Notes from a small island
A weblog by Jonathan Ali

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


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