Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Page 96 of 187

Sophia’s Dream

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Sophia and I had the worst flight back to Los Angeles. Sophia had a cold. The obnoxious couple in front of us had a crying baby. The airplane was cramped. When we arrived in Los Angeles, LAX was backed up because of the RAIN! We waited in the airplane for two and half hours!

This morning, back at Redondo Beach, Sophia is sick in bed, drugged up on cold medicine. She turned to me as she woke up from an unrestful sleep.

Sophia: “I had a weird dream. But it was so vivid. Like it was real.”

Neil: “About what?”

Sophia: “About the laptop. It was broken.”

Neil: “A virus?”

Sophia: “No, it was physically broken. And I really wanted to use the laptop, but every time I would lift up the top, it would just fall down and do nothing. Like it was weak. It was totally frustrating.”

Neil: “Could you turn it on?”

Sophia: “Of course I can turn it on, that’s not the problem. I kept working on it, over and over again, trying to keep it up. It was as if my life was depending on it. I kept on trying to prop it up. But the top would just fall down, useless. Up, down, up, down. And then I got tired of trying to make it go up, because it would just stay up for a second, then flop down again.”

Neil: “That’s a weird dream to have about your laptop.”

Sophia: “Yeah, it was especially weird because I was actually trying to use YOUR laptop.”

Neil: “My laptop?”

Sophia: “Isn’t that weird? Why would I have this dream?”

Neil: “Hmmm… You know, maybe you should take another Contac, go back to sleep, and hopefully you’ll forget we ever had this conversation.”

P.S. — Hey, what do you want? I can’t write heartfelt pieces about Kissena Boulevard forever!

The Slummification of Kissena Boulevard

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This is where I grew up and where my mother still lives. It may not look like much, but it is one of the nicer apartment buildings in my Queens neighborhood. My grandmother lived a few blocks away, in a lower-income apartment. When I was in elementary school and my mother went back to work, I went to my grandparents after school. My grandmother made an excellent tuna fish sandwich, with chopped celery and dill.

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My father was a physical therapist at a city hospital and my mother still works in publishing, so they never made that much money. They worked hard to put me through two very expensive private colleges, just so I could obtain two completely useless degrees — a B.A. in English and an M.F.A. in Film. I was totally spoiled by them.

I had an excellent childhood growing up in the Flushing/Kew Garden Hills area of Queens. The public school was good, the public library was two blocks away, and the neighborhood was incredibly diverse — blacks, Jews, Puerto Ricans, Indians, Chinese. I’m still good friends with guys from the neighborhood who I’ve known all my life. They’re the first people I see every time I fly into New York.

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I am so diverse — here I am with my Jewish childhood friend Barry at the Blue Bay Diner in Bayside last week, which looks exactly the same inside as it did when I was in high school.

When I was a child, Queens felt isolated from the excitement of Manhattan, but it was close enough to travel to by subway. (…ok, first you take a bus to get to the subway) My parents took me to museums and concerts all the time, so I was able to participate in the “high culture” of the city. We also lived near Queens College, which had a symphony orchestra. I spent many weekends in the audience with my parents, falling asleep to Schubert.

Although the stores in my neighborhood weren’t very fancy (still no Starbucks!), you could get everything you needed just by walking down the block. There were grocers, a bakery, a Radio Shack, a cleaners, a pharmacy etc. This was perfect for my parents, who didn’t drive a car. It also created entertainment for me. After school, my friend, Rob, and I could pass several hours just stopping in the Kissena Boulevard shops, or reading the comic books in the stationary store.

I only felt embarrassed about “Queens” once I went to Columbia, and met rich kids from the Upper East Side, Beverly Hills, Boston, etc. They had actually gone skiing in Aspen and visited museums in Florence. All of a sudden, Kissena Boulevard was very small time. I began to feel ashamed of my background, like a Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, moving from the steelmill to the hoity-toity ballet studio. It felt as if the entire borough of Manhattan looked down on Queens. The only reason to visit Queens was to go to the airports or see a sporting event. There was even talk about building a new stadium in Manhattan, so there would even be less reason to travel to Queens. Queens was the home of misfits, from Archie Bunker to Ugly Betty. During snowstorms, Manhattan was quickly shoveled by the plows since it is the center of the business and tourism worlds. Queens was always plowed last. Queens had her big moment in 1963-64 when the World’s Fair was in Flushing Meadows Park, but then most of the fair buildings was just left behind to decay.

