Impractical

This woman is wearing spike heels, and I am watching her ankles. They shake perceptibly with each tiny step, and she seems to be having trouble balancing her bag on her arm. Who is she trying to attract with the hobbled, mincing look? Perhaps she has a thing for muggers.

Needful Things

There is a store on Valencia Street that sells–among other things–small, dead alligators dressed as Victorian women. They are relatively expensive. Apparently, customers purchase these items and bring them home for display in the living room. Their friends visit and say, “Goodness. What is that?” The proud owners say, “That is a small dead reptile dressed to resemble a turn-of-the-century Christmas caroler.” To which the friends reply, “Oh.”

They Do Not Move

A while ago, Paul Ford did a piece on Sex in the City forThe Morning News. It was funny. Observe:

“I prefer to imagine the show as a black-box play from the 1970s with Beckettian overtones, three women on an empty stage, looking at the audience, speaking in monotones:

1: I doubt I am fecund.

2: I have eaten so little.

3: Where are the men?

1: There are no men.

2: I will pay a woman $40 to caress and decorate my toes with varnish. I will wear shoes that cost more than the weekly wages of a restaurant worker, with tips.

3: What kind of tips?

2: Not on the shoes, for the restaurant workers.

1: I am hungry. I will not marry.

2: Talk about the shoes.

3: The shoes!

Unison: Shoes.”

A Victor and Her Spoils

If I’m the first bidder on an eBay item, I get inexplicably territorial. It’s the electronic version of peeing on a tree. When someone else bids, my competitive spirit kicks in. “Back off, girlie. Do you doubt my ability to go the distance for this pop-blue parka with fuzzy Eskimo hood? Do you think I’ve forgotten the swingy A-line tailoring, the rich satin lining?”

I get feverish with strategy. Should I lull her into a sense of complacency by letting her think I’ve lost interest? Should I bid $31.50 if I really only want to pay thirty bucks? She’s much more likely to bid $30 and give up, isn’t she?

Turns out she is. Bwaaahahahahahahaha. Say hello to the triumphant owner of this smurfy little coat. Someone please sound the trumpets.

Urban Lit

Me: Did you hear the guy behind us reciting his poetry to that poor girl?

Him: Yeah. That was terrible.

Me: (Haughty-Poet voice)“I recite rather well. Would you like to hear something?”

Him: (Beat-Poet voice) “This poem is entitled “Unremarkable Poem.” You can tell it is a poem because I am reading it like this.”

Me: “The moon flying high in the sky.”

Him: “The heroin and crack dealers flying on the streets.”

Me: “Political corruption flying all around us. Lame white alley cat flying in my lap.”

(Pause.)

Me: We totally just made fun of a homeless guy.

Him: He wasn’t homeless.

Me: Yes he was. He asked the girl if she could help him out when he was done reciting to her.

Him: That doesn’t mean he’s homeless.

Me: We’re going to hell.

Windowmaster

The bus was crowded and hot this morning. A gentleman standing next to me leaned over two seated passengers to crack the window. This displeased the man sitting by the window. He crinkled his nose and leaned far back in his seat. He waited five blocks, and then closed the window again. The gentleman next to me said, “Excuse me” as he leaned over to reopen the window. The gentleman nearest the window made unpleasant nasal noises for the rest of the trip. The fresh air was nice.