CRAIGSLIST IS GOOD FOR MORE THAN FREE COUCHES
I was looking for an apartment on Craigslist a few weeks back and I eventually did find one, but look what else I found:
> Hi There,
> You wrote to me a little while ago from CL for a
> room ,though I had to decide against renting the place as I got a studio
> place just for myself, however I found you really interesting and wanted to
> writeback to you. I am 27, easy going laid back professional male with own
> apt accomodation in midtown manhattan, slender and atheletic attractive
> good looks about 5'11" 165 lite skin dark brown eyes dark full hair sensual
> latin ( mom from brasil) and indian ( dad ) mix working for a firm downtown
> manhattan as a VP of network engineering.
> I was Born and raised in NY I like all kinds of music, dance , go out have
> fun , dinner, travel to nice places, sports , and just walk around the city
> currently unattached looking for someone nice who enjoys life is able to
> carry conversations has goals and not into any games as a companion/gf to
> share good times have fun together. If this is something that interests you
> please email me back at and we can take it from there. I apologise if I
> offened you in anyway by writing back in this manner. Hope to talk to you
> soon !.
I was flattered that he remembered me and decided to e-mail me after several weeks (I guess he probably couldn't get me out of his mind, the poor thing!) but I was not interested for a number of reasons, which I touch briefly on in my probably somewhat lengthy response to him. Some reasons I left out are reasons that aren't necessary information, such as that I generally find men of latin decent creepy, or that I don't tend to date stranger men I meet on-line (I only move in with them,) and that I couldn't be certain of his motives (like he might want to make a dress out of my ribcage or whatever) so I decided instead to play it safe and give it the negatory, the no response, the nay. I nay sayed. Here's my response - I hope he doesn't take it too hard (you know, shooting me in my sleep or whatever.)
Thanks for your interest in potentially dating me. Though I can understand your reasons for wanting to get to know me better, (I am very interesting and not to mention beautiful, smart and funny,) I must decline your offer at this time, as I am currently involved with a gentleman who I find to be suitable for the time being.
You do sound very nice, and I am very fond of passionate, employed, tall, foreign men, but I am afraid I am unable to meet you with regards to dating or the possibility of sexual encounters, romantic good times and the like.
I must say, I am flattered at the e-mail you sent to me, and I do thank you for your kind words regarding me and my personality, the impression I project and et cetera, and am not at all offended. I suggest you try back in 3 to 6 months, as the relationship I am currently in mostly consists of physical co-attraction, mental compatability and a common sense of humor, but I am not sure at this point if it has long-term potential.
In closing, I might recommend that instead of a potential beau, you could become a fan. It is similar to being in a relationship with me - you will get all the "want" and "desire" aspects out of the mostly one-sided relationship, assuring that you will fall in love with me and be desparate for the slightest extention of affection I offer, be it a mass e-mail or a mention of you on my blog. You are still welcome to buy me birthday presents and send cards and what not, and in addition, you will be introduced to dirty folk rock and get any associated benefits that might come out of that.
If you would like to be a fan, it is easy, and we can start today. Simply go to my website at www.jessydelfino.blogspot.com, read the stuff I've written, listen to my free mp3, comment positively or negatively on my comment board, check my schedule to see shows that I will be performing on around the city, come to those shows, bring friends or come alone, and what have you. In return, we will develop a glossed over vague friendship-like thing in which our communication will be very limited and probably spontaneous, but we will each benefit, as I will have a new fan, and you will have a new budding starlet to pursue. Can a man ever have enough of them?
Thank you for your query, and have a lovely day.
Yours truly, (willingly)
PS - Can you help me get a job working part time in your firm as a secretary or something like that? I'd be very grateful.
***So, let's see if he writes back and what he has to say about THAT!***
BRIEF ESSAY ON THE SUBWAY, RAIN, & RAIN IN THE SUBWAYS
It rained like hell today, all day. I spent a good portion of my day schlepping around the lower east side trying to get some errands done, but upon arriving at the library, I found they are closed on Tuesdays, as was the boutique I was trying to return the costume on lend for last week's appearance at Caustic. Double shit. Then, I had to trudge back home and drop the sopping wet bag of clothes and books off, thinking how I could add those two chores to my ever growing monster list for Wednesday. As I left my apartment, as if on cue, the rain really started coming down, taunting me to try to get one thing accomplished today. Luckily, I had a huge umbrella in tow thanks to the kind intern at Upright Citizen's Brigade last night. As I was leaving the theater yesterday evening, I asked for an umbrella from the lost and found. He gave me a huge, beautiful umbrella with one of those fancy buttons you just simply push and the whole thing expands above you with a whoosh like you are a celebrity or just a regular person who will be drier than the other regular people.
