men in cars with eyes

Today marks the end of my work in Brooklyn. To honor the day thus far I have had hugs, well-wishes and regulars come by to see me off. The most unusual and remarkable by far though has been a visit from our local delegate of the Neighborhood Watch of Children.

This powerful young man, age seven, has stopped in many a time before. He likes to check for candy, survey the premises for rats and shop for the "fancy dresses" he's going to buy his teacher as soon as he finds out her birthday. Today, he parked himself on the stool in front of my desk and offered to help slice up business cards with the paper cutter. I declined. I declined because he is seven and I don't have a car to drive him to the hospital when he lops off a finger.

However, he stated his main purpose in coming in today was that he had "seen the other ladies leave" and "wanted to see if [I am] okay in here alone." In the event, I was not going to be alright, he assured me that "if someone came to rob you, I'd just punch them." Aw seven-year-olds are so protectively violent.

During the course of our discussion, it was made apparent that he takes his watch duties very seriously. He and his grandmother know where I live, know that I am second in command here at the shop but he wants me to know that he's glad I live in the neighborhood (despite my not being Polish) because I am "nice." Mostly, he says, he watches around for his cousin (whom he proclaims an idiot) as this cousin can never find his way home. From time to time though he has to "watch for the bad men in the cars with the eyes."





The bad men in the cars with the eyes.









I love Orwell. I believe we are watched from time to time. But to hear a child say nonchalantly that he is on the lookout for bad men "with the eyes" and has to alert everyone of their presence so no one will "play near them" is horrifying. My efforts to get a clearer picture of who exactly these men were or what the hell might be wrong with their eyes were in vain. Again, my little warrior is only seven, so his vocabulary is limited despite his fluency in both English and Polish to a basic definition of the world - the literal child's definition.


So I am left today with the warmth of goodbyes and the icy, bone-chilling knowledge that somewhere around the neighborhood there are some very bad men. At least I have my little soldier to protect me.

fall forward

We're ten days from leaving the East Coast for the Pacific Northwest and cheesy or not, it's put a brand new sheen on all of New York. Walking around Nolita was more like living a movie than ever before - all the scents and sounds were pronounced. The crunch of leaves underfoot sang harmoniously with the whine of lost tourists and the roar of cabs on Broadway. Alright, that was cliche but that's the mood of the day.

I can't help but feel the boarded-up buildings in front of me create a little remorse. Not that it's even possible but I wish I'd done more. I wish I caught that fantastic restaurant before it went out of business, wish I had rowed boats in Central Park, wish I had the time, money and energy for every museum. Perhaps the daunting size of CMJ has me re-intimidated by all the city has to offer and how little of it we've seen. Two years may as well have been two days. I wish I had a camcorder to record the most menial of walks from home to the subway, from the bank to the park.

Fall is a season of nostalgia and my heart hurts both for the New York I am losing and the Seattle I am getting back. Gone will be the cuddling against the cold, broke-yet-inviting feeling of our apartment. Gone will be the fun of yelling at cab drivers who hate driving to Brooklyn. Gone will be the 'street meat' carts, the Greenpoint sandwiches and the delivery of every kind. But I welcome pho, friends and family. I long for the Christmas I now get to have with them and for all events, big and small.

This is all a wonderful change and in no way for the better or worse. Change just leaves one feeling simultaneously torn and tied up. We are both here and there financially and emotionally and I guess I want the dust settled.

I'll be back for you New York.

versus

In the on-going techno war between Mac and PC, I'd like to throw in my two cents.

We all want Macs.

We do.

But they're too fucking expensive. I know you're going to say, come on, you'll say, it's totally worth it. Yes, I have lost two (count 'em) PCs to Microsoft's Windows Vista now so with that money I could have bought a Mac or two. But damn if that sticker price isn't intimidating.

When standing in front of the AirBook, I balance the pros and cons (while trying to avoid eye contact with the MacGeniuses - come on, why do these quasi-trained high school kids get the ego-boosting title of genius?), but end up feeling like I'd be paying an extra "thou" for black or white shiny plastic.

I'm no techno-wizard. I like my computing simple and I know Macs are as simple if not moreso than battling Vista's "mandatory patches" as they fry my hard drive. But times are hard, as they say, so I guess I'm left being Microsoft's bitch like so much of the rest of the world.

This is also why McDonald's continues to win in perpetuity - you just can't beat a $1 price tag.

washed-up zombie hasbeens

I will watch your movies again, Rob Zombie, (including but not limited to the allegedly forthcoming "Rob Zombie's Tyrranosaurus Rex") when you change your name back to something normal.

Sure, it was fitting when you had (have?) that terrible band that was oh-so-marketable for horror movie soundtracks and it led to you predictably cashing in on horror flicks yourself. And maybe I'm jumping the gun - maybe I'm wrong to assume T-Rex isn't a tits-out slasher film and doesn't involve a house with nearly a thousand corpses. But if this T-Rex film is going to be on another topic featuring, say, acting, you're merely driving us bored with your continuing zombie persona and disappointing gore-loving men the planet over.

On the red carpet you prove that you need a stylist, at least and that the Twilight Kids are more convincingly undead. Until then, stick with what works - repiece good slasher storylines into bogus bore-offs and "stack them chips."