jolie laide: Sugar Bomb

jolie laide

I started this when I lived in Brooklyn and struggled for grace in a city that grants moments of beauty and ugliness breathtakingly close to one another. Now I live in a place where things are a different kind of ugly and the beauty is pedestrian. I struggle with that.

10.05.2007

Sugar Bomb

It’s steamy enough out to be August again, sultry and wet. My computer is choking on some half-digested ort of information and needs to re-boot so I head out for a walk while it grinds. Landmines have been going off in my office all week and the staff have been diving to cover. They deserve a happy Friday sugar bomb, so I am going for doughnuts. Not your crappy Dunkin or box-o-Entenmann’s best if eaten by 2025, not your bullshit Sex-and-the-City cupcakanista so-over-it buttercream rosebuds. Nope, this is the good stuff, the cushy Cadillac blonde, the spiky high school tart who would never have looked at you, your older sister’s best friend’s ass wiggling to the Top 40 countdown as they sunbathe in the backyard. Yeah, that good, but totally attainable. I’ve got to let my hair down for this, let it ride over my shoulders, let the light hit me as I push it one step further and go for gritty, spine-popping, do-you-think-I’m-not-serious? coffee.

The street is blocked off so that’s the way I’m going, the flashing lights on the cruiser a beacon. People are hurrying down the street, and as I turn the corner I hear singing. In the space in the road between the Young Israel double crumbling tenements and the Bialystoker Home for the Aged a group of men are dancing, holding torahs to their chests, mazel tov, mazel tov is what I can hear, and I don’t know whether this is an annual take your torah to work day, or that thing they do when you move it from one place to another, or the happy hoo-hah that happens when you get a new one, but people are pulled up all over and watching, spilling out from stoops and bodegas and the illegal underground won-ton rolling outfits that reek of rotting cabbage.

Here comes Knobs, too, rolling a shopping cart down the sidewalk and we head-bob from across the wide avenue. He’s too busy to stop and so am I. We both have our missions to fulfill, but I know, and he knows too, that the next time we meet on this sidewalk, this everyone’s living room, this public church, this graving yard, I will give him a smile like a flash bomb and be so thrilled to do it.

8 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

It's a festival of starting over: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simchat_Torah.

Pretty evocative writing on the doughnuts there, ttractor. Doughnuts of arousal, inadequacy, and despair. But totally attainable...

8:47 AM  
Blogger ttractor said...

oh, thanks! so what are we doing then--airing them out? I think if I were a torah, I would want to be danced with once a year. Although I think take your torah to work day would be quite an education, too.

When you come to New York, I will tell you where the bad, wild doughnuts are, where they curl up to go to sleep, how we can sneak up on them and capture one.

9:30 AM  
Blogger Dr. S said...

Ooo, I've visited those bad doughnuts' relatives in Lexington, KY. There are doughnuts there just waiting to knife-fight with big-city ones.

11:54 AM  
Blogger ttractor said...

OK, now I'm getting a whole "secret life of doughnuts" thing going on in my head. Doughnuts shooting heroin, doughnuts getting tattoos, doughnuts getting freaky on car hoods in bar parking lots at 4AM, doughnuts with angel wings and fairy wands, doughnuts that explode into a shower of glitter when you touch them...

1:10 PM  
Blogger VelVerb said...

Oh dear. Every time I visit here I leave with exquisite images that I want to carry around in my back pocket. But then I get the bunny ears with striped socks, and now doughnuts getting it on? I guess the exploding glitter doughnuts counteract that.

Come to think of it, I would love exploding glitter doughnuts.

12:22 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

And don't get me started on beignets... Which eat your tough-gal KY or NYC doughnuts for, um, lunch.

That said, I'm getting a (w)hole Lou Reed smack angel thing off these doughnuts now which strikes me as having real potential as a late-night marketing campaign. Doughnuts as messed up as you are, as hollow as your soul at 2:00 a.m. But how sad what's happened to them since your original post, all that American innocence lost! Now they're the doughnuts to go with the milk in Stephen Dixon's "Milk Is Very Good For You," which, if you haven't read it, is about sex and bad spelling.

9:16 AM  
Blogger ttractor said...

anon, I love that. And I am so sorry to have sullied those innocent doughnuts with smut and degradation, but we all have to grow up sometime, and when lust turns the corner it can turn into sex and bad spelling. Spank me, I'm a bad girl.

Frou, I'm sorry to make you pour bleach into your ears. I'll try to get back to being more lyrical and less hopped up. Or not, as the case may be...

12:15 PM  
Blogger VelVerb said...

hehe

1:13 PM  

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