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“Sorry, we don’t have enough money in the budget to fix the NYS Pavilion.” – Mayor Michael Bloomberg

Eventually, I learned to embrace my Queens neighborhood. There was a cool mix of people on the street, and it felt more “New York authentic” than many of the streets of Manhattan. Today, “Sesame Street” reminds me of Queens, not Manhattan. Big Bird could never afford Manhattan. Sadly, whenever Sophia comes with me to visit my mother, I’m always disappointed that she can’t see the area in the same positive way I do.

“It looks like a slum,” she said recently, as we walked down Kissena Boulevard. This hurt my feelings, especially because, in my heart, despite my romantic view of the neighborhood, I believed the same. At one time, the street was lively, with all sorts of shops and ethnic food. Gene Simmons, who grew up nearby, even named his group KISS, after Kissena Boulevard. Now, the neighborhood has deteriorated almost beyond recognition.

Half of the stores on the block are gated and closed — some stores have been empty for five years! Can’t the management company find any tenants? What happened to the bakery, the pharmacy, the seafood store, the stationery store, the women’s clothing store? Surely some business can make a profit here? People are afraid to walk outside at night because everything looks so abandoned. Why has this happened?

Perhaps the answer can be found on the website of the management company, Pelcorp. On the site, they advertise the entire block, not as available individual stores catering to a community, but only as a 240,000 sq. ft. shopping center. There had been rumors that the landlord isn’t renting out the stores because it’s interested in selling the entire block to a big-box entity like Kmart. This might explain why no stores never seem to be rented, despite having “For Rent” signs plastered on the gates of shuttered stores. Is the management company waiting for the opportunity to unload the entire property at once?

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A view of Kissena Boulevard at noon, a far cry from what this busy street used to look like.

The management company has every right to sell the entire complex if they want to, but should they be allowed to thrust the entire neighborhood into a downward spiral? Who wants to live in an area where more than half the stores have been closed for years?

It is pretty sad state of affairs. I remember how The Garden Bakery made the best onion rolls I’ve ever tasted. There was “Sweet Donut,” a little coffee shop/donut store. Dr. Sakow, the friendly optometrist, fitted me with my first pair of dorky eyeglasses in the third grade. All of these stores are now gone, with no replacements.

Even if the management company does want to sell the entire property, shouldn’t they at least be responsible for its upkeep? What about all the garbage and graffiti everywhere? Why should I be embarrassed to show my wife the “old neighborhood?” Why should my mother have to walk past the junk in the parking lot? People still LIVE in the neighborhood.

At one time, the landlord/management company was a local one, headed by a New York builder. He was always seen around the area because he also created middle-income housing across the street. After his passing, his son took over the real estate property, and it didn’t surprise me at all that his management company is based in Palm Beach, Florida! Out of sight, out of mind.

From their website:

Our President, Prescott Lester, is the fourth generation of Builder Developers. He is responsible for building and developing nearly 3,000 residential units in Palm Beach County, Florida. Projects included Lakes of Laguna in West Palm Beach with 2,204 residential units and Cascade Lakes in Boynton Beach having 556 dwelling units.

Mr. Lester’s Greatgrandfather began building in Brooklyn, New York around the turn of the century. He was followed by his son David Minkin who became one of New York City’s Master Builders. Mr. Lester assisted and succeeds his great uncle, David Minkin, in running the family’s building, management and brokerage operations.

Here is a promotional photo of the late David Minkin, Prescott Lester, and former NY Mets (yeah, Queens!) pitching great Tom Seaver, who has apparently sold his New York baby boomer appeal for some hard cash.

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Despite a history of New York building, the fourth generation of builders now “specializes in the marketing and sale of luxury properties in Palm Beach County. This includes waterfront, country club, and other estate properties.”

The Kissena Boulevard holdings, one of their four retail holdings still in New York, must be their least attractive holding, compared to their shiny new malls in Florida. No wonder they seem so disinterested in the upkeep of Kissena Boulevard!

I talked to a few people in my mother’s building and they are very unhappy with the way Kissena Boulevard looks. Some say they would even move away, if they could afford it. The shopping area is pretty disgraceful, and much of the blame must go to the management company. They have played a major role in making the area look like a slum. Of course, since Pelcorp is in Palm Beach, and the executives don’t get to come to Queens very often, I’ve included some photographs of Kissena Boulevard for Prescott Lester and his partners to see.

