Archive for September, 2011

My Boss’ Dream

September 23, 2011

My boss dictates, as I once mentioned, and the other night he dictated a dream of his to a night assistant (all of this is a long story). Here it is:

I had a dream Saturday night of my whole world crashing down on me.

I was in bed with JT, heard a noise, got out of bed, heard a stranger in the house, went downstairs, and found 18 people living there.

I called the police and had them arrested since none knew who they were or how they’d gotten there.

That day, all day, I worried about a party that was coming up with everyone I knew coming.

TG was away, but he had a room there in the house.

After the trespassers had been arrested and left I went up the stairs again but they broke and I hurt myself.

My ex-wife had a small back room in the house, which had a terrace going out from it. In the morning I looked at the wreckage down below done by the trespassers, the place was wrecked and parts of the roof were gone, somehow.

I made a decision to rebuild, including rebuilding many secret areas.
The next day the party took place, it was a sunny Sunday, people showed up and tried to disregard the total mess in my life of which the ruins of the downstairs were a metaphor. However my ex-wife’s section was perfect and increasingly, because the area was so nice, people like my daughter drifted to the my ex-wife’s section of the house. She was there with a boyfriend, sometimes leaving the house and driving around in a little car, laughing.

I remember the downstairs very well, the trespassers had thrown all the paintings off the wall and books were in disarray all over the floor. Where I slept, upstairs—somehow JT wasn’t there—over the bed there was no roof. I decided I would have to fix it.

The furniture was in shambles. And was much to heavy for me to move to one side. I said to myself, “I’m 75 and I will hurt myself moving the furniture.”

JT had quite a few ideas but I told her I’m not interested in them. I said to myself it will take every penny I have to rebuild this house, but I said to myself I would do it.

JT advised me to just walk away, I said I cant I must rebuild, I cant be defeated, even though I knew JT was right. Suddenly my mother appeared and agreed everything JT advised me to do. Suddenly my father appeared and happily he agreed with everything I thought should be done.

The location of the house in this dream was near a country-western nightclub. I’m not quite sure why I went there Sunday night, but I did and Johnny Cash, after doing a couple of sets, came over to me and said he would like me to sing with him.

When I went back to my seat I said I must hire an architect, I said to myself, in September how can this be rebuilt by December. I knew it was impossible.

I decided in the rebuilding I would put in an elevator, but I know I would have to buy the building in order to put one in.

I worried about how to combine my work with day job with the time I would need to supervise the rebuilding.


What? You think it’s sort of unethical that I shared my boss’s dream with everyone? I’m willing to share my own. Last night, his housekeeper, an adorable and loving Ukranian woman, admitted herself to a mental institution for the third time in six months.

“She’s addicted!” my coworker said.

“To what?” I asked.

“To rehab!”

My boss was distraught that she had disappeared without a warning, so in a panic, he wailed to me that we must find her. I listened to his answering machine and there was a message on it from her. There was a lot of static but I made out that she was somewhere upstate in a town called Foxgloves. I knew of the place, and knew, for some reason (here’s where you raise an eyebrow) that the acute unit, where all new admits where housed, required patients to go pants-less. I found the institution’s number, called up and asked for R—–. To my surprise, they put her on the phone quickly. She sounded chipper. I put my boss on the phone and he was so thrilled to hear her voice he welled up with tears. Later on, he wrote her a thank you note, all the while wearing a blissed out smile on his face. My coworker said, “Great. Remember last time when she went away and came back? She was so stern. ‘You are not allowed to bother him in de morning.'”

Now who’s nuts?

My Answer For Today

September 22, 2011

NO Manifesto by American dancer and choreographer Yvonne Rainer

No to spectacle.
No to virtuosity.
No to transformations and magic and make-believe.
No to the glamour and transcendency of the star image.
No to the heroic.
No to the anti-heroic.
No to trash imagery.
No to involvement
of performer or spectator.
No to style.
No to camp.
No to seduction of spectator by the wiles of the performer.
No to eccentricity.
No to moving or being moved.

Testing for Gigi

September 21, 2011

This is a test.  This is not a poem.


A Dress to Die a Dramatic Death in

September 19, 2011

Lynn Yaeger thinks guillotine, and I tend to agree.  Unfortunately, I would drown in this diaphanous poof ball… still, would go down looking goooooood.


Paper Sculptures

September 16, 2011

are poppin' up all over Edinburgh.

