No Necked Blues

This morning I saw a man leaning over the curb, cigarette burning in his hand, trying to throw up. Lots of frisky li’l princesses and dudes think that New York is the only place in the world where you can be a young person thinking about literature and then see an old guy trying hard to barf at 9 a.m. Not so! Immediately afterward, I saw a crate of jicama for sale; I’d never considered what jicama looked like in its raw, unpeeled form. What a city!


I got to go to a “studio visit” today; another thing I think about New Yorkers doing and then occasionally, disdainfully thinking, “ah, my corpulent, self-loathing ex-friend in San Francisco never gets to do this!” It was OK. The artist was OK. The person I went with bought two pieces of art. Paintings on paper. With text. “Very Sprockets-y.”


[Memo to myself: maybe download or buy the CD of this album by D. Charles Speer, of the No Neck Blues Band, called After Hours. Some songs on his website. Nice country-psych.]



3 thoughts on “No Necked Blues

  1. Saddleshoos

    I’ve been lying in bed writhing about in my own self-loathingness catching up on good jobbb, catching up on my self-loathing, and thinking thoughts I could record on my blog that are not dissimilar to some of those printed here on this “blog.” It’s addictive. Only slightly less addictive to “Settlers of Catan,” for which I do not have 3 other willing souls with whom to play. Damn you Rimpie. Also I believe this post could use a New York-itis tag.

    I was forced to cohost a party, not at my own home but at another, on sunday night. I did not want to have that party. I did not want to eat spanikopita that I made tray after tray of in the fancy toaster oven with digital display. I put a spanikopita in my mouth straight out of that toaster oven while in the company of a pseudo-professional colleague that was way to hot, but being embarassed to spit it out in front of her I allowed it to remain and singe the roof of my mouth.

    It is the night of day two of the worst mouth burn in history. I believe a blister formed and popped, because now there is a loose flap of skin that hangs down from the roof of my mouth. My husband has administered zilactan-b which has soothed the bare blister and newly forming skin, but simultaneously left a horrble bitter taste on my mouth, which has in all likelihood rendered my breath caustic.

  2. quilty Post author


    Thank you for leaving this comment. May I unpedantically pt out that I like how your iPhone typos inadvertantly made it sound like your pseudo-professional colleague was the thing that was way too hot, rather than the Spanikopita? In my “mind’s eye,” the spanikopita and colleague both were way too hot.

    And: I’m sorry to hear about the roof of your mouth. At least your mouth HAS a roof! My husband rubs zilactan-b into my mouth even when I don’t have a mouth-burn. “Just kidding”!!

    This reply-comment has spiralled out of control. There is nothing to loathe but loathing itself.

    Let’s party!!!

    –Post-Rimples, Jr.

  3. Pingback: I Do Not Live In NYC « A Rockridge Life

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