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Odd Facial Hair Configurations And Other Stuff

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Give a man a day off, and chances are that he and Mr. Gillette are going to be having a time out.  I have not shaved since Friday, except for my neck, which itches if I don’t.  I now am sporting a 3 day pre-beard, neatly trimmed above my cheekbones, around my mouth, and below my jawline.  This has caused a local sensation.

In the boudior: “C’mere, ya scruffy little cub!”  Note: facial hair can be employed to good effect during intimate moments.  Or in other words: “Good Christ, if you shave that off I’ll kill ya!”.  My blue eyes got some compliments too, as though he hadn’t really noticed them before.

With a kitty: Edmund and Lucy are fascinated.  Not only do I get the curious face paw, Edmund has been marking me as his by rubbing his face on mine. 

In the lobby: Straighties Ellen and Debra are flight attendants for JetBlue.  They see handsome men every single day.  I went to get my mail and there was a decided tone to their “Helloooooo!”, and I caught the words “working out”.  I have been doing nothing of the sort.

At the barber, where I got my usual very short buzzcut, Russian Mike said “I’m not touching this.  Looks good. Real good!  I clean up for you, but really you should keep.”

In the supermarket – ok, I dressed up a little, but a mom with a toddler ogled my ass and the cashier became a flibbertigibbet.  I had no choice but to wink at her when she handed me my receipt. She giggled and ran her hand down my arm.

This does not make me confident, since The Beard is coming off tonight.  It’s far too high maintenance and while it adds desired structure to my round and moonlike visage, I can’t babysit it twice a day.

But I have to say it’s fun.  Countering the slob factor of skipping a shave or three by cleaning up your neck and evening out the top line works wonders, as does a nice shirt and shiny shoes.  I wasn’t going for the look of a long haul trucker or Zach Galifianakis.  More like Andrew Lincoln in The Walking Dead, who is one of the sexiest men who ever took a breath. (And if Jon Bernthal cast a wayward eye my way, there would be big trouble in Casa Crocker.)  Jon Bernthal is all kinds of fine.

“Ya look good.  I’m a lucky fucker.” Thus spake Cap’n Crocker, and there was a rib-crunching hug to go with it.  You try making redskin potatoes and brisket when a beautiful, honest, brave, crazy, funny man says that to you.  Just try it.  Your potatoes will look like Legos and your brisket will be second-rate.

And he won’t care.

 

Life, Death and Violence: A Study of February 21

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Have you got a case of the Mondays, little birds? So early? Well, pour yourself a cup of coffee, pull up a chair, play that sad, sad tune and get ready for your favorite dose of bad comedy and poorly researched history: Life, Death and Violence! We feel really good today, because there are no thirteen year olds with Wikipedia pages today. In fact, everyone that was born and has a Wikipedia page is older than us! So we only have to feel like we’re complete failures when compared to people who are 22 or older. That’s right. Those people are 22. When we’re 22, we’ll have a Wikipedia page. This is what we tell ourselves even though we turn 22 one month from today exactly (mark your calendars!). Honestly, we don’t know why we don’t already when we’ve appeared in four seconds of television over the span of two episodes of a C-List MTV show. I mean, come on. Well, let’s get to it. We’ve got our press coffee and probably didn’t read Jailbird in time for the book club yesterday. By the way, there are 313 days left in the year. MiNombreEsChris and Splendorinda, PUT YO HANDS UP FOR DETROIT! The 3-1-3. The D. The Dirty!

Detroit Rock City, yo. Take that Bushwick.

LIFE! (None of these people are from the new Brooklyn)

  • 1728: Peter the III: He was emperor of Russia until he was assassinated on the orders of his wife Catherine (who would become Catherine the Great and one of the world’s greatest art collectors). He was also the heir to the Swedish throne, but turned it down to lead Russia instead (easy access to booze is always an incentive to a minor becoming a monarch).
  • He also has the distinction of being named the King of Finland for a short while and not being told so (our parents never told us anything at 14, either, so don’t feel bad about that Peter). He was a drunken, pro-Prussian idiot with smallpox that made him way ugly, too, so it’s no wonder his wife had him offed so that she could become the most celebrated Tsarina in all of Russia and amass a legendary art collection. Thems the breaks, Petey! Better luck next time! Okay, okay, we’re being mean. He wasn’t all bad. He abolished the Secret Police and proclaimed religious freedom, something that was revolutionary at the time and that not even those liberal pansies in Western Europe did.

