Monday

Bionic Cat

I think we should talk about this, this bionic cat.  What does it mean that there is a bionic cat?  I tell my friend that somewhere out there is a cat walking on little bionic legs and he says that we're doomed (actually, he didn't say doomed, but this is a PG 13 blog).  Maybe that's true. There are plenty of problems in this world (starving children and global warming and oil in the gulf) and maimed pets does not seem to be at the top of the list, and yet here in America we value our pets as much as we value our children (or at least as much as we value other people's children).  But that was someone's cat, and can you really blame someone for loving their cat?

Or maybe my friend is afraid that this is the beginning of the end, that one day bionic cats with robot brains and laser eyes will take over the world.

But I don't think so.  I like to think that this bionic cat is a sign of hope.  I'm feeling kind of tired today and a little unsure about the future, but I feel better knowing that cat is out there and, thanks to the fact that we live in an age with portable videophones and a machine that can play jeopardy, that cat can walk  It can even jump on top of some toilet paper rolls.  I'm so happy for that cat.  And if we can make a cat's life better, then maybe we can one day clean up the oceans and cure cancer and reverse global warming and build time machines so we can finally see real dinosaurs.  I'm hopeful.  So very hopeful.

Friday

Can I help you?

"I'm not a divine father or anything, but I believe and stuff," this guy in a yellow t-shirt is telling me that he only wants to see a priest so he can say a prayer for his mother and it will only take a couple of minutes.  I do not suspect that he is lying.  "I know that all that matters anymore is money and that you used to be able to come and see a priest but it's not like that anymore, but can't I see a priest?  I mean, if he can't take the time to pray with me I would think that's almost sacrilegious."

I find a priest, and the guy in the yellow shirt asks him for money.

How can you answer the door in a city and not end up suspecting everyone of lying to you?

I read the other day that 75% of homeless people suffer from severe mental illness, and then there's the guy with 100 proof breathe and the drug addicts.  75% sounds about right.  I'm thinking of the guy who stood in the my office and stuck the brochure I gave him into his pocket, which was already full of papers and cardboard and maybe cigarettes and just stared at me for almost a minute before he responded to my question "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

No.  He stared into space for another minute with his bloodshot eyes then walked out the door, slowly.

Wednesday

70s Vampire

Black blazer and a striped shirt, black and white paisley handkerchief stuffed into the pocket, bleach blonde ponytail pulled back, aviator sunglasses, faded bell bottoms, and black pointy boots on the subway at 9 in the morning, playing some game on his iPod while he stands in front of the doors. There's a big chunk of silver around his ring finger.  

If I wrote fiction I'd make this guy into some kind of immortal being, probably a vampire, because that's how you make money nowadays.  He's been living in New York for about 60 years.  Before he bites his victims he likes to talk about how much he loved the 70s.  He goes on and on about the 70s, and his victims are like "Just bite me already and shut up about this disco stuff." 

Really, though, he's thinking about the end of the world.  He knows that immortality is impossible, that there is a finite amount of energy in the universe and it is spreading further and further out, that the sun will consume the earth, and he wonders what happens to him then. That's a ways away, though.  The seventies will have been over for eons, and maybe by then he'll be tired of drinking blood and wearing sunglasses inside.  For now, he'll distract himself with this game on his iPod where you fling little birds and try to knock stuff over.  He really loves this game.   

Tuesday

Pathos and Humor

I'm waiting for a slow little old lady to leave my office.  The sun is shining in the garden, but only briefly, before the skyscraper across the street obscures it.  A couple of people are circling the fountain, arguing.  Or maybe they're acting, practicing - they suddenly smile and laugh.

I told a friend of mine that I had to pause for laughs at my reading last week and she seems surprised.  "You write things that are funny?"

"It's a secret," I said.  (Actually, I didn't.  I don't remember what I said, so I made it up.  That's why it's "Creative" non-fiction.  Or, "It's composed" as one of my professors would say.)  Most of the stuff I write is somewhere between pathos and humor.  I can't seem to separate the two.

Anyway, my reading ended up being a kind of performance - something between an essay and a monologue and maybe a comedy routine.  My boss seemed to like it, and his friend who came with him said "like all good comedy, it was deadly serious."

Monday

What you are doing on Thursday

What are you doing on Thursday night?  You are going to watch me do a reading, that's what.  At a variety show!  Yes, a variety show.  Singers, dancers, a magician and me, an "essayist."  But I will be funny and charming (Did you know that I am funny and charming?  Most people who meet me do not suspect that I am either.) and I will knock 'em dead.  Knock. 'Em. Dead.  And even if I am awkward and trip over my own words (I have been known to do this before), it will be over quickly.  Don't worry though, I am going to practice.  Lots.  It will be way fun.  

So, if you are free, come and lend me your support.  Thursday, June 10th at 1 E. 29th St (the church with the garden between 5th and Madison).  Happy Hour at 7, show at 8.  $10 suggested donation which supports actors in need.  http://www.actorsguild.org/Events.html