Thanks for Sharing

People put pictures of the darndest things online.

For example, here’s a beefcake calendar of handsome Italian priests on some guy’s flickr account.

And here’s on guy’s set of himself flipping off hummers. There’s more than fifty shots.

And this guy, who is new to Portland, has taken all kinds of interesting shots of things I first noticed when I moved here too. Just like me, he’s completely puzzled by all the white people with dreadlocks. (If I remember correctly, he was also the souce of my fixie clone photo.)

Another Portlander by the name of Joseph Robertson has assembled a truly impressive collection of arty photos of everyday sights. There’s a lot of vernacular signage, dozens of chairs, and hundreds of abstract textures and colors.

Finally, from a person with lots of great character studies of the homeless, here’s a set of street kids. I call them the Filth Tribe.

Happy Monday

Every Monday I post photos of guys smiling.

The Best of Summer

On Friday, we had a “relaxed summer potluck” in the back yard, and with few exceptions, it was all gay boys. Obviously, I’m the one who organized it.

For the previous three years, we’ve had a White Trash Vegetarian Potluck in July, and it has usually been a blast. (Four words: kiddie pool, Daisy Dukes.) But this summer, nobody had the drive to do it again. I would have, but I made too many enemies last year. I was in a mood for trouble, and I got it.

Not this time though. I wanted to eat some good food and enjoy a beautiful summer evening with nice people. That’s how it went too. I made some Indian dishes; there was pie and vanilla ice cream for desert. Two bottles of elderberry wine were consumed, and “roofie” jokes were made with lots of smiling and eye contact. We ate and chatted (and flirted) amiably under two strings of Christmas lights in the back yard and finished off with a bonfire that took the chill out of the midnight air.

There were some surprises. Christopher wore — are you ready? — a hiking kilt. We tossed two wooden chairs on the fire, and Mike Justice brought his friend Keyan, whom I’d never met. But that was as crazy as it got.

Good food. Lovely weather. Nice conversation. The best of summer.

Overheard in New York

My roommate’s old friend, Jodi Bon Jodi, came over to our house recently, and she was wearing her big belt buckle off to the side. Becca noticed and asked if it was because that’s what all the hipsters are doing now. Jodi said, No! It was actually because the buckle pokes her in the stomach when she sits. Seems like a very sensible reason, and I considered that, in the unlikely event that I started wearing belts again and/or became a rodeo bull rider, I’d start wearing them askew that way too.

Anyway, I’d never even heard of that particular fashion, then one day I was looking for bike hipster photos, and there it was. Some bearded Portland guy had his buckle to the side. It was for real.

So I searched for more photos, but all I came up with was one picture of, well, what you might call an authentic regional archetype — genuine white trash. And that brought to mind what I thought was a game or column or something called “Hipster or Homeless.”

Then I googled that, and that’s where the title of this entry came from, because the first thing I found was this site called “Overheard in New York.” And that’s all she wrote for me; I got sucked into hours of reading these “quotes” of overheard conversations, all submitted by site visitors. They’re unbelieveable — mean, sarcastic, often dumbfounding, and quite frequently hilarious. The picture it paints of New Yorkers makes me think Seinfeld was actually a documentary, or at the very least anthropological.

Here are some samples:

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Woman: …he’s been practicing for weeks and weeks and weeks, maybe months. We’re going to stay for an hour, and when we leave–and during the whole show–we have to be very, very quiet. Like a mouse. OK?
Girl: Yes, Eliza.
Woman: What’s my name?
Girl: Eliza.
Woman: And what’s my other name, my special name just for you?…Mommy, OK? My name is Mommy.
–M7 bus

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Patron: What kind of vegetables do you have?
Surly Russian waitress: Boiled.
–Brighton Beach

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Bimbette tourist: Oh my god! What’s that? It looks like a cool, underground club or secret hideout.
Friend: Um, that’s the entrance to the subway.
–57th & 7th

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Student: That man is giving away free juice. Can we have juice?
Teacher: No. Then you’ll have to pee during the show, and I’m not disrupting the whole theater to take you to the bathroom.
Student: You’re the meanest teacher ever!
Teacher: I’m training to be a mommy. How am I doing?
–Minskoff Theatre

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An ice cream truck is going up the street.

Little girl in wagon: Daddy, that truck song is annoying.
Hipster dad: Yes, the commodification of your desires is annoying, isn’t it?
–Bedford & N 10th

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Chick: Hey, come look at this, like, book!
–Barnes & Noble, Union Square

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Disgusted hipster: I mean, I only do drugs as a joke!
–14th St L station

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Hobo #1: It’s the motherfucking Law of Thermodynamics.
Hobo #2: Fuck you.
–57th & Lex

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Chick: We missed our stop.
Guy: You slept right through it.
Chick: Why didn’t you wake me up?
Guy: I tried, you wouldn’t wake up. You just showed me your pussy.
Chick: That sounds like me.
–N train

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Girl #1: Oh my god! I haven’t seen you in ages!
Girl #2: I know, it’s been a while — you look great!
Girl #1: You do, too! Your hair has grown a lot since I last saw you.
Girl #2: I know what you mean — it’s all it does.
–E 86th St and Lex