1860: Sir William Goscombe John: What a name! This Welsh sculptor who worked in the gothic style (or, more correctly, the neo-gothic style) spent his youth restoring castles with his dad, which is awesome.

He made a lot of statues for a lot of people, notably John Cory and his wife and was granted a correspondence membership to the French Institute, a Prominent French Place for Prominent French People that sometimes lets Prominent Outsiders into their Prominent French Place so that everyone can feel Prominent and Important because they are, to steal a line from NYMag, The Most Important People in the World.

William Goscombe John is one of these Important People because of the French Institute and he better not forget it!

You hear that, Bill? Don’t forget it or the French will cut you. They. Will. Cut you.

  • 1927: Count Hubert James Marcel Taffin de Givenchy: One of the most famed couturiers of the Twentieth Century, Givenchy was responsible for the majority of Audrey Hepburn’s wardrobe and what a name! Sorry Will Jahcombover, you’ve been topped. Anyways, his daddy was the Marquis de Givenchy and he named his label Givenchy and his brother became in charge of the family perfume business which was eventually sold to Veuve Cliquot before moving over to Louis Vuitton Moet Hennesy (LVMH) to be with the womenswear line.
  • He idolized Cristobal Balenciaga (who of us doesn’t?) and had a slew of celebrity clients including Jackie O.,  Grace Kelly and the Guinness Girls (the 60s ones. Not Daphne) before finally retiring in 1995. His selection for who would succeed him was rejected by LVMH in favor of the more well known John Galliano. Today the label is run by Ricardo Tisci who we think does a good job.
  • He never married.

  • 1989: Corbin Bleu: The High School Musical star and lovechild of Corbin Fisher and Randy Blue’s French cousin (Justin Guarini was the surrogate) turns 22 today. Happy Birthday!

DEATH! (But what do I wear to a funeral in the new Brooklyn?)

Let’s ask Goofus and Gallant.

Gallant: Aubrey is dressed properly for a funeral. Solemn, but seductive in case she meets an attractive bachelor at the service.

Goofus: Tuck in that shirt, young man! And straighten that tie! It’s a funeral, not a frat party.

1513: Pope Julius II: Pope Julius II was the coolest pope ever. Why? He funded Michelangelo and you people all now how we feel about Michelangelo! He’s the guy who commissioned our good friend Mikey B to build a massive mausoleum smack dab in the middle of St. Peters. Too bad The Warrior Pope ended up with a bedbug filled walk-up in Sunset Park instead of movin on up, to the east side, and that dee-luxe apartment in the sky.

He had his iconic, rockin beard for less than a year. He grew it in mourning for the loss of the city of Bologna to outside forces under General Oscar Mayer, breaking the rules of canon law. You know what? Pope Julius II don’t care. Why? Because Pope Julius II is the honey badger who ever did pape the papacy. That’s why he’s also called “The Fearless Pope.”

The Vatican thought “The Honey Badger Pope” sounded too cool and that people would start worshiping the honey badger because honey badger don’t give a shit. Honey badger don’t care if he’s Divinity. He’s too busy passing out from cobra venom, but look, he’s gotten right back up. Honey badger.

1965: Malcolm X: The original spokesman for Ray-Ban® Clubmaster™ was assassinated in New York.

1974: Tim Horton: We’re at a loss for words, dear friends. This wasn’t just a man. This wasn’t just a hockey player. This was the man who created Tim Horton’s Coffee and Donut. We owe such a debt to this man. We wouldn’t have functioned in high school if it weren’t for the combination Wendy’s/Tim Horton’s across the street. We even went as a Canadian robot one year for Halloween. Its name? Tim-Bot 3000. Yeah, we named him after TimBits. We’re going to go get an iced capp right now in his honor and we think you all should too, assuming of course, you’re near a Tim Horton’s. We know that LeZig is because she’s in Toronto, that most Canadian of all Canadian cities. We bet there’s even two that are across the street from each other like there used to be for Starbucks in New York until The Dark Times. You be safe up there Timmy Ho! We’re pourin a little coffee on the ground in your honor. Don’t worry, we’re doin’ it over a sewer so as not to cause a mess, eh. Wouldn’t want to not be polite. Peace, Timmy. Peace. You’re a golden man and we’ll love you forever.

