Junk Thief is somewhat pleased to say that he is within an inch (we won't say which one) of the 1967 ideal male figure. Then look at the 2010 "manorexic" ideal. I'm sure some women will take some delight in seeing this as poetic justice.
Dimensions of Rootstein’s Male Mannequins: THE CLASSIC: 1967, 42” chest, 33” waist THE MUSCLEMAN: 1983, 41” chest, 31” waist THE SWIMMER: 1994, 38” chest, 28” waist THE ANDROGYNE (a.k.a. “Homme Nouveau”): 2010, 35” chest, 27” waist
Just in case you think we have been implying that Chicago is the only place where great artists fall on drunken ruin, I point to this great post about the Centennial of the death of O. Henry. As our beloved Bowery Boys point out "He may even been drunk here" in the above image.
Rodents riding trains, great street art, attitude. It's all on New York Shitty. This blog is a reminder of why we should all abandon our Facebook accounts and get back to blogging. Mafia Wars? Sorority Life? What State Are You From? Need I list the ways that Facebook is almost as bad as MySpace? Need I also add how much I prefer New York to San Francisco?
UPDATE: Be aware that the photo above is of Miss Edie who is a hamster not a rat and be sure to check out her guardian Victoria's blog: http://victoriabelanger.wordpress.com
Standing in line with her bottle of Chardonnay at the Valu-Rite Market in Nyack, Ouida was reminded of that old line “A bottle of wine has as many calories as three cups of gravy.”Which doctor was it that always said that?Or was it from one of those wretched encounter groups with the promise to empower you to "take charge of your life"? Of all the abuse Ouida had endured in her life, nothing was worse than these groups where she had to sit in a circle and hear a bunch of self absorbed losers recount the tedious details of their boring, pointless lives. She started to turn and take the wine back to the refrigerated aisles with rows of Samuel Adams and enormous bottles of Kenwood but she halted.Maybe she might go back and grab some Easy Gravy Mix just out of spite.
Perhaps we should go back to where it all started at Dr. Baumgartner’s clinic in Utica where he studied Quida and Frieda for four years.Having written extensively about sibling confliction, Dr. Baumgartner said nothing equaled the Vogle sisters.Quida would turn scarlet red when Frieda was introduced as her “twin”.
Storming out of the room, Quida would scream “We are nothing alike!”And, indeed, only into his third year of research did Dr. Baumgartner learn that this was, in fact, true and that Ouida and Frieda were not twins but surviving triplets, their sister Lita having died mysteriously in a bathing incident involving choking with multiple rubber duckies.
Determining Ouida’s role in this was always murky, and Dr. Baumgartner chose to overlook it and instead focused on trying to break through Ouida’s rages and hysteria.When she took up an interest in gardening, it seemed there had been something of a breakthrough.The fact that her two favorite flowers – foxglove and oleander – were potently poisonous seemed to escape Dr. Baumgartner.
Mrs. Vogle took it as a sign of great progress at the girls’ ninth birthday party when Ouida burst onto the dance floor with Dr. Baumgartner in a joyous twist as “Under the Boardwalk” played at full volume.Mrs. Vogle was less excited, six months later when she found Ouida snuggled next to the doctor in his bed.
Things took a turn for the worse when Frieda turned violently ill after drinking a cup of hot chocolate Ouida had prepared for her.Only after returning from the ICU and noticing freshly cut oleander by the sink – and no vase in sight – did Mrs. Vogle start having doubts.
But Frieda’s sudden death after three days at the hospital put the family into such a spin there was no time nor energy to ask questions that probably should have been raised. And, after four years of intensive analysis with Dr. Baumgartner and no progress nor answers, Mrs.Vogle was ready to stop asking questions and just let mysteries rest.