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The Pharmacy, now closed, the letters falling from the sign

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The Laudromat, closed

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The shoe store, closed

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The graffiti along the “Wholesale Liquidators” wall

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The garbage along the wall, opposite the closed shoe store

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The kosher deli, closed

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The Rainbow Women’s Clothing Store, closed

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The pharmacy, closed, is now a haven for pigeons

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The Bakery, closed for years

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The fish market, closed

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Ugly graffiti and disrepair along the property walls

The Two Sisters

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After writing a post about me finding my fifth grade diary, someone told me about Cringe, a monthly reading series held at a Brooklyn bar.

On the first Wednesday of each month, brave souls come forward and read aloud from their teenage diaries, journals, notes, letters, poems, abandoned rock operas, and other general representations of the crushing misery of their humiliating adolescence.

Leahpeah had organized something like this in Los Angeles, but Cringe is the big momma of this genre.  It is hosted by Sarah Brown, a popular New York blogger, and there is even a Cringe book being published. 

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(via Que Sera Sera)

My plan for tonight was simple.  I would attend this reading, my diary in my knapsack.  At a certain point, I would volunteer to read.  I would stand in front of the Brooklyn hipsters and wow them with my elementary school wit.  A literary agent would be sitting in the front row and ask me to write “The Penis Monologues,” which would become a huge bestseller, and I would become so famous that men all over the world would stop calling their members “Dicks” or “Johnsons,” but rather will all call them “Neilochkas.”  Millions of women would be screaming for “Neilochka” each night.

But life has a funny way of changing a person’s plans —

Sophia’s father loved marriage.  He loved it so much, he was married five times.  From everything I heard, he was a nice and exciting guy, but difficult to live with.  Sophia’s parents divorced when she was young.  Recently, Sophia learned that she had an older half-sister who lived in Brooklyn.  The woman, Anya, was born to Sophia’s father and his very first wife, twenty years before he married Sophia’s mother, Fanya.  Anya… Fanya…the whole story is more complicated than Crime and Punishment, or All My Children.

Sophia decided that today was the perfect day to meet her half-sister.  We would meet Anya in a restaurant for an early dinner, and then Sophia and I would take off to Cringe.

We picked Anya up and headed to Spoon, a Russian restaurant in Brighton Beach. 

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It was a very joyous meeting, which was surprising, because there was a lot of tension before the actual get-together.  It was almost canceled because at first Anya refused to have Sophia come up to her apartment to pick her up, and Sophia was somewhat upset and confused as to why wouldn’t her long-lost sister want to invite her into her home.  Once Sophia understood that Anya was insecure about how her Americanized new relative might judge her modest home, she wasn’t feeling hurt any longer and laid Anya’s worries to rest.  Both women were also nervous about what this meeting meant.  For all their life, they knew nothing of each other.  Are they instant “sisters” now or still relative strangers with little in common?

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The jury is still out about where this relationship goes, but Sophia and Anya seemed to bond well.  We all had a lot of fun together.  Anya’s English was decent enough so I could talk with her, and I impressed her by singing the one Russian song that Sophia taught me.  Since we were on Anya’s territory, she insisted that she pick up the tab to the restaurant, and proceeded to order enough food and drink for fifteen people. 

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What I look like when I start to get drunk. 

After the huge meal, Anya invited us back to her home for dessert, and to meet the rest of her family. 

At first, I wanted to say no, since this would mean we would miss Cringe, since it was already getting late.  Then I realized that this meet-up was so much more interesting and authentic than reading from a diary to a bunch of strangers.  A diary is all about connecting to the past — but only through words.  Here, the past was coming together in the present…in actuality!  Two women from the same father, both testing the waters to see if this vague family bond matters in any tangible way.  Who needs Brooklyn hipsters laughing at old diaries when I could witness real life?!

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At Anya’s house, there was more food, dessert, and more drinking.

Putin may be bringing Russia back into the Cold War, but no one can doubt that Russians know how to party!

To the half-sisters!

P.S. — After all that, when we got home, we saw that the Cringe reading was cancelled tonight. 