VIOLENCE! (You think Bed-Stuy is dangerous. Honey, get to Crack Mile)

  • 1952: Students in East Pakistan were shot while protesting for the establishment of Bengali as the national language. Bengali became the national language, but we ask ourselves, was it worth dying for? We’re not sure, but we live in a country without a national language.
  • 1953: Gerald Holtom designs the peace sign for the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. Peace out, bros!


    •  

OTHER NEAT THINGS THAT HAPPENED TODAY (Besides, of course, our declaration that Detroit is the new Brooklyn)

  • 1848: Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels publish the Communist Manifesto, thus screwing up the world for the rest of eternity because people can’t separate Communism from Leninism or Maoism, let alone Socialism
  • 1878: The first phone book is published, thus killing trees for the next 133 years.

  • 1918: The last Carolina Parakeet died in the Cincinnati Zoo. Pretty sad. They’re really colorful and pretty, but now they’re extinct.

  • 1925: The New Yorker publishes their first issue and begins tickling our funny bone with their cartoons.
  • 1947: Polaroid introduces the first instant camera paving way for New Age Fun with a Vintage Feel from the good folks at Hipstamatic™ or, if you have a Droid, Retro Camera.
  • 1948: VROOOOOOOOOOOOooooomommmmmmmmm. NASCAR starts.
  • 1975: The Watergate guys are sentenced
  • 1995: Steve Fossett lands in Saskatchewan after crossing the Pacific Ocean. In a hot air balloon. This guy is the honey badger of people and we here at Life, Death and Violence, your #1 source for poorly thought out research have actually procured the only known photograph of Mr. Fossett during his crossing of the Pacific.

Until next time, friends! Here’s a little happy to get you outta those ruddy, Monday blues.

 

The Day in Demonstrations: Libya Goes DEFCON 1.

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So, the latest news coming out of Libya is that Muammar el-Qaddafi has hired some African mercenaries and they’re now (surprise, surprise) laying waste to protesters indiscriminately resulting in “scores” of deaths across the country today. Today’s activity brings the death toll in Libya to approximately 200 but, of course, no one knows for sure because journalists have been barred from entering the country and communications have been essentially shut down country-wide. Most of this has been happening in Benghazi, where 15 or so people where murdered by security forces yesterday while attending a funeral. There are reports emerging of disturbances in the capital of Tripoli, also:

“We are in Tripoli, there are chants [directed at Gaddafi]: ‘Where are you? Where are you? Come out if you’re a man,” a protester told Al Jazeera on phone. There were also reports of protesters heading to Gaddafi’s compound in the city of Al-Zawia near Tripoli, with the intention of burning the building down [Al-Jazeera].

Yeah, Gaddafi! Where the fuck are you? I’m in the streets everyday, where you at?!!? That’s it! I’m calling Gaddafi a straight-up punk, ya dig?

At least one military unit has defected to the side of the protesters, probably due to them being ordered by an insane, blood-thirsty piece of shit to commit horrible atrocities against innocent people. Protests have also been reported  in other cities, including Bayda, Derna, Tobruk and Misrata and the Al-Zuwayya and Warfala tribes are none too happy with Gaddafi; the Warfala tribe has threatened to stop all oil-exports to the West within 24 hours if the violence doesn’t end. Unfortunately, messing with the oil supply is probably the only way to get Western countries to do anything about it.

The Libyan government has been “defiant” (when are those motherfuckers anything but?) in the face of international criticism. Also, apparently an 18-month-old was shot in the head by a sniper [Gulfnews].

Douchebag Jr. (Gaddafi’s son, Saif) has just given an address on state TV in which he blamed everyone (trade unionists, foreigners, “Islamists”) besides himself and his father. Saif claimed, also, that numbers regarding casualties and deaths have been exaggerated. Sorry, bud, but if even one person was injured slightly you are a huge piece of shit. No need to beat around the bush here, that is what you are. He also promised that reforms would be forthcoming and a popular assembly would be convened on Monday to discuss how to move on from this. Oh these dictators! They’re always so reasonable and reform minded after protesters seize control of “some” military bases and tanks, aren’t they?