When Ouida turned 15, the Vogles had reached a point of having lost the will to object when Dr. Baumgartner asked for the girl’s hand in marriage.In an unexpected turn of events, he left his practice and opened Godiva Vineyards on the outskirts of New City.The label on the bottle of a nubile nude nymph on horseback resembled Ouida too much for her mother’s comfort, but at this point she was happy just to have peace in the house so she and Harry could watch “Sing Along with Mitch” on TV trays, chewing their Stouffer’s Salisbury steaks and sipping Godiva Chardonnay in Dixie cups.
Dr. Baumgartner was found dead in the vineyards four years later, by what the authorities -- likely too distracted or too tired of hassles -- determined to be natural causes.Ouida sold the vineyards back to the Valduccis at triple the price she and the doctor acquired them for but with four times the production.She lived briefly in Montreal and then opened a small photography studio in Binghampton before settling in Nyack where she has lived quietly for the past 35 years. She can be seen strolling the streets in her Burberry coat, checking out books on Catalan culture at the library and buying brass tipped walking sticks at the flea market.
For years she was a regular at the Ebb Tide Lounge on Herman Street until her weight got out of control and her looks began to sag.Now she can be seen every afternoon at precisely 4:38 p.m. (except Tuesdays, an oddly sacred night when she drinks only filtered water) in the line at the Valu-Rite with her signature bottle of wine.As the checker scans the bar code and glances at Lady Godiva on the label, does he see any connection to the woman swiping her Chase debit card and raising her collar before punching in her four digit PIN?
A package arrived today for Bow and me from a certain blogger in the East. (Sorry for the blur. It's an action photo since someone was getting excited about her biscuits.)
Since I had so much fun with all of you New York bloggers in September, I hope you might come out west soon. In this week's issue of New York magazine, this article even lures you to come out west for just $226 and experience high culture and come within barely 500 or so feet of my door by visiting the "seatless" (actually, that's not true, they have sidewalk chairs) Dynamo doughnut store (dynamosf.com) which they compare to the Lower East Side's Doughnut Plant (doughnutplant.com). However, for all of the Doughnut Plant's history and charm, can it offer you maple-bacon doughnuts? I actually came close to buying one yesterday but held off. Come on, Kusala and Salty Jill, come out to (up to) SF and we'll have a pork-packing holiday and meet up with Bryce Digdug, who can shuffle the tarot cards of pork products.
It's official. Junk Thief will be in Manhattan September 26 to 29, 2008. If you're going to be in town or would like to meet up there, start the comments and emails now.
Not to blow it out of proportion, but what do the following celebrities, listed in chronological order, all share in common with the date of September 26? Saint Francis of Assisi, King Christian X of Denmark, T.S. Elliott, Pope Paul VI, George Gershwin, Jack, LaLanne, Marty Robbins, Julie London, Gal Costa, Bryan Ferry, Olivia Newton John, Jane Smiley, Linda Hamilton, Junk Thief, Jake Paltrow, Serena Williams and Princess Salma of Jordan. It is also the day of Bureflux on the Discoridan Calendar.
I've decided that for my next New York visit, I'm going to make the 25 minute trip north to Greystone Court in Yonkers to film an episode of Junk Thief TV. It's available for rental to film makers, and I would love to have some local talent join me for making an episode in which we re-enact the lives of the rich and famous in this castle and then have a wrap party at White Castle or some similarly appropriate place. Amazingly, the current owner, Kohle Yohannan (Mary McFadden's ex-"husband" -- uh, right) bought the place for less than $500,000 seven years ago. I need some tips from this queen on wheeling and dealing in real estate.
Take a tour and let me know your thoughts on what the plot of this episode might be.
Location: San Francisco, California, United States
JunkThief is your typical Gallic Jew boy born on the Great Plains, went to Gotham and Ouagadougou and Kathmandu before settling in San Francisco's Mission District. Now he searches the dark alleys of that city to find good conversation, Weimar culture and (but of course) the perfect door knob.
Junk Thief is somewhat pleased to say that he is within an inch (we won't say which one) of the 1967 ideal male figure. Then look at the 2010 "manorexic" ideal. I'm sure some women will take some delight in seeing this as poetic justice.