The First Meal of 2008

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I haven’t been very good at meeting up with New York bloggers while I’m in town.  I’ve been trying to spend more time with Sophia and my mother.  I’m also intimidated meeting New York bloggers in person, knowing how sophisticated and worldly they can be here.  New Yorkers all hang out at the same hip bars and know Sarah Jessica Parker personally.  And when I tried to pick up this sassy brunette in a Williamsburg coffee shop/art gallery/S&M bookstore by suggesting we grab a meal at the Olive Garden, she just laughed and cursed me in Greek.  Snob!

There is one beautiful blogger I had to see again before I left town — Tamar.  She was an important part of my 2007.  She actually spend REAL, not Monopoly, money to buy me  like a high class hooker in a V-day charity blogger auction.  105 dollars!  I wouldn’t pay that much for a date with me.  A few months later, Tamar showed some love for the other woman in my life, Sophia, when she sent her a very special healing bracelet to help Sophia through her surgery.

What better way to start January 1st than seeing Tamar?

One problem — Sophia and I are staying in Queens.  Tamar lives in Philadelphia.  We spoke on the phone, and came up with an eccentric, but amusing concept:  we would meet for lunch EXACTLY at the mid point between our two locations.  So, call the New York Times!, the three of us have found a new use for Google Maps — plotting the midpoint between two locations, which is — tadah! — some place I knew absolutely nothing about — beautiful New Brunswick, New Jersey!   So, guess where we met for lunch?

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A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Happy New Year from the Tournament of Roses Parade, Pasadena

My Last Day of 2007 “Thank You’s”

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looking back… 

Thank you, Tamar, for “buying” me in that charity blogger auction back in January.

Thank you, dear readers, for believing my version of the story about the purple bathrobe from college.

Thank you, all those who participated in the Valentine’s Day Emergency Hotline.

Thank you, the Times of London, for mentioning my humble blog.

Thank you, all those who convinced Sophia to “allow” me to blog during our road trip to Portland.

Thank you, Sophia, Danny, and everyone else who made this year’s birthday in March the best birthday I’ve ever had.

Thank you, those who showed us such a great time in San Francisco and Portland.

Thank you, all who came to the support of Sophia during her scary breast cancer surgeries this Spring.

Thank you for not abandoning my blog during the month I obsessed over the music of ABBA.

Thank you for your supporting my mission to save the small pigeon on my patio.

Thank you, for continuing to love me, despite my constant complaining about BlogHer, insulting Portland’s lack of diversity, falling asleep at classical concerts, sending cartoon images of my Penis to female bloggers, turning Irving Berlin into a foul-mouthed sex addict, and being so cheap that I buy ninety-nine cent shoelaces.

Thank you, kind souls, for your advice in helping me plan to achieve my lifelong dream — 50 States, 50 Women.  (someday!)

Thank you for your support as I took the big step this Fall and finally started therapy.

Thank you for participating in the Holiday Arts and Crafts Fair and the Blogger Online Christmahanukwanzaakah Concert.

Thank you, everyone, for making me laugh… and think… and sometimes, cry.

Thank you, Wendy, for our fabulous night out in Los Angeles seeing Wicked.

Thank you, Charming but Single, Finn, Brooke, SAJ, OMSH, Deanna, 180/360, Ash, Alissa, Ms. Sizzle, Pam, Schmutzie, V-Grrrl, Ninja Poodles, Heather B, Erin, Crazy Aunt Purl, Jessica, Dagney, Jurgen Nation, Nabbalicious, Whoorl, LVGurl, Psychotoddler, Leese, Pearl, and everyone else I had long personal conversations with this year online.

Thank you to all the wonderful people I met for the first time this year, such as everyone involved with Leahpeah’s Bloggers Live.

Thank you to all of the female bloggers I fell in love with this year (at least in my mind), even if it was only for a day.

Thank you, everyone, for allowing me to follow your lives on your blogs.

Thank you for letting me be your “friend” on Twitter and Facebook.

Thank you for letting me ogle you photos on Flickr and say things to myself like “Holy crap, who would have thought that some dull mommyblogger was so f***ing HOT!”

2007 was a stressful year for me, as it was for many of you.  There were illnesses and deaths in our midst.  I know of at least five bloggers who got divorced or separated this year.  Luckily, joy and happiness is always around the corner.  Some of you got married.  Some got promotions at work.  I even know one blogger who had her first orgasm in seven years!  What could be more hopeful than that?!

I hope 2008 is a wonderful year for all of readers of Citizen of the Month, filled with happiness, love, kindness… and of course… many, many orgasms.

