Background

A Pool Hustler's Daughter grows up in subterranean America. She dreams big, hustles daily and loves her Daddy. With empathy, fascination and grace she navigates and inhabits every tier of society; sees beauty and hope and magic in all things; respects and lives by the "mitzvah."
A Pool Hustler's Daughter calculates the trifecta payout at the racetrack, hides money on three parts of her body, has an arsenal of "Uncles," and keeps a baseball bat by the front door. She values friendship, loyalty and experiences over "things." Like her father, she seeks to learn "The secrets of the universe" and believes "Life ain't on the square." She applauds the self-made and those who learn to "overcome" their circumstances. Her door is always open for a sofa to sleep on, a hot meal, or an eager listener for a life story.
























Monday, February 3, 2014

Scenes from a Williamsburg Coffeehouse aka "The Snow-In"

You'll never believe what happened to me while I was hanging out with the twenty-something, top bun and facial hair crowd just now. Seriously, I'll call Vidal Sassoon myself if it will help introduce some new hair bun options for girls. Are American hairdresser schools closing? Applicant numbers down? I bet that's not the case in China! Any chance I can bring the banana clip back? And get in on the ground floor of a Banana clip business with factories in China? So, as I was saying - I slyly(or so I thought) ask my mute Barista(we have this relationship where I tell him my order and he says nothing in return, just nods and takes my money - it's our "thing.") where I might buy a "dime bag" for the "snow - in" today - creative inspiration, you know? Well, he looks at me funny - or at least I think he does - it's a "new" look - definitely. Different from the one that tells me "Two Dollars" and absolutely different from the one that tells me "Four Dollars and Seventy-Five Cents." Even if he did try and speak, the words might get garbled within his full on Duck Dynasty beard(pretty long - but really not that long - exaggerating - trying to stay current) that he chews on occasionally while always doling me out single dollar bills as change to ensure his tip. I'm already uncomfortable asking him for drugs - I mean I haven't done any since college! But there's a blizzard - and it's beautiful! And I'm in Brooklyn! Writing my novel! Listening to George Harrison! It would just make this day, perfect, wouldn't it? I mean, not wheelchair pot, but some middle school grade Schwag, that makes you giggle, microwave Bagel Dogs and crank call a boy you have a crush on that you accidentally "bumped" into at Water Tower Place theaters during the opening run of "Fletch?" The Barista still doesn't say anything, just chews his beard(gross!) and pushes a button labeled "Loser" on a hand torn piece of masking tape found below the display case filled with pastries made from unholy ingredient combinations - Blueberry, Cream Cheese, Offal? Walnut Octopus Gruyere? Then all of a sudden, the Vinyl album from all the way back in nineteen ninety-nine stops abruptly and an alarm goes off in the coffeehouse and a giant neon sign pops out of the wall and starts flashing the words "OVER FORTY" "OVER FORTY" in bright lights. Last time I wear a full-length fur with my Lululemon running pants...Then, to make matters worse, I am "politely" escorted out by a girl no older than twenty-one in a used Ghostbusters t-shirt, who is wearing a ski hat(sidebar - I get why she is wearing one - I mean she obviously hasn't washed her hair yet today, or perhaps for a few days. Like -she's on the verge of white girl dreadlocks. I'll give her a pass on the indoor ski hat, but I am on the fence about the twelve others also wearing ski hats in the room.) Not only ski hats but also t-shirts advertising favorite popcorn movies of my youth - movies the late great Roger Ebert reviewed! Back to the Future, Gremlins, War Games... Then Ghostbusters Girl asks me if I have dementia and if I need a policeman to escort me back to the "old folks home." HUMILIATED is putting it lightly. The police officer she hands me over to takes out a pair of handcuffs and I try and be helpful and say, "that's okay, I brought my own - check my backpack. The furry ones." Then a young boy of twenty five or so (ski hat and beard- natch) walks past me in a - get this - Return of the Jedi t-shirt. While the policeman pushes me into the squad car and wipes some marinara residue from his top lip, I yell out into the white-out blizzard towards that god*** coffeehouse - "Return of The Jedi is the worst! HA! Have you seen it?? You look like an A*****E Buddy! EWOKS ARE LAUGHING AT YOU! EWOKS! Do you even know who coined the term Hipster? Wrote an essay on it? Norman G****m Mailer and let me tell you something - ski hats were never mentioned!" As we drive off in the snowstorm, I ask the police officer if I can have some of his Chicken Parm sandwich and if he can put NPR on his radio - "Fresh Air" is coming on any minute...

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