Elsewhere, Tunsia seeks Ben Ali’s extradition [Reuters]; the leader of Yemen’s secessionist Southern Movement was arrested today;  shots were fired  in the capital Sanaa as demonstrations move into their ninth day [VOA]; Bahraini opposition parties met Sunday to figure out an official declaration of demands to present to the government although protesters continue to demand Bahrain’s  prime minister and his cabinet step down. Things seemed to remain peaceful throughout Sunday[Toronto Star]; tens of thousands of people demanding political reform have managed to march peacefully in Morroco [ LA Times].

Welp, this has made me thoroughly sick. I got to go lie down now, goodnight!

[Guardian] [ NYT ]

Everyone Needs to Shut Up About the Westboro Baptist Church

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So internet hacktivist group Anonymous has made the Westboro Baptist Church its latest target. Westboro tweeted (!) back, calling Anonymous a group of “cowards” who will only succeed in further promoting the Church’s messages. Meanwhile, everyone else is once again getting up in arms about the evils of the Phelps clan, weighing the Church’s right to free speech versus the right to tragedy victims’ privacy.

Really, I’m sick of reading about Fred Phelps. I shouldn’t even have to make this post, but people haven’t learned their lesson yet so here I am, stating what I assumed was the obvious but apparently is not obvious at all. For the umpteenth time it seems that the news-consuming masses need to register their outrage at this tiny, inbred religious cult; news outlets, for their part, trip over themselves to cover the Church’s doings, as though it’s still newsworthy that Westboro hates gay people and likes to protest soldiers’ funerals. Then people get outraged, and then the media gives more attention to the Church, and it becomes a vicious attention-grabbing cycle that just gets people pissed off for no good reason.

Indeed, there’s no justifiable reason to continue to give the Church’s actions any modicum of attention. The Phelpses are only newsworthy because media outlets make them newsworthy; it’s the journalistic equivalent of dropping whatever you’re doing to placate a tantrum-throwing toddler every time the toddler gets fidgety. As any parents will tell you, toddlers have a tendency to cry about any and every possible inconvenience; like the Westboro Baptist Church, babies lack the communicative skills to more eloquently express their frustrations. Parents sometimes have to be taught that they can’t run into their child’s room every time he or she starts bawling in the middle of the night. The media could use a similar lesson about Westboro; there’s no reason to make a headline out of each of the Church’s picketing efforts, other than the hope of drumming up outraged page views and angry, buzz-increasing comments.

So I’m going to ask you all nicely, one more time: please stop talking about the Westboro Baptist Church. Nothing the church members do is “news” anymore, and there’s nothing to be gained from once again summarizing Fred Phelps’s stance on societal “evils” like homosexuality and, um, everything else. What is there left to say about the Church at this point? The Phelpses has been on their picketing grind for years now, yet every time they announce their next target for protest, media outlets pick up the “story” and give the Church the attention it so desperately seeks. There’s no point to the media coverage anymore.

The best way to “deal with” a group like Westboro Baptist is not to publicize that group’s actions; rather, it’s to ignore the group and all its proclamations. The Phelpses aren’t stupid; they know most people hate what they do. But still, they get a captive audience every time–so why should they stop? As long as people care, they’ll continue to preach their hate. So let’s stop caring, for real this time.

DUI Stops Tiger in His Tracks

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Three days after his epic DUI arrest, hard-drinking slugger Miguel Cabrera was a no-show as the Detroit Tigers opened spring training workouts for the entire club today. It’s unclear when, or even if, Cabrera will join his teammates this spring in Lakeland, FL, according to The Detroit Free Press and a number of other sources. Cabrera is expected to enter an alcohol rehabilitation center within the next several days, which could keep him away from baseball until just before the start of the regular season in early April. But Tigers management and Cabrera’s teammates were more concerned about Cabrera the person than Cabrera the ballplayer and today and universally voiced support and concern for their missing teammate.

“He’s going to be welcomed here with open arms by his teammates,” Tigers skipper Jim Leyland said to reporters. “And they’re going to want to see him hit that ball over the right-centerfield fence with two men on, and he’s going to do that.”