My Fifth Grade Diary

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A few months ago, I attended a reading of bloggers and writers reading from their teenage diaries. All of the participants were women. After the show, there was some discussion about diaries and gender. It seemed that every women had kept a personal diary in their youth, but hardly any men. Is this why women feel so comfortable blogging?

I told everyone that I never kept a diary. Writing for me was geared more for fiction than for self-exploration. So, you can imagine my surprise today when I found a diary in the back of my closet! I completely forgot about it. I wrote it in the fifth grade. Unfortunately, I lost interest in writing the diary after one month. I started it in January and ended it in February.

I’m not sure it is interesting to anyone, but what the hell — here’s the first week of entries. I found the second entry the most intriguing, for obvious reasons.

January 2nd

Today I went back to school. The day passed quickly. Today for some reason our teacher, Mrs. Mattis, brought 4 books, like pamphlets, called “What Should I Tell My Daughter.” It was about sex on the girls side. When I was home my Mom and a little bit of my Dad were bugging me about sex. All day my feet were killing me because of growing pains.

January 3rd

Today was a normal day. A rumor which was not true was that I showed my penis to my classmate, Freya. it started off with Tracey then went so forth. But many others have been having this trouble. My Hebrew school, regular friend, and ringolevio classmate said “Our class is the sexiest class in the school.” He’s right. My seat was changed from between Debbie and Freya to between Subha and Robert S. (Snipple). Larry was between Subha and Robert S. Now, he’s between Debbie and Freya. They all love each other.

January 4th

Today it was a normal school day. At gym we had dancing. Our class has more boys than girls so some boys doubled-up as a girl. I was one of them. A boy named Steven (spiderman) said to Barry (Eggy) who was dancing with a girl named Jamie, “Dancing with your girlfriend?” I was astonished when Barry said, “At least I can afford one.” Then me and Barry (Eggy) came home. I got a 100 in spelling.

January 5th

When I woke up this morning, I felt lousy. The day passed along slowly. At gym, I played like a zombie. One event, in gym, was when a girl named Sandra tagged her own man. A boy named Steven, who wants everything perfect, said to her, “Don’t tag your own man.” She thought he said “old man” not “own man.” She started to cry because her father died on my birthday. After school, I went to the eye doctor. My eyes got worse and I need new glasses.

January 6th

There’s been a problem. The lock on the diary just broke. I don’t even have time to write. I’m on the history committee on Mexico with Subha and Mahaan in school. Me and Mom bet on the first one who curses, yells or gets mad has to give the other person $1.00. Grandma came in 4th Place in a Reader’s Digest lottery. Mom says it’s a hoax. I say it’s true. I walked to school with a person I know but don’t know his name. At school, I helped a new girl named Sheri with math. The teacher told me to.

The Christmas Day Broadcast of the 2007 Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert

Merry Christmas!

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Neilochka: Help me, I’m Jewish! Why am I on this weird guy’s lap?

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Santa Claus: Now listen very carefully, young Jewish Neilochka. One day, you will have a “blog.” I know you don’t know what that means right now. But you will. Right before Christmas, you should have a Holiday Concert right ON THE BLOG. Take my word for it. Chicks REALLY dig guys who throw Holiday concerts!

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Have a wonderful day filled with love and joy. No Christmas is complete with music. So, if you haven’t checked it out yet, why not listen (or listen again) to some of your blogging friends creating some special Holiday memories?!

The 2007 Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert

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Have a wonderful Christmas day. Good health and happiness to your families. See you at the movies, fellow Jews!

The Family Nose

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In the last couple of days, there have been several comments on this blog about Sophia looking like my mother.  That’s just crazy!   Sophia and my mother look nothing alike.   Why would anyone marry someone who looked like his mother?  That would mean… that this person wanted to… that…  I just can’t even put the words together because it is so unspeakable.

Whatever.

Sophia and my mother don’t look anything alike.   Really.   None of us think it is true.   If anyone looks like my mother, it is me.    The proof is in the photo on top, taken at the Dominican coffee shop where we ate breakfast this morning.

More Finds in the Closet

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Here is a photo of my parents on a date at the Luau 400, a famous New York Tiki-bar that is long closed.