I was very thankful for that huge umbrella as I rode my bike down 26 streets and across 6 avenues in the shelling rain.
And, I was very thankful for it today as I made my way towards the subway stop at Delancey as rivets of water seemed to come out of every pore of the sky, aimed directly for my pant legs and sneakers.
As I reached the subway, I folded up the umbrella and slid my card through the turnstile, heading up to the platform of the uptown JMZ. I leaned my umbrella against the wooden bench and sat waiting for the train. When it approached, I jumped up and boarded the train. At Canal street where I planned to transfer to the 6 uptown, I noticed it was raining through the ceiling. I thought to open my umbrella inside as a silly joke and realized it was gone. I'd left it leaning on the bench like a neglected child. I jumped back on the train, went back to Delancey, my umbrella was history. I half heartedly expected to see it waiting there for me, like the neglected child who had been left behind that didn't know what else to do but wait until someone came to collect it. But no umbrella was to be collected. Someone is so happy right now to have that big, bad assed umbrella. I got back on the subway, defeated and went back to Canal street. At Canal, I ascended the maze of dripping ironwork and found my way to the 6 transfer. There, the water was pouring down from the ceiling like we were on a sinking ship. It was like an Irish Spring commercial, draining from the streets and sidewalks directly down onto our heads. I stood in a dedicated trickle of water and looked around at everyone else doing the same thing. No one really seemed to mind, and normally I would shut off my appropriate responses and turn on oblivion, but it bothered me this time. I felt pissed off. I bought a $21 ticket every week to ride the train. Where is that money going? It isn't going into the maintenance obviously, of leaking ceilings and rafters. I was wondering - is that safe? To have all that water just constantly flowing through the creaks and cracks of the old decrepit subway stations? Doesn't dripping water create erosion? And doesn't erosion create degeneration and eventually, collapse?
I waited for the 6 train and thought about how blissful it must be to be of average or below intelligence. I wished I could just listen to Britney Spears every day and think about things like sneakers or my favorite character on my favorite WB show. I considered huffing glue to knock off a few IQ points so that I could live a wonderful, oblivious existence. Because, what am I going to do about anything? I guess I could call 311 and give them the rigamarole! I could let them have a piece of my mind, god dammit, I tell ya! And what good would it do? I'll tell ya. None.
As I got out of the 6 train at Astor Place, there was a small lake on the platform that I had to dance around and through to keep the 20% of my feet that happened to still be miraculously dry-ish from getting soaked. It didn't work, the puddle was too big and my feet quivered in my sneakers as the water seeped in through the eye-lace holes and poor, inexpensive sweat shop worker stitch job. I thought about how it must be pouring outside if this is what it was like downstairs and started fretting. I had to make three stops over the course of eight blocks. I was about to get doused. As I left the subway turnstile, I had a thought -
"Hey, excuse me," I asked the gray haired gent who works regularly at the info booth at Astor Place. We know eachother's faces from my regular stints busking over there. "Did anyone happen to turn a big, tall, slim umbrella in to you? It had a wooden handle," I said. He looked sad for me. "Nope, sorry," he told me. "But I have some half-assed broke-ish ones over here, you can take one if you like." I gratefully accepted his gift of a broken down umbrella, and he handed me a small, royal blue street jobby, you know, the ones the black guys sell you for three bucks. "Thank you," I said, with heart-felt appreciation. "No problem," he said. "It's got steel dust on it." He wiped it off with his hand and held his finger tips up so I could see the proof. "See?" he said. "It's everywhere. They clean it up, but it keeps coming back. It's on the glass," he held his hand up like he was showing me a view of rolling hills out a picture window. "It's on the umbrella," he handed it to me through a little door in the side of the booth. "It's in our lungs, yours to, you know," he said.
