Monthly Archives: August 2010

Lame Adventure 82: Spike Heeled, Naked and Pregnant

Thursday evening, I left work with my friend and colleague, Ling.  As we were walking down Varick Street, I was yammering knowledgeably about a topic in which I am an expert, a topic I now completely draw a blank on, but possibly it was about the failing memory one struggles with in one’s middle years, when a provocative black and white photo plastered over a graffiti defaced wall caught my eye.  I almost threw my neck out looking at it.

Mystery poster

Ling and I were both drawn to this image like metal to magnet, or at least like two deathly-bored office drones cut loose from another dreary day in purgatory.  Intrigued, we slowly approached this perversely carnal picture placed at eye level outside the entrance to the downtown 1 train.

Me:  What do you make of this?

Ling:  I don’t think that was there when I came in this morning.

It could have been there when I exited my train since I was fixated on the doublewide hindquarters of a woman that moved with the vigor of a hung over snail that I could not get past.  She was completely body blocking me as I was climbing up the stairs behind her on the verge of losing my mind.  Therefore, I arrived at work steaming – and fifteen minutes late.

Upon closer inspection, Ling and I noticed that in the lower right corner this image is called Conception.  I interpreted that to be a clue.  When I returned home I Google searched it 517 different ways, but came up empty.  When I searched “conception poster”, I got this:

Juno meets Inception thanks to Photoshop.

It does not appear to be for a music group, but in 1951, a compilation album called Conception was issued featuring Miles Davis, Stan Getz, and Lee Konitz among other jazz greats.  Only two of the twelve tracks are available on iTunes, so I guess that’s not the best go-to source for classic jazz.

There is an upcoming film called Conception directed by Josh Stolberg.  He wrote Piranha 3D which opens August 20th.   I thought I was finally traveling down the right path, but it appears that this film he’s written and directed is a romance that he describes on his blog as being about “ … sex and love.  It follows nine different couples and the moments leading up to the conception of their children.” Somehow, I doubt this would be a teaser poster for his project.

Next, I emailed the picture to my friend, Coco, a reliable source in the department of the unusual.  She was not familiar with it, either, but was on board with the shoes and belly.  She is going to run it by her hairdresser, Carlisle, and fashion photographer bud, Pierre and get back to me.

Last but not least, I emailed the photo to Milton for his input.  I asked if he thinks it’s for a product completely unrelated to the image shown such as clothes; maternity wear?  He absorbed my question and concluded that it looked more like an ad for a European vacuum cleaner.

Milton:  Definitely not a Hoover.

Lame Adventure 81: A Squirrel, a Beagle and a Rabbi All Walk into a Bar …

In actuality, I am not a rabbi, nor was I in a bar, but it was after work on Tuesday so I could have sorely used a drink as I was walking down a street in the West 70s en route to my sanctum sanctorum, when I noticed a squirrel ravenously nibbling away at whatever gourmet-delicacy (to a squirrel) had coated a Land Rover’s mud flap.  This little squirrel, that had either made the journey down from Central Park or up from Riverside Park, was in overt stage-four gustatory bliss.  I could almost hear it shouting in-between mouthfuls, “Mine, all mine!”  <burp>

Little squirrel, big car

"You should try this if you need more tone in your upper arms."

"I can't control myself!"

"This is like Xmas dinner in August!"

Then, Tanner, a 6 1/2 year old beagle-basset mix, arrives on the scene needing to take a piss that rivals Seabiscuit when the beagle half of his genes tugs hard on his leash and he bellows at his caregiver:

Tanner (squinting):  Is that a fox I see, woman?

Tanner’s Caregiver:  Tanner, it’s a squirrel!  Leave it alone.

The squirrel, playing it safe, darts up a tree.

"This strong silent pose scores a hit with chicks."

Squirrel:  All these people and now a dog?  What’s next, a telemarketer is going to call?  I’m just trying to enjoy a peaceful dinner!

Relieved of his obligation to give chase, Tanner’s basset hound side kicks in.  He steps off the curb and with a faraway look in his eyes takes a luxurious leak.

Me:  Tanner, can I take your picture?

Tanner:  Ask her, you idiot.

Tanner’s Caregiver:  Sure.

Tanner’s feeling prickly; this is his walk-time and he’s purposely pounding the pavement to accomplish his evening business in the relief department.  As hard as his caregiver tries, he refuses to offer his handsome face to the camera for more than a nanosecond.

"Whatever you do, take it fast and don't shoot my right side."

Me:  Tanner, aren’t you ready for your close-up?

Tanner (groans):  Who writes your dialogue?  Just take a picture.

"Enough already!"

Meanwhile, the squirrel is sitting on the curb watching and nibbling.

Full frontal eating.

Squirrel (mouth full):  Yum, this tastes so good!

Me:  What exactly are you eating?

Squirrel:  Berries and leaves sublimely seasoned with highway repair tar.  You’ve never tasted anything quite like this.  Trust me.

Tempted by this testimonial, when I returned home, I tried some with a beer, vomited profusely and will probably call in sick at work for the rest of the week or until the full body rash heals.

Lame Adventure 80: For the Birds

In my next life, I want to be a bird, specifically a New York City based pigeon.  Some might scoff, “Why in the world would you want to come back as a rat with wings?”  Please note that “rat with wings” is a name for our feathered nemeses Woody Allen coined in 1980 in Stardust Memories when perchance, actually per script, a pigeon flew into his apartment via an open window.  Just another typical bit of forgotten WA-style urban neurosis, but that phrase has deservedly entered the lexicon.

I want to return as a pigeon in the Big Apple because there’s always plenty to eat lying around, there are millions of other birds so I’ll never be without a date, I can roost rent-free in the toniest neighborhoods, flying beats riding public transportation, and best of all, I can crap wherever and whenever I want, including on annoying New Yorkers like the short, fleshy young woman in her early to mid twenties that I noticed on my way home from work Monday evening as I walked up Broadway in the West 70s.

"Hurry up, take your picture. It's been almost a minute since I last ate. Hey! Do you have a pretzel on you? I'm in the mood for one."

The street was crowded with rush hour pedestrian traffic, as well as vendors selling their wares lining one side and the jazz musician I see every weeknight playing his saxophone on the other.  A tall, slender bun-head, fresh from ballet class, wearing iPod headphones, who was about the same age as the short squat woman – a woman that bore a distinct resemblance to the fruit of an illicit romance between a fire hydrant and a table leg, brushed against each other.  Fireworks exploded.

Short Squat One:  You bumped into my bag!  Don’t you know how to say ‘excuse me’?

Bun-head (removing headphones):  Huh?  What?

Short Squat One:  You’re so retarded!  Forget it!

Short Squat One furiously stomps on as Bun-head stands bewildered asking, “What’s her problem?” If I were Lame Adventures Pigeon, I would have dive-bombed SSQ’s head with my Mickey D-bagel-pizza-Dunkin’ Donuts lunch.  Pigeons have the power.

A bit powerless here but ...

Flaunting power atop William Earl Dodge statue in Bryant Park!