A weblog by Jonathan Ali
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| Notes from a small island A weblog by Jonathan Ali |
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Monday, December 01, 2003 Pale, nervous girls with black-rimmed glasses and blunt-cut hair lolled around on sofas, riffling Penguin Classics provocatively. A blonde with a big smile winked at me, nodded toward a room upstairs, and said, "Wallace Stevens, eh?..." For fifty bucks, I learned, you could "relate without getting close." For a hundred, a girl would lend you her Bartok records, have dinner, and then let you watch while she had an anxiety attack.... For three bills, you got the works: A thin Jewish brunette would pretend to pick you up at the Museum of Modern Art, let you read her master's, get you involved in a screaming quarrel at Elaine's over Freud's conception of women, and then fake a suicide of your choosing--the perfect evening, for some guys. Nice racket. Great town, New York. -- From "The Whore of Mensa" by Woody Allen. posted by Jonathan | 12:19 PM 0 comments 0 Comments: |
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