I took the umbrella, thanked him without asking anything more about steel dust, and made my way out into the rainy day. I opened the umbrella as I got half way to the top of the stairs and had a feeling that I can only compare to maybe renting a convertible Saab for a trip and then turning the convertible in at the end of the trip for my real car - a beat up old Subaru with the ceiling lining hanging down. The blue umbrella was my Subaru. I am destined forever to drive a Subaru. Not that Subarus are bad cars. But, they're no convertible Saabs.
Also, the words the booth attendant said struck me - steel dust, lungs...am I going to die? Fuck.
As I left, I took a quick walk through K-Mart to get warmed up. It was nice in there; all the fluorescent lighting and salespeople wearing bibs. I bought a .69 cent bottle of key lime flavored water and made my way back out. I exited through the downstairs doors into the downtown 6 subway stop and came upon a lady yelling at the token clerk. "I had three rides on here, mothafucka!" she shouted at him. "Mothafucka mothafucka!" she declared, followed up with something that sounded like, "Mothafucka!" I felt bad for her and I hate the subway, so I slid her through the turnstile with my unlimited metro card. I wasn't about to get back on the train, I was just cutting through.
It was the least I could do, besides nothing at all, to say, "Hey MTA! Go fuck ya self!"
I breathed in a mighty breath of steel dust and made my way up the stairs.
If you buy a weekly unlimited metro card, pass on the non-savings to any one you can. We are being bamboozled as far as the subway is concerned. We are riding through a series of decrepit tunnels, breathing in toxic dusts and fumes (they clean the platforms with ammonia - I like clean platforms, but I hate the toxic ity of ammonia and too much of it in too thick of a solution can damage sensitive olfactory nerves) and paying too much! Brodeur says subways should be free and the more I ride them, the more I agree and see his points (which actually don't have much to do with mine) but they co-mingle at one or two junctions.
But who doesn't have an annoying MTA story? Every time I ride the train, something shitty happens. Last night as I was riding my bike in the dark in the pouring rain, I decided to stop and go onto the subway because it was too wet and too dangerous. I walked down the stairs and it was one of those stops that has the turnstile gate thing (ladder-like) with no attendant booth. I tried to press the button for help and it was broken. I walked over to the camera and started waving my hands in front of the monitor, hoping someone would see me and help me. I heard no voices or clicking of gate locks being released, but I figured maybe the speakers were all broken. (It wouldn't have surprised me.) So, I slid my card through, hoping that someone would just see that I did that and understand, I had a bike and needed the gate lock to be released. No one answered, no one opened the gate. Screwed, I had to carry my wet bike back up the stairs and out into the storming night. Fuck you, MTA!
So, how can you help to pass on the non-savings and say fuck you to the MTA? Follow these simple steps:
1. If you usually buy your rides as you use them, try to ALWAYS buy rides from the mexicans and gangsters who will swipe you through the turnstiles. They charge the same as the MTA, ($2) but the money is going to the purchase of drugs and alcohol, keeping these roughians from robbing yuppies, the elderly, or the retarded. They aren't always around and sometimes they are hard to spot, dressing and acting as though they might just be homeless or bored homies. Ask them, "Are you a slider?" or "Can you slide me through?" Hand them two dollars, and voila! You just saved yourself from waiting in a fifteen minute line with a rude MTA worker or dealing with a broken MTA machine as your train roars away without you on it.
2. If you regularly buy unlimited weekly or monthly metro cards, swipe people through whenever you can. If you are coming off the train and see someone arguing with an attendant (this always happens,) just say, "Do you need a swipe?" They will usually say yes and thank you a million times. It's a very simple act of generosity and saves headaches. Sometimes even a gift of a savings of $2 can really make someone's day.
3. If you are going through the gate, usher people to go in behind you en masse. Fuck the MTA.
4. If you are sneaking through the turnstile, let someone smoosh in through with you. Fuck the MTA.
5. Also, this is important. Every time something goes wrong, CALL IT IN to 311. Not that it does any good, really, but maybe if enough people call and complain about something, it will get some attention. Try it. It's a free call.
OK, that's all, and remember boys and girls - Fuck the MTA!!! Yayyyyy!!!!!