Brad Walsh

Homunculus is a Funny Word

Half the time I feel justified in being a crazy boyfriend, and the other half I just feel crazy. I saw him on the street yesterday and wasn’t prepared to have the talk I knew we were going to have, so I ran away. Then I felt like a crazy asshole so I called and apologized for running away. He hadn’t seen me. Double dumb. So we convened and talked. Do I deserve someone so stunning telling me he loves me? Last night for half an hour on the street I lived a 1940s movie. My hands shook, and it was easy to blame on the cold.

So, I know this is superficial to talk about, but I have nothing else at the moment that I can get away with saying on the internet, so… oh well. Most of the people I know are relatively clear archetypes. They’re the Williamburgers who live in lofts and wear the most dramatic outfits and makeup, spend hours with ceramic flatirons, and make The Sexy Face when a camera is on them. Or they’re the Park Slopers who live in brownstones and wear thin suit jackets, rich colors, and scarves, always have a to-go coffee in their hand, and make The Intellectual Face when a camera is on them. Or they’re the Downtowners in form-fitting labels and “look at me!” shoes, fresh from guest DJing in a basement, who turn away from cameras. Or they’re pure emo and wear black. Only black. Emo is like Goth 2.0. Goth with a credit card. Their camera face is Pure Indifference.

From the waist down in skinny black jeans and black pointy boots I am Williamsburg. From the waist up in a black and white plaid button down and sometimes black glasses I am Park Slope. My eyes still show evidence of last night’s emo eyeline hint. My iPod plays The Sounds and then chooses Peggy Lee on its own, but I close them both to hear Nightmare of You. I suppose the only things I am defined as strictly upon sight are Brooklyn and Black Camp. As in, Team Black over Team Brown (to gank a Kathyism). The brown half of my closet, mostly purchased and worn in college, has collected dust as it’s been all but shut out for a year.

From the neck to the pate I am a loser who thinks way too much.

I got a Shiny Toy Guns promo and it’s not bad. I saw them open for The Sounds last year and already knew a couple of their songs because my boyfriend at the time I think knew them personally and passed along some mp3s. Their set was interrupted by an electric malfunction and twenty minutes went by with no sound. When it came back, they finished their entire set, which was annoying because very few people wanted to bob their heads to the opening band for over an hour. But this CD has made me want to see them live again.

And P.S. – Sarah is my hero for posting this.