Cabrera, a native of Venezeula, was arrested on suspicion of DUI in Fort Pierce, FL late Wednesday night as he was making his way to spring training from his winter home in Boca Raton. Cabrera, driving a black 2005 Range Rover–a definite undercar for a guy who signed a $153 million contract in 2008–was pulled over by a St Lucie County deputy who saw the SUV swerving through traffic. Arresting officer Deputy Peter Lamborghini–yes, that’s his name– wrote in his arrest report that Cabrera not only declined a breathalyzer test, wandered frequently onto the road and refused several requests to get in the back seat of the officer’s car, but at one point Cabrera also reached into his own car and “picked up a bottle of James Buchanan’s scotch whiskey and started drinking it.” Well, why not? It’s not like he was going to be driving anymore that night.

Cabrera, notes the police report, also pulled the Fame Card and and at one point said to Deputy Lamborghini, “Fuck you…do you know who I am.” While no audio has yet been released of the arrest, almost certainly the exchange sounded more like “Faaaaa uuuuu, nooooo who ayemm?” Excellent work by the deputy translating Drunk English into Standard English so quickly.

In October 2009, Cabrera was arrested, but never charged, on a domestic disturbance report at his home in suburban Detroit. His blood alcohol content was .26 when measured by police after being taken into custody. Cabrera reportedly went through an alcohol counseling outpatient program following the 2009 season. No off-the-field incidents involving Cabrera occured in 2010, a season in which he hit .328 with 38 home runs. The Tigers still owe Cabrera over $100 million.

Photo: Flickr

Today In Poor Judgment (Newsrag Blog Edition)

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Somehow, the most prominent aspect of the attack on Lara Logan that has caused forthright people to desire intense social isolation has been the opportunity it has allowed people to, apropos of nothing, display a total lack of forethought and respect where sexual violence is concerned. The news cycle being what it is, you would think educated, otherwise sensible people were falling over themselves to go out of bounds with judgments over this they have no real connection to.  They have been publicly shamed, some of their careers have been disrupted, and yet it seems like the open season for blithe pontification on the Logan case seems to still be in effect.

The latest to tread dangerous waters appears to be Ward Harkavy over at the Village Voice’s Runnin’ Scared blog. The title of his first thought piece? “Lara Logan: Was She Actually Raped? It Makes A Difference”, which anyone for whom sexual violence is salient will be taken aback by. Wading into the text mixes the initial shock with a dose of healthy confusion, as Harkavy is pushing to clarify whether the attack on Logan was “actual rape” because he feels that there isn’t enough outrage over it. Harkavy’s follow-up post (“Lara Logan: The Rape Question, and a Scandalous NYPD Connection”) elaborates a bit further on this point – he argues that “sexual assault” is a sort of soft word, used to defang and discredit cases of rape (he cites a pretty heinous NYPD case to illustrate this).

I have to admit that when I started to write this post, when I was initially shown the “It Makes A Difference” editorial, I was aghast enough to make it about how the Village Voice royally fucked up and embarrassed themselves, but even as I think the particulars here are still really messed, the concerns Harkavy’s justifications raise are worth considering to some degree.  “Sexual assault” as a term is meant to eliminate the sort of hierarchal stratification of violence that puts penetrative rape at the very top, to the exclusion of all else, but it stands to reason that the intentionally generic nature of the term lends it to use as a sort of desensitizer.

But there are more pressing problems with the argument, beyond that it’s a, uh, novel way to approach the issue, and could just as easily be a thin veil to cover the harrassment of survivors (I take Harkavy’s apparent concern for justice in his posts at face value). The first problem is that this isn’t an abstract, hypothetical thought experiment, it’s a real horrific thing that happened to a real person, and seizing on her case to make a wider point does her a grave disservice, to put it mildly. Harkavy’s argument that the public interest trumps Logan’s right to privacy is not just a tad unsettling. The second problem is that the question being asked accepts in its premises the idea that non-penetrative assaults are less worthy of concern than (to use Whoopi’s unfortunate phrase) “rape rape”. It’s a gamble that Harkavy is cavalierly taking on Logan’s behalf – if penetrative rape did in fact occur, he can then forcefully argue for greater media salience and activism, but if it didn’t he’s painted himself into a corner from which he can only admit that it isn’t as big of a deal as it’s made out to be. There are several possible scenarios that could prove to be just as traumatic as penetrative assault (and if it doesn’t really matter, why would you ask in the first place?)

