Sunday, May 20, 2012

Artworld Asshole

Astor Place had been filled with shiny new buildings made of glass and chrome, all of them containing high-end art galleries. The streets had become crowded with gallery people--all of them with nasty, superior attitudes. I felt snubbed every time I walked through Astor Place.

After being snubbed and cut off too many times, when a man in fedora and trenchcoat cut across my path, I became irate. I screamed after him, "You cut me off? Fuck you, you artworld asshole! I'll shove a blowtorch up your ass and blow you straight to Hell!" He kept walking.

I hoped that using this course language would embarrass all the artworld people who wanted Astor Place to be a place of refinement.


Friday, May 18, 2012

Spank the Monkey

Last night I dreamed that I wandered past the former location of Estroff Pharmacy on 2nd Avenue, between 8th and 9th, where I used to get my prescriptions filled (and which is currently under construction). A new business had gone in. The entryway was decorated with memorabilia from the old Batman TV show. I went inside to investigate. In what looked like a crappy office, preppy young men in crisp suits sat around a table. They leaned back in their chairs.

"What is this place?" I asked.

"Welcome to Spank the Monkey," said one, grinning. "Also known as The Grab Ass!" The men laughed conspiratorially, proud of their creation. They invited me to go inside and check it out.

Behind the office was a small bar decorated to look like a suburban basement, the kind of place where teenagers can hang out without Mom and Dad interfering. Wood paneling, crappy couches. The bar was filled with frat-boy types and leggy fashion models. Everyone was dumb and talking about dumb things. One girl was complaining in a loud voice about designer jeans. I was appalled and kept trying to sneak pictures of them to post on the blog.


Thursday, May 17, 2012

No One Was Injured

I dreamt that someone painted over the Joe Strummer mural on the side of Niagara. And when I saw it--while inexplicably riding a bike the wrong direction on Seventh Street--a new mural was in progress. It was black and purple and looked like a bruise. And it was going to be Ronnie Wood of the Rolling Stones.

I took photos and hurried home to post the photos on my blog. I was in such a hurry, I didn't stop at the site of a construction accident. (No one was injured.)

--E.V. Grieve