just for once, i’d like to know who buys this stuff and what they actually do with it. do they boil it in a pot? and then what happens?

 

chinatown.

the corner of this city where things go to die.

literally.

i once worked on a tv show whose production office sat smack dab on the border of chinatown and little italy.

i worked there for 5 months. which, in film world, is an eternity. the entire summer took place within this amount of time. and there’s purpose in my telling you this.

the parking garage i frequented at 8:40am, everysingleday, was situated in the very heart of asia-meets-america land, and at 20-buckos a day, it was by far the cheapest in the neighborhood.

so i parked.

but (BUT) then there was the 6 block walk to the office.

wherein i held my breath the entire way.

the.entire.way.

i’m positive i could probably break records for the length of time one can hold their breath.

[do they give out awards for that? could i win a prize or something?! or have my picture taken with someone really important? who do i need to call???]

new york city summers are unlike anywhere else. and believe me, i know heat and summers.

[oh hi, i grew up in the humidity mecca of the south. thank you, i know my heat.]

it’s different here. mainly because the steel trap of the 900-floor buildings, positioned every 3 meters, seals shut said heat . . . and muck . . . and other people’s body sweat . . . and anything that’s dead or dying . . . in one big vacuum for all of us to trudge through like swamp men fly-fishing in a river with no fish while sword fighting their way through swarms of gnats that multiply by the microsecond.

add THAT to those 6 blocks lined with tins and bins of rotting fish and pigs and a vast array of other things (like dogs, i’m sure. the chinese eat dogs. i know this. i’m not judging, it’s just not my thing.) in the rising morning blazing new york city sun and

holyfuckthiscan’tbehappeningithinki’mgoingtodie.

by the time i got to work each day, i either stuck my head in the toilet like some bulimic chick tossing up the 3 grapes and 1 almond she ate on the way to work, or with my head on a desk just trying to regain consciousness long enough to remember my middle name.

[which is rankin.]

a few weeks in, i moved to a different parking lot.

and at a step up to 33-buckos a day, i hardly gave a shit because by now i’d convinced the suits over in los angeles to allow me to submit my receipts for reimbursement, thus keeping the 33-buckos in my own pocket, and calling it a day.

[SUCKERS ! ! ! !]

i don’t spend a lot of time in chinatown.

today i spent a lot of time in chinatown.

and this is how i’m dealing with it.

yeah, we’re making belinis over here.

girly?

i don’t really care.

it’s a happy collision of liquid parts and i’m pretty effing stoked about it.

and the guy at checkout counter told me he liked my pigtails.

so, there’s that.