But even as Harkavy’s posts are, at best, woefully misguided and essentially counterproductive to efforts to recast dialogs around violence, I don’t think it’s appropriate that this guy should be pilloried, as he probably will be (in some corners at least) in the near future. From the looks of his post history, the guy is the Village Voice’s crime beat reporter, and I imagine (though I could very well be wrong) that his perspective is akin to many of those in law enforcement: Simpatico in many respects with the desires of citizens against sexual violence, but at least partially tone-deaf when it comes to matters of structural and social injustice. The dude is not John Boehner, and as disrespectful and callous as his posts come across, I would disagree with the calls to fire his ass that are surely on their way. Who knows if a clarification or begrudging apology is appropriate, but the very least to be done is an immediate moratorium on the pursuit of this “clarification”.

Ultimately, the brunt of the blame for this embarrassment likely lays with the Voice’s editorial staff. With his history of covering rape cases for the paper and hammering out alerts regarding wanted suspects and missing children, it’s possible that the editors felt Harkavy was a good fit for an editorial series on the Logan attack. It’s disappointing that no one was willing or able to point out the severe problems that naturally followed from the series’ line of questioning. I expected more from a decent rag like the Voice.*

As for the possibility that the Village Voice used the headlines it did to cynically court outrage and the pageviews it brings? The idea is so preposterous as to be beyond consideration.

* I was halfway through a complaint to Foster Kamer before I realized he doesn’t work there anymore.

The Day in Demonstrations: Protesters Reoccupy Bahrain’s Central Square

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Protesters certainly do like to gather in squares, don’t they? This is no less true of Bahraini protesters who have marched on and occupied Bahrain’s Pearl Square this morning in a show of resistance against their violent ejection from the square a few days ago.

Bahrain, the latest Middle-Eastern country to be rocked by determined and energetic anti-government demonstrations, has been ruthless in quashing demonstrations; calls by Crown Prince Salman bin Hamad bin Isa Khalifa on Friday for a peaceful resolution were rejected by the the leading opposition party. Protesters had tried to enter the square Friday but were fired upon by security forces and repelled with rubber bullets and birdshot.

Bahrain’s deadly response to protests, leaving at least 6 dead, only steeled Bahrainis’ determination for change all the more and as the sun rose on Saturday people made another attempt on the square. Seemingly, there was some reconsideration of strategy going on within the Bahraini government as this time around police and military have relented and protesters have been able to peacefully occupy the square.

The atmosphere in the square is being described as “euphoric” and as demonstrators hunker down for the night in tents calls for complete overthrow of the regime are becoming increasingly loud.

Elsewhere, things aren’t looking so bright; in what is being called a “day of rage” 15 mourners were reportedly killed in the Libyan city of Benghazi when security forces fired on them while they were attending a fucking funeral.

From Al Jazeera:

A doctor from Benghazi told Al Jazeera that the Al Jalah hospital where he works had received 15 bodies and was treating numerous people following the shootings at the funeral.

He said the hospital had counted 44 deaths in total in three days, adding that it struggling to treat the wounded.

“This is not a well-equipped hospital and these injuries come in waves. All are very serious injuries, involving the head, the chest and the abdomen. They are bullet injuries from high-velocity rifles.

In Algeria, riot police dispersed a pro-democracy demonstration of about 50 people with batons. Such restraint!

VOA News, Al Jazeera, picture via NYT

People in the Neighborhood: Bodega Edition

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New Yorkers always insist that the city is not an anonymous machine but actually just a series of small neighborhoods.  We insist that we know our dry cleaner, our coffee shop guy, our grocery store cashier just as well as you all know yours.

Actually, that’s not true, we always insist that we know them even better.

Actually, that’s not true either.  We New Yorkers are a narcissistic bunch.  We insist that they know us even better.  Trust me, your local dry cleaner does not care about you the same way my dry cleaner cares about me.

In any event, when I have lived in other places, one of the reasons you knew the “kid who bags your groceries” is because of some long generational history.  The gossip you discuss as you head back to your car is along the lines of “Oh you know, that’s Johnny’s nephew.  His momma went to school with…”  Etc.  Well no, we don’t have as much of that in Manhattan (although it is more common in the other boroughs).  Our stories are a little bit different.

