Inside Doug's Head

New York City Crickets

Doug Godsoe

October 1, 2011

In rural areas, the source of the perpetual chirping noise is crickets. As annoying as that sound is, the New York City equivalent is the constant din of car horns. The drivers, here, honk at everything, and I’m not talking about happy eighth-note, “Hey! How you doing?” kind of honks, either. No, these are angry-whole note honks, or, as I like to call them, a-whole honks. Honk. What a stupid word. What’s a better word for honk? It reminds me of a goose, and I don’t like them; they are tasty, but their ugly, smelly faces bug me. Beep sounds too happy, and honk just doesn’t convey the appropriate degree of annoyingness.

I witnessed an event the other day. A mother was crossing the street at the walk light while holding the hand of her young daughter. A driver, who was turning left, nearly ran over the two of them and then stopped to honk the horn at her. I don’t know what his point was. She had the right of way, but he had the horn. For a place where everyone is afraid of getting sued, people are very reckless.

You can hear them, late at night, honking at one another. They sound like an insect mating routine. Two honks, and then a pause, followed by a longer honk. In reply, a honk, a pause, then two more. Fireflies do the same thing, except they are decent enough to quietly blink-out their messages of horniness rather than loudly announcing them to the world.

The wind blew a tree down last week, blocking the street my house is on. The cars stopped and immediately began honking at it, like the noise would make it move. I don’t know, maybe the drivers thought there were people hiding along the side of the road who were supposed to come out and remove the obstruction on a signal from the horn . Dumb.

In order to combat the horn abuse outside of my bedroom window, I am making new street signs to put up around the neighborhood.

It may, however, result in actually making the problem worse. There might be more pedophiles out there than rude people. Now, there’s a scary thought indeed.

-DG.

My Walk to Work

Doug Godsoe

2 comments

September 27, 2011

I live in Bronx, NY. We moved here about six weeks ago. I walk to work every day, except on the days that I don’t go to work. It is a scenic and smelly venture filled with various scenes and smells. I thought I would document my diurnal (die-urinal, actually) sojourn so that others may share in my…oh, forget it. I can’t make it sound fantastic. It’s just a bunch of pictures that I took as I walked to work this morning. After looking at a picture, go stick your face in a truck-stop toilet bowl to get the complete sensory effect in 3-D smell-o-rama. It has been really warm with 95% humidity lately, so that really adds a touch of total awfulness to the experience.

My morning starts with yelling at the delivery a-holes blocking my driveway. It’s a good thing I don’t own a car anymore.

Heh, heh. Golden Flow. It sounds like a urinary tract infection. I think they are one.

These weirdoes have wandered down from the rehabilitation clinic that is stuck to the side of my house. They are sitting and having a cigarette on my neighbor’s step. I will shoe them away as I pass, with my shoe. I don’t think you can rehabilitate ugly.

This is the view of the western part of the Bronx/Riverdale area that I see as I round the corner heading down the street.

There is a sign on the fence.

I don’t know what bothers me more: the rats or the poison. Poisoned rats always make me think of Chinese food, and Chinese food makes me think of Bruce Lee, and look what happened to him. I must have some sort of a psychological thing.

This image looks like a nice treed walk from back here.

As you get closer, though, the smell of open sewer really starts to hit you. I don’t know where the smell actually comes from. Asses, I guess, butt whose?

There are signs like this one everywhere.

Followed everywhere by signs like these:

But, especially this…

There is dog poop on the sidewalks everywhere. I guess dogs can’t read the signs. Or, maybe they can afford the fines, with all that dog money they have. I wanted to get pictures of dogs pooping while their owners pretended to not notice, but they all seem to get shy when you point a camera at them. I can’t go when someone is watching, either.

And I don’t think this is what you are supposed to do with it once you have it bagged. Dropping the bag in the street sort of defeats the purpose of picking it up in the first place. Although, the owner humiliation factor must be pretty high. Mmmmm. Smell that aroma. I said smell it!

OK, so now I am at the top of the stairs that connect two ends of W 238 St.

And, at the bottom of the stairs…

Surprise! Even more garbage. It blows around all over the streets and sidewalks; the air is practically filled with it. In American Beauty they tried to make a grocery bag floating in the wind look like something spiritual and graceful. It’s just garbage and it’s really gross. Sport DU RAG, oh, yeah! Have you noticed how most of the garbage isn’t plastic grocery bags?

The intersection, here, is quite busy at this time of the morning and it is a really good thing that there is a crossing guard on duty who is diligently paying attention to the wee ones dodging between cars operated by retarded drivers ignoring the walk light.

Oh, wait. I see her, now. She’s yacking with an acquaintance way over there. She is a credit to her uniform.

Through the fence, looking North, you can see the Major Deegan Expressway (I-87). I think the fence is there to keep the cars from getting out. Some mornings it looks like just a lot of vehicles that aren’t going anywhere. Make up your own clever simile.

I am almost to my destination. This is the W 238 St. station for the 1-train. Underneath it is Broadway, but at this end of it, the only cats you will see are strays.