Futurist Manifestos for Fashion Week

September 15, 2011

How apropos that I have been assigned to review a book about accessories during fashion week, most of which I have spent strictly wearing solid colors, reading Simone Weil and contemplating the nature of existence (piety is the new black.)  The book is infinitely more exciting than the actual coverage of fashion week I have seen (it’s just not wacky enough –– I would tell you my brilliant idea for a photo shoot, but I don’t want to blow up my brother’s and my spot) and, while not a light and happy read about bracelets, does offer some very funny, interesting launchpads to learn about new things.  Namely, that the Futurists thought a lot about certain types of accessories:

Futurist Manifesto of the Italian Tie

The painter and sculptor Renato Di Bosso and the poet Ignazio Scurto, assisted by courages young Futurists from the Veneto region, declare an unrelenting, aggressive and ferocious crusade against the noose-like knots of black, gray, and colored ties…

Italians!  Abolish knots, bow-ties and all anti-speed, anti-hygienic and anti-optimistic frippery!…

A man’s character is shown by the tie that he wears.  Today, in this divine, dynamic, simultaneist motoring age, the character of a man must not be shown by a knot and a piece of material, but by the shine and the purity of metal.

Thus we invite all Italian men to boycott the ordinary tie and wear the Futurist tie, which we launched on March 27th 1933 in Verona.

The Futurist tie, an ANTI-TIE OF HARD-WEARING SHINY LIGHTWEIGHT METAL, is a sign that the wearer possesses flexibility, strength, intelligence, sobriety, solid ideas and an innovative Italian spirit…

The metals used should be between one and two fifths of a millimeter thick and thus be of corresponding minimum weight, while the knot must be completely abolished.  It should be a few centimeters in length…

The anti-tie, held in place by a light elastic collar, fully reflects the sun and the blue skies that enrich us as Italians, banishing the melancholy pessimistic look from the breasts of our menfolk.

How ridiculous are those young men and boys who wear ties like diplomats or gloomy notaries.  Mothers!  Give your sons a bright shiny anti-tie which will inspire them with optimistic original ideas and dreams of light and flight.

Indeed, with the anti-tie, every man, every youth, and every one of our boys will possess that aviator’s look look of which all Italians are worthy.

It is better to be adorned with the sunlit wing of an airplane than with a ridiculous rag…

Futurists!  Boycott noose-like knots!

Italians!  Dress like virile men and not like those about to be hanged!


Tee hee!  How funny is Futurism?  I think it’s because while obviously ridiculous, they take themselves so damn seriously!

Another one, for a night time giggle:

The Futurist Manifesto of the Italian Hat

The much-desired and indispensable revolution in Italian men’s clothing began on September 11th 1914 with the great Futurist painter Giacomo Balla’s famous manifesto, “The Anti-neutral suit.”

[It goes on to say…]

1. We condemn the Nordic use of Black and neutral colors, which bring a muddy stagnant melancholy to the rainy, snowy and foggy streets of the city making it look as if there are enormous logs, boulders, and turtles being swept along in a brown deluge.

2. We condemn that traditional, passatist headgear that is so out of touch with the aesthetics, the practicality, and the speed of our great mechanical civilization.  For example, the pretentious top hat that prevents fast movement and attracts funerals.

In August, when the Italian streets are full of blinding light and torrid silence, the black or gray hat of the man in the street drifts above, as dreary as dung.

Color!  Color is needed to compete with the sun of Italy

3. We propose the Futurist functionality of the hat, which until today has been of little or no use to Man, but which from this day forth must illuminate him, mark him, take care of him, defend him, make him faster, and cheer him etc.

We will create the following types of hat:

1. The velocity hat (for everyday wear); 2. The night hat (for evening wear); 3. The luxury hat (for parades); 4. The aero-sport hat; 5. the sun hat; 6. The rain hat; 7. The mountain hat; 8. The sea hat; 9. The defense hat; 10. The poetic hat; 11. The advertising hat; 12. The simultaneous hat; 13. The plastic hat; 14. The tactile hat; 15. The signal hat; 16. The sound hat; 17. The radio-telephone hat; 18. The therapeutic hat (resin, camphor, or menthol with a band moderating cosmic waves); 19. The automatic greeting hat (with a system of infra-red rays); 20. The intelligent-making hat for idiots who criticize this manifesto.

They will be made of felt, velvet, straw, cork, lightweight metals, glass, celluloid, compounds, hide, sponge, fiber, neon tubing, etc. either separately or combined.

The colorful nature of these hats will bring the flavor of huge dishes of fruit and the luxury of huge jewelry shops to the streets.  The streets at night will be perfumed and illuminated by melodious currents which will destroy forever the tired-out sentimentality for moonlight.


Up next, by request: more infant fashion blogging!

