What the fuck's the deal with putting large flat-screened televisions in every restaurant? Not only are they now ubiquitous, but they are actually put forward as a selling point: "Come to our restaurant, ignore your date while watching SportsCenter!" WTF?

There is a man who haunts Washington Square Park with a troupe of trained pigeons. Nobody knows - I don't know - if these are birds which have come from a home, perhaps his own home, where they are trained, their performance cultivated, or if instead they are indeed "wild" birds that have become so accustomed to his presence that they can't seem to stay off his arms and shoulders.

The question, bearing as it does on the indeterminacy of markers distinguishing the natural from the manufactured, opens upon the question of the meaning of home. Whatever.

Today on 13th St., between 5th and University, I witnessed a 'hobo' passed out in a planter while his companion rummaged around near him for the cigarette that had fallen out of his hand. Not 25 yards further down the road, there gathered a crew of about 5 young adults who thought that in front of the doggy gym was good place to smoke a joint. What struck me was the mutual indifference shown by both the group of young ruffians and the passersby and the business owners. Nobody seemed to give a shit, and that made me happy. I love 13th St.

Friend tells me she got eye-raped by Adrien Brody while walking down Spring Street last week. She noticed him from about a block away, looking her up and down. As they passed, he actually lowered his sunglasses and smiled. An odd experience, she said; apparently, though she's quite attractive, visual assault is not something that happens to her on a regular basis.

This is funny because I remember being like 19 years old, sitting outside a coffee shop on busy Friday night downtown, and making extended, unflinching eye contact with a girl in a convertible as she was stopped in traffic. It was noticed by my friends, who suggested that I had just made visual love to this complete stranger. At the time, I felt the same way - like me and this completely random, though smokin' girl had some kind of cosmic connection, and if only we could have met...

Alas, now I'm starting to think that I, actually, eye-raped this girl. I comfort myself by imagining that if we had met, she would have suffered from halitosis.

Fuck Titles

Seriously, I think titles may be the one obstacle that prevents me from blogging more often - well, that and the fact I don't own a computer. The pressure to come up with a witty, appropriate heading for whatever bullshit I might have to say has stood in the way of my sharing my unique and fascinating world-view with others, and I'm over it. So, now that friend has loaned me her computer for the summer, I am eschewing titles - get ready, world, for random musings not gathered under a title, subtitle, or any other organizational heading (alright, well, date, but only because it's programmed into blogger).

And yes, I realize that this is indeed titled. Last one, fuckers.

Things I'd Like to Say to Girls, vol. 2

I want to hold your hand and walk through the Village and buy you dinner and make you breakfast and make you know how good I really am.

Like Two Boats Passing in the Fog

Me: Hey Dad, what's happening?

Dad: So, your Mom says your in the New York Times, huh?

Me: Yeah, Dad.

Dad: Has that gotten you laid yet, or what?

Me: Well, uh, not exactly, Dad. I mean...

Dad: What are you, Doggy Boy?

Me: Yeah Dad, I'm the Doggy Boy. Thanks.

Dad: Don't get all sensitive.

Me: Nah, Dad. I'm just fucking with you. Alright, talk to you later, Dad.

Mr. Haddix, to you

Check it, fools:

www.nytimes.com/2008/03/30/nyregion/30dogs.html?oref=login#

Things I'd Like to Say to Girls, vol. 1

Get down on your knees, my child, and uncover those parts of your body which inspire God's anger.