Here’s the set-up of the scene. It is 8 a.m. It is freezing here. Bitter, windy, the Empire State Building looking stark and bleak against the white winter sky. I wait for the bus, huddled up in my huge coat, and my massive scarf (called by a guy in Ireland “Sheila’s anaconda”. As we went to change venues, he said, “You’re bringin’ your anaconda, aren’t ya?”) … and I am cold.<\/p>\n
The bus arrives. It is already SRO on the bus, which is a bummer, but it’s not a long ride into Manhattan, so I get on the bus, and stand in the back. Sadly, there is a ton of traffic going into the Lincoln Tunnel, and we are in stop-and-go traffic for about 20 minutes. I don’t have a book with me (Sheila … WHAT? YOU don’t have a book with you???) – and I get instantly bored.<\/p>\n
My mind needs constant action. I can’t just stand in line. I have to stand in line while reading. Etc.<\/p>\n
Standing beside me in the crowded back of the bus is … well … Yoko Ono. Or her spitting image anyway, down to the fabulous spiky haircut, and the massive black sunglasses. She looks like a raging lunatic. But damn, she’s put together well.<\/p>\n
Yoko Ono DOES have a book. She takes it out of her duffel bag, and I glance at the title. (I’m an enormous snoop about what people read. I am always scanning the subway, looking at people’s books, and judging them for what they read. “Wow, what a stupid book. I bet that woman is a nightmare.” “Wow – someone else is reading Crime and Punishment right now – cool!” “Oh my God, I completely forgot about how much I loved that book … Need to pull it out again.”)<\/p>\n
So Yoko Ono pulls out what is obviously, from the cover, your typical bodice-ripping medieval-based soft-core-porn book. A woman with streaming red hair and breasts spilling out of her ripped medieval bodice – being clutched to the manly chest of a man who looks like a rugby player gone to seed … No, just kidding. The man was your basic Renaissance Fair geek, with the fucking pirate shirt, the long locks, the intense face … Guys in those books are such jag-offs.<\/p>\n
I stand beside Yoko, just laughing to myself. You never ever can tell about people. NEVER. Reminds me of my favorite line in Philadelphia Story<\/i>: “The time to make up your mind about people, Mike, is never.” Indeed. I never would have had Yoko Ono pegged for bodice-ripping erotica, and I say: go her.<\/p>\n
We were right next to each other. It is now 8:15 am. We approach the Lincoln Tunnel. I’ve had a cup of coffee, yes, but … you know, it’s early. Okay? I’m waking up.<\/p>\n
I cannot help myself. I glance at the page Yoko is reading.<\/p>\n
I see two things:<\/p>\n
I see the words “Lady Eleanor”.<\/p>\n
I see the words “her two orifices”.<\/p>\n
I turn away from the happily engrossed Yoko, I think unwillingly about Lady Eleanor and her “two orifices” and I think: Jesus, it’s way too early for this shit.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Here’s the set-up of the scene. It is 8 a.m. It is freezing here. Bitter, windy, the Empire State Building looking stark and bleak against the white winter sky. I wait for the bus, huddled up in my huge coat, … Continue reading