It’s a racket! Go ahead — throw money at these people. They just want you to buy all their stuff. A fall wardrobe, winter wardrobe – Oh spring’s here, I need a spring jacket–bah! You can wear that same jacket in spring as in the fall. I ain’t no slave to consumerism! It makes no sense to have all these clothes. Who cares what’s in fashion. Clothes from 1982 cover your ass the same way in 2012.
Yeah I got thirty year old clothes. So I know how holes work in clothes. In shirts, holes start in the arm-pit area. In pants it’s the crotch. Crotch holes were in at one time so people thought I was in style — hehehe. I wear clothes until they fall off. I just had to throw away my grey shirt. The holes in the arm pits were so big that the shoulder part wouldn’t stay on. But I know how to beat the system. When I wear shirts with holes I put jackets over them so no one sees. Sometimes I get compliments on my overall look. These people don’t know I have holes and that gives me the inner titters, like the time I went on an interview wearing a skirt suit with no drawers on.
On occasion I’ll wear a holey shirt straight out in the open. I’ve been doing holes for years. Back in the eighties my boss said they called me ‘corporate militant’ behind my back because I wore runny stockings and holes sometimes. Mme. Weebles will tell you the panty hose industry’s a racket. Oh wait a minute – oh wow — years ago another boss bought me all these clothes – I know sexist, inappropriate, yeah, yeah – anyway, I thought it was because he liked me but now as I’m typing this, I’m thinking maybe it was because he felt sorry for me.
When I want to, I know how to dress up. And, when I do it, I do it right. I have a Persian lamb coat and leather pants that I paid lots of money for. But I’m no fool. I made sure to wear those pants every day since I paid so much for them.
My clothes are like old friends. They know my body better than a one night stand. While I think dressing up can be an art, generally I think getting dressed is a pain in the ass. I’d rather be naked. I’m naked now. My ass by the way is clean. It’s important to be clean when you wear your clothes a couple of days in a row. Oh yeah, and I change my drawers everyday — when I wear them – AND — I always floss. It’s not cool to wear your clothes everyday and have plaque on your teeth at the same time.
I think of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies and the roles we play in tribes. I thought I’d be Simon in the tribe. Simon goes off alone. He’s prophetic and dreamy. I think Simon goes into a cave and when he comes out, the bad tribe thinks he’s a beast, and spears him to death. That’s me, I say. I’m misread, on the periphery, and subjected to being lambasted by people who are afraid of where I’m coming from.
But I looked honestly, and this is not easy, but I believe I would’ve been in the bad tribe.
I acted out as a child. While there was love and encouragement, we were raised by adolescents. My mom was 18 and my dad 22 when I was born. I also became very sick which devastated my school life. My mom taught me to read when I was three and I was in special progress classes but couldn’t concentrate after the illness. My parents might have done more if they knew better. They gave me a wonderful childhood however.
But I became rebellious, destructive and mean. I wanted to be bad, to test limits. I remember rounding up kids to leave school to go to Pathmark to steal candy. Our families had money to give us, but once I got kids together to beg for money in the street. Another time I lied about the teacher collecting money for something and stole from kids in my class. Tyrone found out, popped out from behind a car, punched me in the head and followed me home to tell my mother. This was all at around the age of eight, and there were other things I did. I also did mean things to kids that I’m embarrassed about. If I smoked cigarettes I would have been a bonafide street urchin.
After surgery for my illness when I was 12, I befriended the main stream kids. They put me in check and I became docile and unsure of myself — they were the majority. I couldn’t be the wild little pirate anymore. I knew instinctively that being with these girls was a cocoon of protection, even though I was on the periphery. I later became an alcoholic then recovered which helped me to grow as a person.
As an adult I’ve been sited on my job review for integrity. One manager said she thought that I was a class act. My mom calls me Saint Sandee. While my core personality from childhood exists — my curiosity about death and mystery of life and my blunt approach – those negative traits were mutable and transient, though that mischievous acting out may be manifested in my extreme views and sometimes severe criticism.
I just hope to continue to nurture that part of me that people gravitate to. I want to be tactful, sympathetic, loving, generous and forgiving. I guess now, this is why I relate to being Simon.
My last post sparked conversation with fellow NYC blogger Lame Adventures who mentioned wanting to live in NYC after falling in love with the movie West Side Story as a child. Coincidence! I just thought about wanting to post that dance at the gym scene last year after having to rent the movie when missing the screenings in the city for the 50th anniversary. I couldn’t find a decent clip though.
I like the beginning dance scene where Maria spins around in her white dress and transports magically to the gym where the whites and Puerto Ricans are dancing. This dancing is bad ass. I love Leonard Bernstein’s orchestration because it captures the feel of sexy adolescence.
Yes, I remember sexy adolescence. What perky bunnies we were. We had parties all the time when I was growing up in the city and sometimes boys from rival groups would intrude on the neighborhood turf and there’d be a ruckus — good times, good times… Overall, the kids I grew up with were good kids from good families. You know, shit just happens sometimes living in the city.