What I Did At Work Wednesday Afternoon

September 14, 2011

Drew a little picture.

No Longer in Denial

September 12, 2011

In an earlier post, I said I was not a Kate Moss devotee, but I think I was either lying or have developed into one over the past year or so.  Anyway, I stumbled across my coworker’s copy of Kate Moss Style: Inside the World’s Most Famous Wardrobe by Angela Buttolph and have been skimming through for an hour or so.  A quote I stumbled across reminds me way too much of myself!  (Minus the whole assertive follow-through.)

“I’d been saying for years, ‘Shall I cut my hair?  Shall I cut my hair?  Shall I cut my hair?’  And my friend was like, ‘Kate, for God’s sake, shut up!  Just cut it!’  So I did that day.”

One of these days I will do it!

I Am Poor

September 12, 2011

So I look on Craigslist for freelance gigs.  A lot.  People should pay me a lot to do things I like to do, but they don’t, so I have to contemplate gigs like babysitting a teenager post-psychiatric hospitalization and modeling for painters (neither one of which I’ve gotten a response from yet.  Fuckers.)  Anyway, I found this hilarious advertisement for a salesperson at an adult video store out on Staten Island:


I was told to hire new employees. Usually they take applications till they are blue in the face, talk to the people for a little while, throw them on a shift or two to see if they can handle it and hire someone.

Well, that is basically what I’m going to be doing, but, I really don’t want to hire some drone who just thinks they are superior because they work in a freakn’ adult shop. They don’t get to know the products, and think it is cake work. Sure, being a body IS cake, but I don’t want another body.

Do not apply if you don’t have a car.
Do not apply if you have another job.
Do not apply if you can’t tell your parents/boyfriend/girlfriend/etc
Do not apply if you’re in school.
The hours are set at 9am-6pm…6pm-3am

We’ve tried to work around these things before, and it doesn’t work.

You must be happy to approach everyone of all ages, genders and sexual preferences, we are looking for natural born sellers (it is a job after-all), a team player, someone who comes in on time. The same things Macy’s looks for… except you must have an edge, some product knowledge, something we can work with…because we don’t sell sweaters here. We need you to hit the floor running. We need that cool confidence.

I bet you’re nodding your head saying “THAT IS ME!”, then reply to this posting for more info.


Sadly, I am shaking my head no and furrowing my brow in a half grossed-out, half pitying way.

My Boss Can Be Meaaaaaaaan

September 12, 2011

So I’m cleaning out my office and I find a draft of an email that my boss may or may not have sent.  The context makes it pretty clear what’s going on: Cousin emailed asking for a family tree, boss doesn’t like the cunt.  (This may be a fairly inappropriate thing to do, but my boss always says he “has no secrets,” and as this little policy of his causes great distress in MY life, I think it’s actually justified.  Generously edited for content and to protect the identities of those mentioned.)

To [presumably] a cousin:

Dear —–,
It is so odd to hear from you as you showed so little interest in my mother after my father’s death, and even in my father when he was alive, despite years of attention he gave his sister –– your mother –– that I was dumbfounded.  Perhaps age has made you think of family, but I don’t at all mind saying that both my mother and father were very hurt by what you probably never gave a thought to i.e. family [awkward wording.]

Also during my 20 years running —- in London, you must have been in London sometimes –– I was in Cambridge only once and saw you with my daughter–– and during all those times in London you made no effort whatsoever to see me and my daughter.

Never mind, live moves on.  [sic]

Regarding your request regarding the —– family tree, there is no such thing.  There is a —– family tree, but that’s not your family; that’s my mother’s side.  And as you weren’t very interested in the —— until apparently just now, you could hardly be interested in the ——.  Having said the above, I did some extraordinary research into the —— and know a whole lot.  I went to Brazil to track down those Luxenburgers who escaped there and went to Grevenmacher to visit your mother’s relatives there; I did this several times and am in touch with them.  I went to Bossum for family reunions which take place every five years, and on and on…

So I know a great deal including other connections that —— and —— had with people here in New York.  Undso Weiter [sic].  Your inquiry was as brief and as short I remember you being, you and —- having no family feeling whatsoever.  There’s not even an inquiry in your letter after all these years about how anyone is.  

I’m sure you’re prospering.  The few times I met you I could see that [w]as all you were interested in [sic].  I also missed any sign of your interest in a cultural life, just real estate and making money. 

You thoroughly deserve this letter.  What could you expect from the perfunctory letter you sent after all these years?  You don’t even deserve this response.  

However, if you have any particular questions, since I spent so much time informing myself of our background and what they all went through, I will of course answer you.