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Apr. 21st, 2008 08:56 am![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
kayteaenbe provides video of the Jill and I almost get stabbed by an easle in the hands of Milo Ventimiglia incident:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LwllXtA2NpU
Apr. 21st, 2008
kayteaenbe provides video of the Jill and I almost get stabbed by an easle in the hands of Milo Ventimiglia incident:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LwllXtA2NpU
the chihuahuas will rise
Apr. 21st, 2008 11:31 amhttp://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d158/disneyroxxx/Chihuahua.jpg
Oh man. Awesome bad.
Thanks tomagnetgirl
Oh man. Awesome bad.
Thanks to
magnetgirlon the subway
Apr. 21st, 2008 05:17 pmI watched a man hit on a woman on the subway today, and it disturbed me.
I only noticed it at first because he had been originally sitting next to me, and I was a little taken aback when he jumped out of his seat to take an equally cramped one across from me -- I know I can be off-putting but really. But then I saw him hold out his hand and introduce himself to the pretty Filipina woman he had sat down next to.
What surprised me was how receptive she was to him, immediately taking out her headphones, smiling at him, taking his hand. He wasn't bad looking, but he also wasn't anything memorable, not like her with perfect skin and a perfect smile and not knowing it all in a t-shirt and sweater.
What I do remember about him was his clothes, which were expensive and foppish in a non-appealing way: grey suit, nearly slick with the expense of its fabric; pink pin-stripped shirt with a white colar; ice blue-grey tie; hair clearly brittle from product and a smile that to me read as forced as the rest of it. He kept wringing his hands.
Now, of course, who wouldn't? He'd done something ridiculously ballsy, but something about his manner and clothes told me he was practiced in some manner for this -- either he'd taken a class on doing just this sort of thing, or had the easy false charm one expects from a broker (you don't like the man, but he makes you money, and he hits all the right notes so laughing at his jokes isn't too hard).
She was glowing, but she was also calculating. As much as she was enjoying the attention -- and he was doing all the right things, asking her about what she does and letting her talk about it passionately while he listened in a manner that was almost aggressive and certainly suited to more dark than a subway car offers -- she was also calculating. The clothes were expensive and she knew it and the look on her face wasn't that of someone who had hit the jackpot for felt chemistry with this man, but of someone who couldn't help by wonder what life would be like if it were just a little bit easier, if an $81 monthly Metrocard didn't have to be a critical line in her budget that determined how much she could spend on groceries each week.
It reminded me of the man who once hit on me in Gramercy Tavern with "I find a woman isn't resolved about her father until she cuts off her hair" -- mine was short then, and I was wearing leather pants and a long-sleeved black sweater. The man called me at 7am the next day, invited me to his place across the small park between us and fed me berries and yogurt as he showed me artifacts that he had stolen from various Asian nations.
It remains one of the most disturbing and mysterious incidents of my life; it felt like he wanted to keep me in a glass on his mantle and while that held no appeal my mind frantically flipped through everything it knew to figure out how to earn his approval and the ease of his money. It was very strange, and I remember the fellow wore an inordinately expensive pendant of his astrological sign wrought in gold with gems. It was tasteful, as far as such things go, but it was his fucking astrological sign. Really now!
The man hitting on the girl on the subway had the same vibe. And he took out his business card, wrote his more personal contact information on it for her, and then got off when it was his stop, shaking her hand again and carrying his $200 napsack -- he hikes on the weekend and is very concerned about his health.
I wonder if they will have breakfast. I wonder how long a fantasy of ease will amuse her. I wonder if she'll be scared or find a perfectly wonderful and explicable human being beneath this man's smile and suit or if she too will be left with a story of ultimately benign but unfathomable predation not quite glimpsed.
I only noticed it at first because he had been originally sitting next to me, and I was a little taken aback when he jumped out of his seat to take an equally cramped one across from me -- I know I can be off-putting but really. But then I saw him hold out his hand and introduce himself to the pretty Filipina woman he had sat down next to.
What surprised me was how receptive she was to him, immediately taking out her headphones, smiling at him, taking his hand. He wasn't bad looking, but he also wasn't anything memorable, not like her with perfect skin and a perfect smile and not knowing it all in a t-shirt and sweater.
What I do remember about him was his clothes, which were expensive and foppish in a non-appealing way: grey suit, nearly slick with the expense of its fabric; pink pin-stripped shirt with a white colar; ice blue-grey tie; hair clearly brittle from product and a smile that to me read as forced as the rest of it. He kept wringing his hands.
Now, of course, who wouldn't? He'd done something ridiculously ballsy, but something about his manner and clothes told me he was practiced in some manner for this -- either he'd taken a class on doing just this sort of thing, or had the easy false charm one expects from a broker (you don't like the man, but he makes you money, and he hits all the right notes so laughing at his jokes isn't too hard).
She was glowing, but she was also calculating. As much as she was enjoying the attention -- and he was doing all the right things, asking her about what she does and letting her talk about it passionately while he listened in a manner that was almost aggressive and certainly suited to more dark than a subway car offers -- she was also calculating. The clothes were expensive and she knew it and the look on her face wasn't that of someone who had hit the jackpot for felt chemistry with this man, but of someone who couldn't help by wonder what life would be like if it were just a little bit easier, if an $81 monthly Metrocard didn't have to be a critical line in her budget that determined how much she could spend on groceries each week.
It reminded me of the man who once hit on me in Gramercy Tavern with "I find a woman isn't resolved about her father until she cuts off her hair" -- mine was short then, and I was wearing leather pants and a long-sleeved black sweater. The man called me at 7am the next day, invited me to his place across the small park between us and fed me berries and yogurt as he showed me artifacts that he had stolen from various Asian nations.
It remains one of the most disturbing and mysterious incidents of my life; it felt like he wanted to keep me in a glass on his mantle and while that held no appeal my mind frantically flipped through everything it knew to figure out how to earn his approval and the ease of his money. It was very strange, and I remember the fellow wore an inordinately expensive pendant of his astrological sign wrought in gold with gems. It was tasteful, as far as such things go, but it was his fucking astrological sign. Really now!
The man hitting on the girl on the subway had the same vibe. And he took out his business card, wrote his more personal contact information on it for her, and then got off when it was his stop, shaking her hand again and carrying his $200 napsack -- he hikes on the weekend and is very concerned about his health.
I wonder if they will have breakfast. I wonder how long a fantasy of ease will amuse her. I wonder if she'll be scared or find a perfectly wonderful and explicable human being beneath this man's smile and suit or if she too will be left with a story of ultimately benign but unfathomable predation not quite glimpsed.