And I think it’s only fair that those of you who are not from a big city filled with people from all over the world be introduced to what some of our neighborhood knowledge looks like, and the center of it all is the local bodega.*

*Details have been changed to protect the innocent.  Also, no, I do not actually believe that any of this is unique to New York.  I promise.  Okay, maybe a little bit.  Nah, not really.


The Turtle Era

The Turtle Era was the best era.  Turtle was the Day Manager when I first moved into my neighborhood.  His first language was Spanish, and he spoke perfect English.  He insisted that I only use Spanish and that he only use English.  Because, you know, that’s how you improve. But he had also learned Korean, the language of the store’s owners, and Portuguese, because there was small Brazilian community in the neighborhood.  The store was always perfectly kept while he was in charge.  Well-stocked, clean.  And the coffee.  Dear god the coffee he made was perfect.  He was funny, charming, handsome, confident, told a great story.  I really wanted to drink with Turtle.  All the time.  The owner’s wife was confused about his name and called him Tut.  Which stuck.  About half of the customers called him Turtle, and about half called him Tut.

Turtle’s assistant was named Nick.  Nick was quiet but polite.  He was never completely happy with the questionable wage and hour policies of the owners, but you wouldn’t have known it.  One of the nicest men I’ve ever known, with a genuine smile and a kick-ass mustache.

The night shift during The Turtle Era was run by a quirky older guy from rural somewhere.  I don’t know where he was from, or what language he spoke, but he was differently from the country of some country. (You know how you can sometimes tell a rural accent even if you don’t know the language?)  I was never sure what we were talking about when I went in, but I think we were talking about something. I don’t know what his name was.  I’m not even sure how I could have asked. His assistant was a quiet guy from the pacific coast of Mexico.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say more than two words.  In fact, sometimes I didn’t even know he was there and then “POOF!” he’d be standing right behind you.  Basically a not-very-haunting ghost of a man.  You will not hear about him again because that is all I know, even though he is still there.

Turtle was lucky.  He married for immigration status, or so it was implied, but he fell in love.  They had an adorable little girl.  His wife, a midtown professional, got a promotion that took her to New Jersey.  He went with her, and they bought a big house for the family.  Last I heard he was managing a restaurant out there and going crazy because he had never needed to drive before, and he didn’t have his driver’s license yet.  But he was happy.

The Nick Era

Poor Nick.  When he took over for Turtle, they didn’t hire a new assistant.  So Nick had to do everything.  And I don’t think they gave him a raise, not at first.  But we gave him a quick primer on New York labor laws and how they did, in fact, apply to everybody.  And then they did.  He was so politely sad about it all. He would politely ask me what it was like to have a good job.  He would listen to traditional music and count the hours until he could go home and rest and have a beer. He was sending money home to his wife, where she ran a farm.  Each paycheck went to building up the livestock, building a fence, fixing a barn.  Nick spoke a little English, and I speak a little Spanish.  Between the two of us, we could figure it all out.  Nick also had taken steps to learn how to make coffee from Turtle before he left.  God I miss Turtle’s coffee.

Then someone called in a Housing Violation on his building, and the city discovered his illegal apartment. We offered him a little help to find a new place, but he politely refused. Before they could shut it down he discovered he had cancer.  He decided that it would be best if he went back home.  If he could get medical help, he could get it safely at home.  If he could not, then he wanted to spend his remaining days on the farm with his wife.  He knew that either way, once he crossed the southern border, he would likely never come back.  No one has heard from Nick since he was getting a ride south from Atlanta with a friend.

The night shift did not change during The Nick Era, but I got to know the Country Man a little better.  I still don’t know what we were talking about, but we talked a lot.  When the store raised the prices on cigarettes he made a disgruntled face and refused to charge me the new price.  He would always round my charges, refusing my fifteen cents here or my seven cents there.  Either he was overcharging someone else or the owners just liked him, because he certainly wasn’t paying it out of his paycheck.

