newyorkette

^{“Are you flirting with me?” (image: vincent van gogh)}

• Post-coital nap to eternity in idling car: “Love birds die in fume horror”[NYP]


• Count on vitamin B to avoid heart attack: “Studies find B vitamins don’t prevent heart attacks”[NYT]


• Cancer from being born not long after 9/11: “9/11 toxic tots”[NYP]


• Get raped and murdered by a bouncer: Littlejohn [Gothamist]


• Get hit by a bus in Brooklyn [NYP], or hit by a bus on the Upper West Side: [eOnline], or hit by a bus on the East Side instead: [AMNY]


• Work at the Ragtop Lounge: “Slay club…” [NYP]


• Run into this guy on the wrong day: “No longer can I tolerate”: [Found Magazine]

Had enough? Forget all this and go gaze upon the “Dance of Life” painting in the Munch exhibition at the MoMa. You’ll get the chance to see a lot of surprisingly undepressing work that you probably didn’t know existed. Satisfaction guaranteed, unless you were hoping to see the “Puberty” painting, which isn’t there (but a version of it’s there in a drawing near a version of “The Scream,” still AWOL since it’s theft.)

Newyorkette studies find that nothing prevents death as the final and ineluctable consequence of being alive, so enjoy it while you can.

^{A bud on a tree on the lake in Central Park, NY.}

^{No, not to me, to them.}

On my way home from Fairway with my goat’s milk, multi-flower honey, and PG Tips, I spotted a couple sitting on the corner of 73rd and Broadway with a sign that said: “TALK TO ME.” Nobody was talking to them.

So I walked up to them and said, “Okay, what’s your story?” And they just said, “How ya doing?” Before I knew it, I was talking to them.

It transpired while we were chatting so pleasantly that they met my editor, Bob Mankoff, in an elevator at a psychiatrists’ convention where he was the guest of honor (for all the shrink cartoons he’s done). And he’d talked to them too, for three hours. They were discrete, dammit, and wouldn’t tell me anything except Read the rest of this entry »

^{(image: carolita johnson)}

Though it’s not in the newsfeeds yet, NBC is saying (now, at 11pm) that DNA testing is pointing to a “the bouncer did it” conclusion in the Imette St. Guillen case. For the best round-up on this case see Gothamist.

I’ve worked with bouncers. My favorite bouncer, Mikey, kept me safe from lowlife scumbags and let’s just say “moody” women on steroids when I hostessed at The Coffee Shop in Union Square years ago. Mike was an ex-Navy Seal, though. Not an ex-con.

Anyway, here’s a bouncer’s P.O.V. on bouncers. Should you worry that something like what happened to Imette St. Guillen might happen to you? His answer: “Hell, yes!”
For more: [Clublife]

I realize I’m just a cartoonist with a big mouth and who am I to talk politics? But if all I can manage is the quick scan of blogs and news headlines, barely being able to read entire articles, I’m all about supplying a quick summary for the attention-limited like me.

Daily Kos has the most succinct update on the situation. The upshot of which is that London has allowed the Dubai Ports deal to go through on the English end of it. There’s only the 45-day review to get by now. And objections which may be presidentially vetoed.

Bill Clinton has been mediating, giving Dubai helpful suggestions (he suggested they submit themselves willingly to the 45-day review), while his wife is seeking legislation to stop ports being run by foreign state-owned companies. He supports her too. He just wants everybody to be friends. And it seems like Dubai Ports World has a lot of Americans working (Bilkey) and lobbying for them (Dole, Daschle), and supporting them for reasons of their own (Clinton, Powell… Bush).

Why all this support? You know that the real question we’re asking ourselves is not “are all arabs terrorists?” (they’re not) but rather, “are our politicians selling us out?”

This kind of nagging fearfulness reminds me of “The Night of the Hunter,” where all the adults in charge are murdering hypocrites (James Mitchum excellent as the serial killer preacher), corrupt, or just plain stupid, while the only ones sensing danger are one kid and one little woman with a gun, played by Lillian Gish, who saves the day with her wit and goodness. Is this how we see ourselves now? Read the rest of this entry »

(image: carolita johnson]

When they asked for suggestions for the new New Jersey slogan, I submitted “New Jersey: what’s that smell?” NJ stinking it up again, as usual. Gothamist has the latest on New Jersey stinking up lower Manhattan and causing evacuations: [Gothamist]

I don’t wanna keep flogging this thing, but it seems like it’s the duty of all of us to do so. Read this Washington Post article to which I was referred by the Daily Kos .

Overjoyed to have my Late Night Shows back, having had my fill of the 24-hour loop of Olympic repeats, imagine my surprise to see Colin Powell on Jay Leno, being his soft-spoken, bland-faced, baritone-voiced, soothing and confidence-inspiring self. Reassuring us that it’s a good idea to have Dubai run our ports.

Who do I believe? Who do I want to believe? Of course, I want to believe Papa Colin, in spite of the fact that he appears to be plugging on Jay Leno just like any other actor. He does great PR. When he’s on Bush’s side, he makes a very convincing case, particularly since he has never appeared to blindly go along with him in the past. The jury is still out on this one for me.

Benefits, respect, porn… I got three porn magazines at 34th street station for a conductor who called me over as I walked past his window. He gave me some cash and pointed at the platform kiosk guy (who was ready with the coveted ass mags, obviously the conductor is a regular). Read the rest of this entry »

Well, don’t tell me, tell ABL! But do tell me if you love Washington Heights. That I’d like to know about. Only thing I’m missing is a good café. I’m still waiting for someone to make a cool, cheap n’ cheerful café out of this prime sunny NW corner
Read the rest of this entry »

(my baby)

What have you dived onto the subway tracks for? Come on, I know I’m not the only one, since I read Thomas Beller’s iPod on the Tracks in the NYTimes.

This is just what I like to see in the morning when I’m barely awake. An article in the NYTimes depicting demonstrating NYPD officers complaining that NYPD surveillance of their NYPD demonstrations in 2004 had been so intimidating that their first amendment rights were violated. “Boo hoo hoo, we were just awful, we couldn’t bear ourselves, we intimidated ourselves, we’re not putting up with it, we have rights!”

I hope this article doesn’t evaporate into thin air by the time I take my shower. It could just be a trick of light in my dark kitchen.

Or not.
Gawker’s got the lowdown on The Sun’s blitz of free papers being found on doorsteps and slid between the lips of innocently bystanding issues of The New York Times unfortunate enough to have been sent to said doorstep first.

What I want to know is, where’s my Sun, dude? What, Washington Heights not stuffy enough? That’s right, Sun People! We’ll vomit you outta here as fast as that Starbucks that closed down on 137th street and Broadway. What Starbucks on 137th street, you ask? That’s right, what Starbucks! Heheheheheh. We’re not the LES up here!

(For one thing, anything left on our doorsteps is stolen within seconds.)

(I mean besides Nathan’s hot dogs)

Why I (heart) Brooklyn? Why do I?

Heh, heh. Because it’s over there, and not here in Manhattan!

Yeah, yeah, all my Brooklynite friends love to evoke the charms of Brooklyn. To hear them talk, you’d think you were in the Brooklyn of Arsenic and Old Lace, only cooler and with music. But I’ve been to Brooklyn, you see, and I know what’s out there. Kids, kids, and more snotty little kids. What’s more, it’s where overgrown kids from Manhattan go when they’re ready to settle down and reproduce. And make more… you got it: kids.
It’s also, egads, a haven for people who play or like to listen to… the, the wha..? the theramin?