Lots of people busk in the New York subway, but there is no show like this. 
Love Portal is comprised of three guys who dance crazily, bouncing off each other and the walls, in this instance to Steppenwolf’s Born to Be Wild. 
I have no idea what any of it meant, and I don’t think they were too clear about that either. 
Said the guy with pantyhose over his face to the guy in the body-stocking after it was over, “What’s your name again?”
Category Archives: new york city
How to Make Rude People Feel Uncomfortable
I went to see Bernardo at The Rock Shop on Friday. The show was awesome.
However I was in the back – where the sound is best – and had a couple of people talking in front of me, talking non-stop, their backs to the music. Normally I would tell them to shut up or move, but I am trying to better, kinder version of myself and so employed a different method. I used the flash on my phone. 
And it worked, sort of; they hated it – ducking and turning away and stopped for a moment. 
But then, after I had done it twice, they went back to talking. 
The show still rocked.
Super Bowl Boulevard: A Whole Lotta Nothing
The Super Bowl is in New York with the cold hype of hyping hype.
Broadway is closed from 47th down to 34th with kiosks and sad fanfare. 
They recommend pre-registration, but it doesn’t even work, not the badges, neither the machines.
There is a promise of giveaways, kicking field goals, seeing the Vince Lombardi trophy, playing trivia contests. 
But the process is slow, often broken, with the long lines stuck in the dark, cold and endless. 
Genesis of Janus
I stand corrected. Yesterday’s storm did have a name: Janus. 
Janus was cold and snowy, briefly grounding transportation. 
But what does Janus, the Roman God of Beginnings & Endings, have to do with our winter weather? 
Is it to be released as part of a film collection?
Was it inspired by a disprosopus creature?
A marketing ploy by Jill Janus of Huntress? 
Or was it just a random moniker from the weather office? 
I gots to know.
A Storm with No Name
New York has been hit by the unthinkable – a storm without a name. 
People are cold.
Transport is slowed. 
And now it’s getting dark. 
What are we going to do?!
Dead Things in the Street
I can’t move my head. Not even my shoulders. I am pinned, a bright side light on my face and neck.
I am flat and horrible, my eyes wide, stuck against the ground. Stuck there, panicking. I can’t even move my leg. I have no control. I am completely helpless, trapped by monsters, people I don’t know, who have left me here to die, to be tortured and think nothing of it.
I try to close my eyes to make it go away, but it is still there. I can’t move. I want to scream but I can’t even do that. I am stuck in this silence with not even myself, with nothing but my labored miserable loneliness.
(Yeah, I know. I always end with a tree.)
“The Ark”: A New Beginning
I am back to work on my science fiction book, The Ark, at the beginning again.Â
I edged out further, holding hard to the balcony rail, and looked down to the street, 28 floors below, at the neat rows of sandbags banked up around the Custom House grates.
A howling gust snapped sharply over the trees as a line of Japanese tourists, ensconced in cheap clear ponchos, suddenly appeared out of the park, some stopping to take pictures, followed by a police car, its blue lights mute and slow. 
They had stopped broadcasting the evacuation order hours ago. Zone A was closed. The surge was almost here.
I slid the balcony door closed, and the curtains lulled back. Apollo circled away, eyeing the black sky and buffeting glass.
“This morning’s high tide was at 8:30 am. Eleven hours ago.” The weather guy was earnest, his sleeves rolled up, his square jaw pushed out for this soap-opera apocalypse. 
“That tide surged over the walls into the city this morning. It has already been here. This tide is a full moon high tide; it’s much worse. This is the one we have to watch. This one could be anywhere from 8 feet up to 11, 12, 13 feet. 13 feet! Think about that.” He had his hand stretched up like he might sing. “In just 15 minutes. 13 feet in 15 minutes. This is as serious as it gets. This is it.”
Bridget Anne Kelly: Hell Hath No Fury Like Middle Management
New Jersey Governor Christie’s aid, Bridget Anne Kelly, is like so many other stuck at her level, always taking orders, never going anywhere. The stupid and spiteful act of the Fort Lee lane closures is typical of the bitter power-hungry people in middle management.
These are the little bosses – the department heads and principals – the banal and evil ones, like the Third Reich’s Adolf Eichmann, who do everything within their power to ruin anyone in their range and pretend they were just following orders.
These are the nothings behind the failures of banks, health care websites and gun control legislation, the sad and lonely that stop traffic because they can.
Congressman Chabot: “Serious concerns regarding gun control.”
And the worst thing is that we can do nothing about it unless they’re dumb enough to put it into print.
The Art’s Behind You
It was a scene at Emilio Perez‘s Thursday night opening at Galerie Lelong.
The Art’s Behind You
The crowds were thick, the talk excited; there was even a man with a seven-foot feather in his hat. I should have taken a picture of that.
Fuck You, Christmas Tree Too
I already told you, Christmas Tree. 
Weren’t you listening?
Fuck you. 
How could you fall for this all over again? 
You think that we care because we take you into our homes and dress you up? 
How stupid could you be? 
We use you, Christmas Tree.
We just pretend to care.
And then we throw you out. 
You’re garbage. 
So get into your mulcher and let us get on with our lives. 
Until we want to pretend again. 
Until then, remember what we said. “Fuck you, Christmas Tree.” 