described (more or less) on a Thursday evening, and by Friday morning David had a new job which did not require him to dress like the eroticized fantasy of a uniform fetishist.

So for four months I endured the pressures and enjoyed the benefits of the world of finance. But my tenure has come to an end. I have trained my replacement and thrown my fortune to the wind (and to Craigslist).

And as I sit here, jobless, and wait for my current lease to expire at the end of August, I like to pretend that I don't need to be looking for an apartment. This allows me to relax and do things like update my blog, buy new sweater vests from Daffy's with my credit card, and watch the glorious horror film, The Descent, jumping like a nervous school girl about to make it with a boy for the first time.