Xo
Xo,
2012
I would like to believe that
this is the kind of subject I wouldn’t photograph. But here’s proof that I’m
not above it. Besides, the following story won’t make any sense if I don’t
‘fess up right from the start.
I was standing on East 2nd
Street in New York this past Saturday afternoon, waiting for the rest of my
party to come out of a shop. It’s a very nice shop if you’re into home décor.
My curiosity about such shops tends to run out rather quickly, though. So I
thought it best to retire to the sidewalk so that the shoppers could continue
their quest without my bothersome presence.
I happened to be looking at
the temporary wall erected in front of an adjacent property to protect
pedestrians from construction danger when I noticed this poster. I really
wasn’t drawn to what I’m pretty sure are the buttocks on the poster, but rather
to the “Xo Xo” written above and below the buttocks.
You see, I’m gradually
working my way through Mark Leyner’s hilariously Vonnegut-like (or at least
what Vonnegut would have written like if he’d been on methamphetamines) novel, The Sugar Frosted Nutsack. Yes, I realize that this
title only reinforces the notion that I’m some kind of lecher. But no less than
the New York Times says this book is, “compulsively readable,
created by a literary mind that seems to have no precedent." And fact is, one of
the most hilarious characters in the novel is a vindictive, time traveling, sex-crazed
goddess by the name of Xo Xo (pronounced “Ho Ho”).
I’d just stepped away from
this scene when a lady about my age carrying a camera happened along. She took
a look at the poster and then at me. I mumbled something like, “You never know
what you’ll see on the Lower East Side.” But instead of lecturing me on morals
or the objectification of the female buttock, she lifted her camera up and took
her own picture of the poster. “I have a whole collections of heart-shaped
things,” she bragged.
I hoped she’d just move
along. But before I could even turn around she launched into a fully five-minute-long
monologue about her job at a New York City public hospital and how she’s fed up
with people who feel entitled to free healthcare and how one lady called her a
bitch and jumped over the counter because she hadn’t gotten her “f—king” pills
fast enough and how she had to call security and when it was all said and done
her boss wanted to know what she’d done to offend the lady and how she was just
going to have call Bruce the union representative to save her job and….
Well, that’s just the first
fifteen or twenty seconds of it. She was so animated that I actually wanted to
take a picture of her. But I was so worn out from just listening to those opening
volleys that I was scared she’d never stop talking if I took a picture.
Besides, although we were in a perfectly respectable location, she leaned over
to tell me, as if confidentiality, “I really shouldn’t be seen here.”
I experienced all this just
from taking a picture of a butt crack. Let me tell you. It’d be just like Xo Xo
to set me up like that.
;-D !
ReplyDeleteI sympathize, even though I laughed at your story... I tell you, people who can't / won't stop talking ( usually totally about themselves) are becoming the bane of my existence. .. and this includes friends/relatives! It seems to be an epidemic! And I pride myself on being a Good Listener, but oh my, my patience is being sorely tried...Does it have something to do with what David Brooks wrote in his article about the "Magnification of Self" ? I think so!
My signal to my wife that I have seen all I want to see is "I'll be outside".
ReplyDeleteHahaaaaaa!
ReplyDelete