The Son Era

Good kid.  Friendly, happy, got good grades, played in a soccer league on the weekends.  New York Mets fan, but nobody’s perfect.  The son had come in on occasion to fill in as necessary, but once Nick left, he took over the day shift.  He had recently finished college and was applying to graduate schools.  He insisted on calling me by my last name, which freaked me out.  No matter how many times I tried to get him to stop, he couldn’t seem to do so.  “Are you watching the game today Mr. LeSabre?  Should be a great one!”  During his tenure they hired a new assistant, a really young kid, Johnny, who spoke only Spanish at first.  Johnny practiced his English like crazy.  He would step behind the counter as often as possible and come up with the most unnecessarily complicated questions he could.  Just to practice.   Johnny seemed to believe that my life consisted solely of making a lot of money, going out on wild dates, and drinking as much as possible.  He had no evidence for any of this.

Johnny met a girl that lived in another borough, and two weeks later he quit.  A cousin of the son was hired to replace him, and he is still there.  I think the cousin is confused about his job responsibilities.  He seems to think he is a security guard at a bank because all he does is stand about three feet from the counter like a statue.  No one seems comfortable telling him otherwise.  Much dust has accumulated since the cousin started.

The Dad Era

And now we are in the Dad era.  The son has gone back to school, and I’m stuck with grumpy under-paying, shitty-coffee-making dad.  If you buy cigarettes, he won’t give you matches unless you ask.  If you buy coffee, you have to ask for the napkin.  God forbid you ask for a sleeve.  You’d think you just tried to shake down the ATM machine.  And he never smiles.  He is a mean old man.  (Sometimes he forces a smile, but you know that forced smiles are worse than no smile at all.)  But I don’t really mind.  We have our routine.

The older son is there on occasion too now.  A character and a half.  I appreciate that he does not care even a little bit.  He would rather sit outside and smoke or rush home to his (admittedly gorgeous) new wife.  Since Turtle left, he’s by far the person I’m most inclined to just hang out with for a bit.  Because he smokes.  And because he will inevitably go on some rant about something in the pop culture news.  (He’s like a particularly incensed Crasstalk commenter now that I think about it.)

And recently, Country Man has gone from the night shift.  His wife, back in the old country, has become terminally ill.  He hasn’t seen her in years and wants to spend her last few months with her.  He may come back when she passes away, but maybe not.  I hope he does.  I miss Country Man.  Country Man’s replacement unintentionally sold cigarettes to minors on multiple occasions and got the store shut down for a week.  The doors were locked for the first time in thirty years.  They didn’t even know where the keys were.

The jarring feeling the next day when I went to buy my morning coffee, when, distracted by my email, I ran straight into a closed door and a big ol’ New York City notice, made me realize just how much a part of my life the little store on the corner is.  Good or bad, happy or sad, it’s a part of my life, and a part of what keeps the city from feeling so anonymous.  I’m no fool; I don’t pretend we are friends or even colleagues.  But I know them, and they know me.

Images from here.

All The Hipsters Are Moving Into ‘Rhino’s Testicle’

42 comments

I don’t know about you, but I think South Sudan is a real up-and-comer in the international league of BATSHIT INSANE NATIONS. I think this is their plan:

1. Gain your independence.

After years fighting a civil war against the Northern-dominated central government of Sudan, South Sudan will become the world’s newest nation back in July of this year. So far, so good. Everyone loves the new guy at the U.N.

2. Elect a Cool Guy as president.

I’m fairly sure President-Elect Salva Kiir Mayardit was the genius behind the “Speakerboxx” album.

3. Get access to 80 percent of Sudan’s oil production.

What could go wrong? Oil wealth is pretty much the easiest way to make your people suddenly appreciate the opulence of solid gold toilets and feel a sense of perpetual happiness (mainly due to pooping in aforementioned solid gold toilets).

4. Profit.

This is oil. There is no fucking “????” step.

5. Develop your nation’s human capital.

With all that oil money coming in, here’s your chance to invest in programs that raise development levels. South Sudan will invest in hings like new schools, better medical facilities and universities in order to diversify its economy and not become too dependent on oil revenues like, ahem, every other country that has been cursed with oil.

5. Build cities in the shape of awesome shit like animals, and fruit.

With the sudden massive inflow of foreign capital, you’re suddenly VERY FUCKING RICH, South Sudan. Don’t plan for tomorrow. Build huge cities in cool shapes. And spend $10.1 billion doing it. What could go wrong with this plan?