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The Luau 400 (Polynesian), at 400 E. 57th St., is another example of what we think the South Seas should be like. To enhance the atmosphere, owner Harry Bloomfield has employed all his theatrical skill to present tropical trees, waterfalls, and exotic birds as a background for the sloe-eyed waitresses, ukulele players, etc. A favorite with show people, especially for private parties, and one of the last ports of call for upper East Side theatregoers on the way home.

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brochure photos from Critiki

My mother didn’t really remember much about the evening. Hopefully, it wasn’t as bad as my first date with Sophia.

When I searched for Luau 400, I discovered that there are Tiki bar collectors out there. A Luau 400 “mug” can fetch as much as $170! Unfortunately, my mother didn’t have any tiki mugs in the house.

But all is not lost! Look what I found in the back of my closet!

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I apologize to my mother for saying that she gave all my baseball cards away. I apologize to my cousin for saying that he became a millionaire selling my baseball cards on E-bay. I am RICH. Hank Aaron! Pete Rose! Roberto Clemente! Ha Ha, you suckers have to go back to work after the holidays. I’m ready to rule the world with my millions! (well, actually the most valuable card, the Roberto Clemente (with added crayon-colored uniform), is only worth $45 dollars mint-condition, so I will only rule the world for a few days until I am poor again).

Portrait of a Blogger as a Young Man

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I promised my mother that I would throw out some things that have been in my closet for years, but it is impossible.  How can I choose what to toss?   Who knows? — one day I might be called on to perform some brain surgery on a sick neighbor and I’ll need to practice on that old Operation! game board.  It was fun going through old school reports and yearbooks.  I found personal papers and writings that I haven’t seen in years. 

These two writing pieces made me chuckle.  I would have been a terrific grade school blogger!

Me!  by Neil Kramer
(This is part of a journal written in elementary school.  There were photos attached, but were missing.)

It was a nice but cold day on March 7th.  Then at 2:38 AM, a spectacular thing happened.  I WAS BORN.  This is me, Neil Scott Kramer, at four months old.  The hands holding me belong to my baba (as I used to call my mother at four months old).  Birth notices were sent out to relatives and friends about ME, like the one above.  I took this photo of my mother and father.  I take many pictures.  That’s only one of my hobbies.  Others I have are coins, stamps, comics, and magazine collections.  Astrology — I like it!  I am a Pisces.  My mother is a Libra.  My father is a Gemini.  I LOVE TV!

Here is picture of ME in school.  Look at the 4th Row, 3rd Person from the left in Mrs. Mattis’s class in P.S. 154, in Flushing, in Queens, in NYC, in NY, in the USA, in North America, in this world, EARTH.

An interesting fact about me! – 18 1/2 million call the New York/New Jersey area their home.  And without me, it would be ONE LESS!

Clearly, my literary brilliance came through at an early age.  Unfortunately, once I became a Freshman in college, my writing turned pretentious and filled with sexual cliches, much as it still is today.

Sue by Neil Kramer
(a story written in a Freshman “Creative Writing” Class at Columbia)

I’m sitting on the top of the balustrade that separates Central Park from the adjacent sidewalk that I face, waiting, hoping that Sue will pass.  Although she is nowhere in sight, many other lovely girls pass me by, and since today is a hot July day, which prompts these beauties to sail right in front of my eyes in various stages of semi-undress, the sporadic wafts of warm, summer air gently fluttering the fashionable, soft, cotton fabric of the females blouses into a massage of their protruding breasts, the wait is not unpleasant.

A young couple exits the movie theater across the street.  The female (25, perhaps?) wears the tight green shorts that Boy Scouts usually wear.  I wonder what effect the movie had on this couple.  I know that the film is about a love affair between two Resistance members, and the war’s toll on their lives.  Max Horkheimer, the Marxist intellectual of the Frankfurt School of Philosophy, said that art is the only proletariat spirit left in my generation’s lifetime.  Great art should make the persons appreciating art to strive to reach this ideal, that of making the world a better place to live.

“Do you think this has happened to that couple?”  I ask myself.

I laugh. 

WTF?  Max Horkheimer, who the hell was he?  And who is Sue?  There are several more pages of this short story/political manifesto, but you couldn’t pay me enough to publish the rest. 

Now, continue on with your repressive, advertiser-driven blogs, you fools, those of you who bow before the false idols of capitalism and Technorati, while I, a modern-day Max Horkheimer, lead on with my blog revolution!

I laugh.

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