“Don’t forget to wear something green tomorrow,” Danny said last night. But that is not my color, and so the only suitable thing in my closet is a pair of forest green stacked-heel oxfords. (Purchased in Nolita, $50, 2004.) Instead, I will wear my old MBV shirt. This is how I imagine things going:
ANNIE is trudging to the office in jeans and her MBV tee. She has made an attempt to not look completely unkempt; she has washed her hair and everything. While walking to his office, FAKE RYAN GOSLING spots her out of the corner of his eye.
FRG: Oh hello, Fake Natalie Portman!
ANNIE: Hi, Fake Ryan Gosling. I don’t get Natalie Portman very much anymore. Last time it was Sarah Jessica Parker, and before that, Rumer Willis. All things considered, I think I preferred Natalie Portman.
FRG: Technically, she would look like you, since you are older. Everyone knows you had the cheek mole first, too. She is totally biting your style.
ANNIE: Thank you.
FRG: You are welcome. I was kind of clueless when you were talking about my bicycle panniers at the farmer’s market, you know.
ANNIE: It’s okay. I told myself that maybe you were gay, and that was why you showed so little interest in conversation. Doing so allows me to avoid examining the reasons behind my failure to charm you even slightly.
FRG: Oh, I am not gay (although if I were, that is OK, too). I am just clueless. Your feminine wiles are indeed irresistible, my pet, and what’s that you’re wearing? A faded, cut-up My Bloody Valentine t-shirt?
ANNIE: Why, yes. Yes, it is.
FRG: I surmise that you are wearing it because My Bloody Valentine are an Irish band, and today is St. Patrick’s Day. What sartorial brilliance! Everybody will get the allusion and nobody will harass you about not wearing green — which, as we all can see, is really not your color. What are you doing after work? May I buy you a drink — say, at House of Shields?
ANNIE: Only if we can call it House of Kevin Shields.
FRG: That is clever! Even if nobody else has ever seemed to think so.
ANNIE: Why are we using so few contractions?
In reality, this is what is likely to unfold:
ANNIE walks to the office and nearly avoids being peed on by a muttering vagrant. LOITERING BIKE MESSENGER DUDES give her the staredown, which makes her want to point at their patches and tell them that Amebix was really a crap band.
ANNIE: Not wearing green does not mean I am an anti-celebratory grouch.
EVERYBODY ELSE IN THE WORLD: Yuh-huh! It does!
ANNIE: But I am wearing an Irish band’s shirt. Isn’t that enough?
EEITW: No! Commence the pinching!
As a crowd hopped up on Lucky Charms and Shamrock Shakes advances, ANNIE attempts to escape. Unfortunately, she is no match for their crabby fingers, and she is slowly pinched to death. Her last words are a gasped telling of a holiday-appropriate joke that she always finds funny despite only one other person EVER laughing at it.
Moving to the new neighborhood has changed my experience of the city immeasurably. Generally speaking, I always lived just outside of the happening neighborhoods, exchanging activity for lower rent. It was fine as long as I had two-wheeled transportation and, more importantly, motivation to make the trek to whatever activity was going on. But my homebody tendencies are strong, and more often than not, I’d wind up lollygagging at home instead of socializing. (Exceptions were made for shows at the Empty Bottle, a three-block walk from my house.) (more…)
Owlie and I nickname people. That in itself doesn’t seem too strange, but it is a bit dumb that even when we know these people, we refer to them by their code names. Additionally ridiculous: with the exception of one female, we do not code-name girls and women. Here is a partial list of this year’s nicknames.
diesel boy: more of a man, really, but this sounds better. has shaggy hair and really does look like he should be wearing overpriced denim. no relation to lame-o pop-punk band of same name.
tuxedo boy: wears tuxedos around town. is charming in an oddball way, like me, and disarmingly beautiful, unlike me.
pigpen: the tenant in our apartment who hasn’t moved his schtuff out. he is the biggest slob on the planet, with a nest full of hippy shit and uncleaned cat litter boxes.
the (un)happy little elf: boy who looks like an extra in lord of the rings; is misanthropic and hard to read.
gary sinise: big-time flirt who really does look like the actor. miles and max fischer have said that gary sinise looks like a tool. their words, not mine.
max fischer: our friend looks eerily like the star of rushmore. he is such a nice boy.
teach: crazy guy who danced on chic-a-go-go with us. he was a loud and nutty hip-hop type, waving his hands in the air like he just didn’t care. his accomplices in dancing were two or three pre-teenage boys who turned out to be his students. after the taping completed, teach removed his fubu and began talking with friends about that night’s town and country show.
foxy mcfoxerson: also mentioned here more than a few times. we are friends now, and that makes me happy. he is one of the few people aware of his nickname, and for a while he thought i had renamed him captain assclown. no, silly foxy! that was just a temporary thing.
whitelegs the pirate: i could never remember this kid’s name. all i could remember was that he attended a chic-a-go-go taping and had legs even whiter than mine. he rides a vespa, apparently.
edward norton tootie: owlie says he looks like her friend tootie; i say he looks like edward norton. this is really all i know of him.
tre cool: i have not actually met this gentleman, but owlie has. she says he really is tres cool.
rapscallion: i had a huge huge huge crush on him, but he kinda did what the next bloke did…
jfk/mr. president: takes me on a date in which we have a lovely time, says he’s glad we went out, and never calls again.
gramps: treats me as though i am twelve. regards me as his little sister, which is kind of sweet but also patronizing.
the fake evan: this is the guy who is on the rainbo calendars almost every year. he always looks a little bit like evan, what with the glasses and all, but he’s not! he’s the fake evan!