As you cross Broadway, the noise from the trains running above is very loud. Lots of screeching and heavy clunking, exactly how you would imagine a train passing over your head would sound. Here is the sign that you have made it out alive.

This is not Broadway, but a street that is off Broadway. Way off Broadway. It is waiting for its chance to be discovered. If it can make it there, it can make it anywhere.

My work is just one more block away.

And flu shots for all. Flu shots, get your flu shots! Get your vacunas contra la gripe hoy! Covered by most insurance plans, just not yours!

I always get vacuna and lacuna mixed up. Something seems to be missing…

Watch out for this guy. He’s always messing with me. Awww. What a cute rabies vector.

Now, see this building?

Take a closer look.

I don’t work here. My office is across the street from this building. That is why I can see it as I am about to go inside.

Just to make the circle of life complete, when I finally return home at the end of the day…

There is yet another turd parked in front of my driveway. It is a good thing that I can walk to work, otherwise I would have to.

-DG.

Good Advice from Warning Labels

Doug Godsoe

1 comment

September 24, 2011

If you read the instructions, the advice you get is beneficial for all aspects of your life. Take these gems of wisdom for example. Really, take them. I don’t want them anymore.

Keep out of reach of children.

Stay up high and out of sight. My kids will never find me up here on the roof.

Avoid open flames.

Open flames are the worst kind. Closed flames are way better, but they are harder to enjoy.

Close cover before striking.

You mean, take cover. Wait; what am I striking, exactly?

Avoid contact with eyes.

Eye contact really stings. Especially with hammers and meat thermometers. Fingers, tree branches, bumble bees, grocery bags, urine…

Avoid activities requiring mental alertness.

Well, that’s just common sense. Who wouldn’t avoid mentally alert requiring activities? Duh.

Avoid excessive heat.

Keep the heat levels to the just right setting.

Avoid prolonged exposure to sunlight.

Sage advice for vampires. Don’t run with stakes, either.

May cause drowsiness. Alcohol intensifies this effect.

Good idea! Woo hoo! Codeine and alcohol! Now, where’s that heavy machinery I need to drive to get to my air traffic controlling job?

Do not use if security seal is broken.

How do I get it out of the package?

Not recommended for pregnant or nursing women.

They mean guns. I wouldn’t suggest arguing with pregnant or nursing women, either. It will just end…badly.

Discontinue use if diarrhea or bloody stools develop.

OK, absolutely, without question. Anything that causes that to happen, I don’t need to be told to stop.

There are lots more. Keep an eye out, and stay safe. Avoid suffocation.

-DG.

Lorem Ipsum

Doug Godsoe

no comments

March 17, 2011

“Lorem ipsum,” said the man in the yellow hat as I entered the room. “Dolor sit amet, with my monkey?” he inquired and consectetuer adipiscing elit.

I nodded politely, but without commitment. After a short pause he suspendisse vel ante. “I took him from the jungle after I killed his mother,” he bragged donec luctus tortor very nonchalantly. “Please, sit amet est,” as he motioned his free arm in the direction of the chair beside him.

“Nullam pulvinar odio et wisi,” I replied quietly, whilst seating myself in the offered chair. There was an awkward pause, so “Pellentesque quis magna. Sed pellentesque. Nulla euismod, perhaps Friday,” I suggested.

To which he rolled his eyes and muttered something about, “Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas.”

Indeed!

DG.

Where do Gorillas Get Guns?

Doug Godsoe

1 comment

February 22, 2011

I hear about them on the news: Vietnam, Colombia, Sudan, Nicaragua, and just about all over the world, but usually in jungle areas, armed gorillas attacking towns, villages, and government operated facilities. I don’t understand it. Why are the gorillas so angry? Did someone hide their bananas? More importantly, where did they get the guns? Really—if you ran a gun store, and a gorilla came in looking to buy an AK-47 or an RPG-7, would you take their money? If they have money, where do they keep their wallet? Is dried poop a form of currency that is accepted by international arms dealers? One thing is for certain; I don’t like where this trend is going.

Perhaps the gorilla gun trade is more clandestine than I imagine. I picture a situation where a gorilla knuckle-walks into a gun shop, probably takes a number and waits his turn, and then inquires of the man behind the counter for details on purchasing a fully-automatic assault rifle. The whole transaction is above board and very civilized. The gorilla takes his new gun, leaves the store, and proceeds to shoot wildly at people in the street. Fortunately, the gorilla’s clumsy hands prevent him from achieving a very high level of accuracy. Still, it would be terrifying to see a gun toting gorilla coming your way. A whole gang of them would be a truly menacing sight.

I may be wrong, though. Maybe the people who sell weapons to gorillas are not your average clean-cut death dealers. There have been stories about the association of gorilla groups with drug cartels and the sex-trade industry. Now, that is disturbing. It must take a really wrong-minded person to have sex with a coked-up gorilla prostitute. Even with a lot of lipstick and perfume, it must be a horribly noisy and smelly act. The girl gorillas wouldn’t likely be much better.

I know that I’m undoubtedly taking an unpopular stand on this issue, but we should do something to stop gorillas from engaging in armed conflicts. Gorilla actions only encourage the monkeys, and we all know what they can be like.