In this scene, that blonde girl kicks ass dancing — in fact it looks like she could kick some serious ass ass. I just think the whole damn thing is sexy. I like the way her friends check her out and stop dancing to watch her dance, and when they all slow down and dance close together, yeah.
I could only find a 10 minute video which is long — so just drag over to the 1:57 minute point and you’ll see what I’m saying:
When my friend Jeff lived on Fourteenth Street in the eighties it was sleazy. He lived in an SRO, a three story walk up. I went there once and we smoked a lot of cigarettes. He introduced me to Charles Bukowski, underground comic books and OTB. He wrote me a poem that had the word ‘equatorial’ in it. Sometimes he was called Angry Jeff. Fourteenth Street isn’t what it was years ago. But nothing is what it was years ago — silly me.
Now there are modeling agencies in that region so there are gorgeous people parading up and down that street. Union Square is there with that farmer’s market everyone loves. Whole Foods is there and DSW. I like to go to that Halloween store on 10th St. Today I went looking for green spider webs and purple candles.
When I left I walked across Fourteenth Street to the west side. There were so many people sucking at the air. You had to scoot and slide to get around them all. Oh my — I’m glad I didn’t breed. There isn’t enough air. Some of the people didn’t look happy to be here. I always say I wouldn’t want to create another lost soul. There are just so goddamned many people and a lot of them are populated here – oh I know there’s China but – good lawd!
What are all of us doing here? I suppose we buy things, use energy. Some of us think we’re special but if we thought about how many of us exist, maybe we’d change our minds. How could so many of us be special when there are so many of us? It’s like bugs.
There was a tall man in green scrubs on the train. Maybe he was a doctor. I guess we should make more people to fix other people. Doctors are needed to fix all the people being born. And people have to have cars, so there have to be people made to make all those cars. And then there have to be people made to sweep the floors and there have to be people to put in jail so other people can feel lofty.
So I get it — generally, people have to be here to make stuff for others to buy and use. That’s it. In other parts of the world they have different notions but the idea of having stuff even in those places is seductive. The ‘good life’ is pushed on us like heroin. A lot of people imagine they’re here looking for something better or to be a part of some phenomenal movement that they’re going to start and they think their kid’s gonna help. Maybe. But like I always say, maybe the earth is just toilet paper for us to wipe our asses with until it’s all gone.
Vacillating between ‘What would Jesus do?’ and ‘What would Machiavelli do?’ — it’s exhausting! I guess I’m not that crazy. Trying to summon my inner-psychotic wasn’t easy.
Do I stay friendly with the office bully because I need him in my pocket to scare lesser menaces? Should I have agape love, dredging up the understanding that this is a poor soul, who needs compassion for the pain causing them to be like this? What do y’all think? What would you do? What would the devil do? Something really awful probably right? But I don’t want to go to jail.
I was with a man who wanted me to have a baby — blegh! I wanted nothing to do with them. Today I referred to a kid as ‘it’. I had good reason — I didn’t know if it was a girl or a boy — so I had to ask the dad, “What is it?”
My sister has two boys, so now I like kids, and feel sympathetic to little parasitical beasts all around. But I’m glad I didn’t breed and still harbor a strong anti-procreational streak — what would planet earth do with my spawn? I’m narcissistic, nihilistic, and a nervous nelly — I’m not a physical specimen and not good at math — AND — I know nothing of building rocket ships. Perhaps though for some reason beyond me, the earth did need my spawn for some large part of the picture that doesn’t necessarily suit me and my ego. I say maybe it ‘did’ because it’s too late now. Having a kid now would be selfish and dangerous because I’m old. I’ll be fifty. Here’s a good reason why I shouldn’t — how I turned my nephew’s carefree day at the playground into the Lord of the Flies.
I want my nephews to be bully-proof alpha males. I want them to be in the good guy tribe from The Lord of the Flies, unafraid to stand up for what’s right, and while using their brains to fight battles, like the finest general, they will have valiant physical prowess — oh yeah — and the older one will be a neurosurgeon and the little one will be an astrophysicist. They will be extremely well-adjusted, have lots of fine friends and will be indebted to Auntie Sandor Sword-Chinned Bitch until the day she dies. That’s why when we went to the park, I chased behind my then 3 year old nephew to make sure no kids tried blocking his way to any one of the slides. I won’t get into specifics. I’ll just say that my sister told me, “No, Sandee, you can’t do that! They’re just kids.”
I watched the kids play as if watching war games. My nephew got into it with an older kid. The kid says during a break in their shoot ’em up game, “You don’t know anything about guns!” And check this out, my nephew screams, “YOU don’t know anything about guns!” He pointed vehemently, his whole body shook. He got the last word — yeah! When we got home I high-fived him about it, out of view from anyone who might judge me as an ass.
It was an exhausting day, trying to figure out where he’d fit in the tribe. Back home I wanted to cry. “Sandee — he was having a good time — calm down,” my sister says. Yeah? Doesn’t she know there’s politics in the playground?! Next time I’ll tell you about the horror of a kid’s birthday party.