Sunday, August 30, 2009


Yes, y'all, this is art. This is part of an installation at P.S. 1, a branch of the Museum of Modern Art here in New York City. Also featured in this exhibit - Katie Couric's face and torso on top of Britney Spears' now-famous snatch-flashing shot, some pictures of Jane Fonda and Jerry Lewis, and a player piano that tinkles out, "Listening To You" by The Who. What kind of shenanigans are these? 

Thursday, August 27, 2009

You'll Be Permeated By Its Odor - Further Travels In the Realm of Inappropriate Fragrances.

If you're walking in a mall and you come across a wretched stench that smells like a cross between hairspray and dung, then you've probably just walked in front of a Hollister Co. store. Not familiar with Hollister? Well, you can get an idea of what their attire looks like from the fact that their website refers to men as "dudes" and women as "bettys."

Now, I've only been inside a Hollister Co. store once - I was in the Glendale Galleria in, of course, Glendale, CA. They keep Hollister Co. stores very, very dark - perhaps so you won't realize that what you're looking at looks exactly like anything you'd find at any other popular clothing store - ugly, tan and boring. The generic and cheap-looking clothing wasn't what forced me to run screaming from that store, though. No, it was something much worse. They "fragrance" their stores - intentionally - with a noxious odor that could only have been generated in a laboratory in HELL. This fragrance doesn't contain itself in Hollister's walls. It pours out into the rest of the mall, stinking up at least a 30' radius with the Scent of Lame.

Why am I bitching about this particular chain of overpriced conformity? Well, specifically because they have brought their patented brand of shame to Manhattan.

I was reminded of the olfactory horror created by this purveyor of shitty clothing yesterday when a friend who is traveling to California in the near future (and who works in SoHo) posted the following status update on Facebook - "If California smells like Hollister Co. then I don't want to go."

Picture it - I'm going down to SoHo, a neighborhood I like to steer clear of in general due to its descent into Tourist Shopping Mecca, with Polly Prissypants who wanted to go to Pottery Barn to purchase a picture frame. We get out of the subway to find that not only is Pottery Barn gone, but a Hollister Co. store has been crammed in its place in order to appease the stupid tourists who come to New York City specifically to find and purchase the exact same shit they could buy in their own towns.

And then it hits me. Not subtly like in a mall. It's as if someone has smashed me in the face with a mallet, the stench is so strong. This Hollister Co. store is pumping their fragrance out into the street with such urgency that it obscures any other scent (no small feat in New York City) and hinders my ability to breathe. I immediately cover my mouth and nose and tell Polly Prissypants that I have to get out of here and I mean RIGHT NOW. The headache brought on by artificial odors is already threatening to render me immobile. I cross Houston Street and can still smell it, trailing after me like an obnoxious panhandler who can't take "no" for an answer. Barely making it out of there alive, I vow never to return to SoHo unless it is a life-or-death situation.

Who do these assholes think they are? Why are they forcing their "patented fragrance" on an entire fucking neighborhood? Isn't it bad enough that they've further shamed a dying New York City with their presence, allowing the vapid, rich, entitled shitheads who have moved here en masse in order to live out their dreary Sex and the City fantasies to dress casually in overpriced, poorly-made clothes that look like thrift store finds?


Saturday, August 22, 2009

Things You Can Find In My Neighborhood.

Someone's been pulling some pranks in my neighborhood, apparently, because when I was walking lazily down Lafayette with two friends, we spied this little number growing oh so happily out of the cement in front of an apartment building.  New York City Wonders never cease.

Thursday, August 20, 2009


Lately I have become obsessed with - no, ADDICTED to - Rush. Yes, Geddy Lee's Canadian band Rush. I don't know why. When I was in middle school, the kids who wore Rush t-shirts and scrawled the words to "Tom Sawyer" on their Trapper Keepers - they were the ones with the acne. The ones who wore those ugly painters caps over disheveled, sloppy mullets. The ones who tied bandanas around their ankles, wrists and thighs. The ones who smelled bad. The ones who ended up working at the hardware store.

So why is it that now, when I am one year shy of 40, I am head-over-heels in love with Rush? I have been listening to them nonstop for weeks now. Whether it's taking one song and keeping it in a loop on my iPod for hours, performing one of their many selections available at the local Karaoke Salon, or making the students at the yoga studio I manage listen to their greatest hits before class starts - I just can't get enough of these bass-heavy iconoclasts.

I'll be the first to admit that I go through weird musical phases. Jumping from the Grateful Dead to Judy Garland to Christian Death to El Debarge and back again has been the norm for me for the past several decades. But where the fuck did Rush come from? And WHY didn't I let them into my life before?

What bands did y'all discover later on in life that you perhaps wish you could have enjoyed during their prime?

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Pet Store Shenanigans.

A lifetime supply of this special product should be sent to most politicians and anyone who's protesting a town hall or has ever been involved in a 'tea party.'  They need it more than the dogs do.