Still No Word From the City
Today I was at the gym, and nothing was making sense.
I was on the Arc Trainer, skiing like a fucking animal. (Is the Arc Trainer supposed to be like skiing? Or, as with the elliptical, does it have no real-world referent? I would like somebody to tell me that.) I was rocking out to Mr. Zune, who has thankfully stopped skipping.
My eyes drifted up to the row of TVs. Here is what I saw:
- SEX, TEEN AND PRISON, or it may have been TEEN, SEX AND PRISON, imposed upon an image of green grass and a brick building, but not definitely not a prison. More like a college dorm. Or something.
- A dreary cityscape… grey buildings, an overcast sky. Poverty and broken dreams. The Rust Belt. That sort of thing. Then, STILL NO WORD FROM THE CITY.
- A jar of peanut butter being unscrewed. PEANUT BUTTER RECALL. A second jar of peanut butter–different brand–being unscrewed. A knife descending into a third jar of peanut butter.
- HIP HOP: ART OR POISON? Paula Zahn at her desk with an expression that says something like, I know I am inspidly pretty like a beauty queen, but I am also extremely smart, and the way you can know that is to see how deeply concerned I am about this hard-hitting issue.
I have questions:
- What do they mean, SEX, TEEN AND PRISON? Shouldn’t it be TEENS? That sounds like a phenomenon to make a TV show about. Or you could take out any one word and make a TV show about that. Like so: TEEN SEX, or PRISON SEX, or TEEN PRISON. But as is, it sounds like a porno distilled to three words. But no porno is actually titled SEX, TEEN AND PRISON. And besides, this is the Greenpoint YMCA at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. So what was that?
- From which city are we awaiting word? Are they dead?
- Is the peanut butter poison?
- And speaking of: there are various words that one might employ as a counterpoint to ART. Like SCIENCE or CRAFT. But POISON? I don’t get that.
- Is TV always this weird?
- Is this a dream?
Nearby, there was a Latin couple on the ellipticals. A beefy guy with a buzz cut and a neck tat, and a lady wearing one of those sparkly headscarves, both of them fortyish. The guy got off and went to get a paper towel to wipe off his machine. The lady barked out, “Head!” and the guy dipped his chin, as if he felt chastened, ripped off another piece of paper towel, and gravely dabbed at his skull.
3 Responses to “Still No Word From the City”
1 Left Hook 21 February 2007 @ 3:05 pm
#1 not to mention these dudes have got to get on the serial comma caboose!
#6 yes.
[ ] A lady barking out, “Head!”
Huh. No comment, I guess.
2 Pistol Whip 21 February 2007 @ 9:53 pm
It is a free country when it comes to serial commas, though.
Although Wikipedia says they’re nearly standard in American English. I never realized there was a geographical aspect.
Maybe that show was British.
3 "rory" 3 March 2007 @ 1:52 am
All I have to say is, “there are peanut butter hershey fucKKKing kisses these days” there were tons in the frankenstein head in tina’s office and i munched the fuck out of them.
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