The Dancing Sausage Web Journal

…is that I am one of the first people in New York City to get a fresh copy of the Village Voice. My dance studio’s right next door to the Voice, so even though my tango class at Sandra Cameron’s SUCKS (the teacher is repetitive and slow to the point where my mind wanders so bad I swear I’ve developed ADHD) my afternoon is brightened by the text-heavy comic stylings of Tom Tomorrow. (Such a sweet man. He’s posted links to the IMC! And he has pictures of the convention, too. I like them better than a lot of the Indymedia crap. Looks like LA had better puppets than Philly. Hooray for court injunctions against the police.)

Please note that the picture on the first page of the Sandra Cameron site is attributed to one Burk Uzzle. Hee hee!

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The laundry room of the building where I’m staying in Manhattan has piqued my curiosity. There are all sorts of leftover posters and framed art on the walls… kittens, puppies, blue-footed boobies, Disney schlock, grave rubbings, mountain scenes, a tribute to James Cagney. Old architectural photos and drawings are the only repeated motif. Then there’s a promo poster for Banda Lexus. Near the ceiling above the folding tables, a hoarde of stuffed animals strains out of three grates.

Who put them here? I am told that the only people who go down there are the cleaning ladies. My presumption is that the art– two- and three-dimensional; the toys look like an installation piece– has been rescued from owners who trashed it. Or perhaps it’s donations not taken home. But the Banda Lexus poster must be imported from parts other than the Upper West Side. Whose aesthetic sense shaped the exhibition? One cleaning lady? A bunch of them, acting individually? Is there an Aesthetics Council Of Upper West Side Domestic Help that decides which art stays and which goes? And why? Is this display representative of other things they’d rather be doing or thinking about as they dump the white load in the dryer? Or was the art just convenient?

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Damn, I love the web. I can’t believe I found a website for Banda Lexus; I’ve never heard of them before. Not that it was really worth the trouble– it seems to be mostly merengue, tho the site suggested it might be bachata, and all the clips are some 30 seconds long because whoever’s providing this, like so many entities out there, will be damned if they’re going to provide content without getting paid for it. Ecch. May I recommend instead Tito Puente? (not that the 30-second problem is solved here…)

I should explain to those of you who haven’t seen me in over a year that I listen to Spanish language radio now, just out of sheer cussedness. This has its advantages and drawbacks. Advantages: I defy demographics– HAH!– and if the lyrics are insipid, I can’t tell, because my Spanish just ain’t that good. The drawback is that if I like a song, I rarely manage to catch who it’s by. No problem, though. The folks at work are giving me recommendations. I have a whole stack of CDs from the Bertelsmann Monopolistic Guys mail order Ritmo y Pasion catalog I should go through now.

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I meant to post some thoughts on writing in this day and age tonight, but frankly I have spent the whole day, like I spend all days, gorging on information and spewing it back out again and I can’t take sitting in front of this here glowing screen no more. I tell you: the New Yorker on the subway; all day at work digesting textbooks on child development and turning them into lesson plans; email and scanning headlines if I want a break; the Voice on the subway back; more email, more headlines, and a quick check of the usual suspects when I get home, with the TV on in the background. I read a book to fall asleep. I’m not a person, I’m a conduit. Information is just using me to get around. My nerves are fried. What else is there to do, will you tell me? I’m constantly attached to a monitor and keyboard.