April 11, 2007 scottcjones

Flew down to Florida last Friday. My mother picked me up at the Sarasota airport. It was late in the day, nearly dinner time. “What are we having tonight?” I asked. “L.O.’s,” my mother said, pulling away from the curb. “What?” “Leftovers.” My mother’s car had been broken into the two nights before. As we drove down I-4, she launched into an agonizingly detailed rendition of the event. “I thought you lived in a nice neighborhood?” I asked. “We do live in a nice neighborhood,” she said. “That’s what the sherriff told us. ‘Criminals don’t rob the bad neighborhoods.’ What’s…

July 28, 2005 scottcjones

Was sitting at my desk having a cup of coffee yesterday morning when the kitten, as is her habit these days, leapt onto the desk and began her search for pens, paperclips, rubberbands, batteries, etc. Basically anything she can knock to the floor and bat around for 10 to 15 minutes. As she surveyed the desk, she spun around, turning her backside towards me. Her tail happened to be hoisted high, giving me a bird’s-eye view of her butthole. And there, pinned in the halo of fur surrounding her butthole, was a dark pebble of poop. With all the time…

July 21, 2005 scottcjones

An ice cream truck has been patrolling my Queens neighborhood nearly 24 hours a day for the past month, always blaring a Casio keyboard rendition of “Turkey In the Straw.” I get so fucking depressed during the summer months. It’s not just the overwhelming heat and humidity in New York, the blinding sun. It’s picnics, watermelon, BBQs, fireworks, popsicles, parks, beaches, pools, margaritas, camping, state fairs, badmitton, hot dogs. It’s ice cream trucks that play “Turkey In The Straw” all night. It’s summer culture itself. And it’s the way people are hellbent on doing something, going somewhere, desperate to make…

July 18, 2005 scottcjones

So I got a cat. A kitten. 10 weeks old. 2 pounds. She was a street cat who was rescued a few blocks away from my apartment. (It’s a rags to riches story; she was homeless, but now she’s moved on up to my deluxe apartment in the sky. And yes, I’m quoting The Jefferson’s theme song.) I named her Humtum, but I usually call her Pewey (which is short for Pewey-head). I’m not sure why I do this. I love her dearly, but she’s a pain in the ass sometimes. I’ve got steel wool stuffed into cracks and crevices…