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Rocker doof #1: Dude we’re having this flannel party. We’re totally going to like put on Neil Young and CCR videos and shit.
Rocker doof #2: Dude I saw this movie Hype about like grunge or whatever and everyone was wearing flannel… but it totally wasn’t ironic!
–art opening, Kent & Metropolitan, Williamsburg

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Blonde girl: So, you’re from Puerto Rico and you just moved here? Wow, that’s so exciting! Do you speak Puerto Rican?
Puerto Rican girl: No, but I speak Mexican fluently.
–Tisch Hospital, 33rd & 1st

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College kid #1: If you must choose, would you rather be taking it up the ass or be the one fucking another guy?
College kid #2: I’d be the one giving it to another guy.
College kid #1: Damn, you really are a fag.
College kid #2: And you?
College kid #1: The same.
–Yankee Stadium

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Guy: No shit. You’re a psychic? Uh… make a prediction or something.
Psychic: It’s going to rain tomorrow.
Guy: Wow. So you’re the real deal, huh? Weather straight from the source.
Psychic: Well, that, and I check weather dot com.
–R train

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HS boy #1: So you are like Chinese, right?
HS boy #2: No dude, I’m Peruvian.
HS boy #1: Where in China is that?
–4 train

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Thug #1: Yo, when I go to McDonald’s I don’t just want a fuckin’ Number One with a mothafuckin’ Coke. I want a Number One, a Coke, and a mothafuckin’ smile.
Thug #2: Word.
–Q train platform, Union Square

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Guy #1: You know, like the velvet tracksuits that everyone’s dads wore when we were growing up.
Guy #2: We didn’t all grow up on Long Island.
–6th & A

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Old woman: I bought this Caesar salad, but I don’t know where to get the dressing. Please, can you tell me where I can get some dressing?
Cute girl: Ummm, I don’t know. I’ve never had a salad here before.
Old woman: But where do you think the dressing could be?
Cute girl: Well, possibly in the refrigerator over there… where they keep the drinks?
Old woman: Are you sure?
Cute girl: Well, that’s my hypothesis, but it hasn’t been tested.
–Le Pain Quotidien, 58th & 7th

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Chick #1: …so we fucked and then he didn’t call.
Chick #2: And you’re surprised? This is the third guy in 2 weeks who hasn’t called.
Chick #1: I know, but why don’t they ever call?
Chick #2: Probably because–don’t hate me for this, k?–but you’re kind of easy.
–Garden of Eden, 14th Street

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Hipster #1 walking past large inflatable snowman: Dude, I fucking hate Christmas. It’s like, nothing but a giant celebration of modern consumer capitalism.
Hipster #2 gesturing to wreath on church door: Totally. Look, even the churches are advertising Christmas these days.
–Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn

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Man: You know that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, right?
Six-year-old boy: No, he does exist. When I wrote him a letter and asked him for pink Plush Puppies, I got them on Christmas.
Man: Dude, then you are a serious homosexual. What kind of boy asks for pink Plush Puppies?
–Rockaway

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Guy on bike: …and she said, “What are you going to do, shoot me?” and that was the last thing she ever said.
–Forest Hills

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Guy on cell: You’re in Florida? You’re driving back right? Get me a nine!…I don’t give shit where you buy it from, get me a nine milimeter. For real, all those southern states you’re driving through, you can get one from somewhere!
–DeMarco’s Pizza, Houston Street

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Man: …you better get in, nobody over 30 is allowed to walk here anymore.
–Williamsburg

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Nine-year-old boy on cell: It’s not that I don’t understand your vision, I just don’t agree with it.
–Bus stop, 79th & 5th

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Three-year-old girl waiting in check-out line: Mommy, I hate this store! Are we in the suburbs?
–Trader Joe’s, Union Square

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Conductor: This is 36th Street. Step to the side and let all the monkeys off the train. Let the monkeys off the train.
–Queens bound N train

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If you got all the way down here, you may want to visit the site, which, again, is called Overheard in New York. It really makes me think I’d love New York… except for the kids.

Pussyfoot

Wordy Wednesday’s Wonderful Word of the Week

pussyfoot

• To go or move in a stealthy or cautious manner.
• To act or proceed cautiously or timidly to avoid committing oneself.

Sounds like: just what you’d expect

Example: Because I find reading a friend’s poetry only slightly less unpleasant than, say, emergency battlefield amputation, any request to do so is entirely unwelcome, and I’ll pussyfoot around an answer forever, hoping that they’ll eventually drop the whole thing.

Happy Monday – Smilin’ Tom Boonen

This year, I wanted to watch the Tour de France, now into its third week, but coverage begins at, like, 6 a.m.. Oh well, I’m sure it’s right up there with televised golf in terms of excitement. No big loss.

While I was looking for Happy Monday photos of tour riders, I realized that those guys really don’t smile very much. Across the board, they’re a sour lot. Even on the podium, all they can manage is a pinched, toothless grimace.

…except for Tom Boonen, a handsome Belgian superstar who rides for the Quick Step-Innergetic team. Two years ago he won the title of “Belgian Sports Personality of the Year” (a competition which undoubtedly ranks alongside the annual Vatican City Wet Tee-shirt Contest in its lack of viable contenders), but sadly, while he practically owns the maillot vert, the green jersey worn by the overall points leader, his chances of winning the tour are slim. From the look of it, though, he’s not letting that ruin any of his fun.

 Smilin’ Tom Boonen. Even in the peloton he’s wearing a grin.