Apparently there's more than one guy selling Obama condoms!
Even better - they're legit!
E 14th Street & Broadway...on a Sunday afternoon!
Showing posts with label Randomnesses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Randomnesses. Show all posts
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Obama Condoms
Jerry and I were taking a stroll through SoHo when we came across this guy displaying a cardboard sign over his head. We stopped for the light on the corner of Prince Street and Broadway. It wasn't much of anything until I overheard a bum releasing verbal slaps onto the cardboard sign bearer.
The cardboard sign read, "Obama Condoms."
I was hesitant to flash a picture of the seller. I walked up and down the street twice trying to get the safest angle before it hit me to go and obtain a condom as definitive proof that there exists a guy on a corner in SoHo, New York wearing a cardboard sign which reads "Obama Condoms" and actually possesses such products.
I approached him.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"Brooklyn," I replied.
"Really? Me too. What part?"
I realized the conversation was going in the wrong direction. His grin said it all.
I looked down inquisitively at the box he was holding. The left side was in fact filled with Obama Condoms. I imagined they're regular condoms housed in a decorative carton, the same way matchbooks are housed in cartons.
The right side of the box carried McCain Condoms and, to be fair, he mentioned he had Palin Condoms featuring an abortion message in his backpack.
He directed much of the focus to the assortment of sizes he carried…and, of course, Obama.
"One for five. Three for ten."
I thought about the single $1 bill in my back pocket. An Obama Condom was not worth a trip to the ATM. You'll just have to take my word for it.
I wished him luck and returned to my friend Jerry who had been waiting across the street. He initiated a homophobic rant about how "gay" I appeared from a distance for actually holding a conversation with this guy.
However, selling condoms with someone's face on it is classic buffoonery no matter whose face it is. Everyone has got to eat somehow. At least they weren't Michael Jackson Condoms.
"You should be happy to have a black president!" exclaimed the bum, leaving behind his cart of soda cans and bottles to make sure he got a good look and a pointed finger in the face of his target.
The cardboard sign read, "Obama Condoms."
I was hesitant to flash a picture of the seller. I walked up and down the street twice trying to get the safest angle before it hit me to go and obtain a condom as definitive proof that there exists a guy on a corner in SoHo, New York wearing a cardboard sign which reads "Obama Condoms" and actually possesses such products.
I approached him.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"Brooklyn," I replied.
"Really? Me too. What part?"
I realized the conversation was going in the wrong direction. His grin said it all.
I looked down inquisitively at the box he was holding. The left side was in fact filled with Obama Condoms. I imagined they're regular condoms housed in a decorative carton, the same way matchbooks are housed in cartons.
The right side of the box carried McCain Condoms and, to be fair, he mentioned he had Palin Condoms featuring an abortion message in his backpack.
He directed much of the focus to the assortment of sizes he carried…and, of course, Obama.
"One for five. Three for ten."
I thought about the single $1 bill in my back pocket. An Obama Condom was not worth a trip to the ATM. You'll just have to take my word for it.
I wished him luck and returned to my friend Jerry who had been waiting across the street. He initiated a homophobic rant about how "gay" I appeared from a distance for actually holding a conversation with this guy.
I couldn't help but wonder how many reactions he drew which were similar to the bum's. My idea is presidents are meant to be made fun of and popular presidents are meant to, well, sell stuff. It would be terribly discriminatory to deny Obama those privileges of the office because of the color of his skin.
However, selling condoms with someone's face on it is classic buffoonery no matter whose face it is. Everyone has got to eat somehow. At least they weren't Michael Jackson Condoms.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
PEOPLE WITH A.I.D.S. PLAZA
One of the world's deadliest diseases is no laughing matter. They could've been just a little more creative here.
The photo was taken at the west side of City Hall Park. Can you imagine telling a friend, "Meet me at PEOPLE WITH A.I.D.S. PLAZA for lunch"?
Friday, June 26, 2009
I Love Michael Jackson
*My apologies for the inconsistencies between past and present tense.* 
I pause on my bike on Houston Street in Manhattan with one foot atop the curb to check my phone alerts when a stranger approaches.
"Excuse me, sir."
I look up at the stranger, a tall African-American man carrying a large bag over his shoulder. The apologetic expression on his face and eagerness in his eyes impelled me to prepare myself to let him know I wasn't carrying any cash.
"Is Michael Jackson dead?” he inquires.
"Yes," I replied. "He died today."
My initial thought was to go into detail about Jackson's death since I assumed the stranger hadn't any access to the news. However, the sad look on his face got increasingly intense and I thought I should try and comfort him instead. But before I could decide, the stranger was gone. He was already up the block, quietly panicking and rubbing his forehead. He reached the corner, then I thought I saw him look back as if to say, "I'm not quite finished with you yet," and was contemplating returning to lead into an awkward conversation. My vision is not the best, but I was not taking any chances.
"Theo," I say to my friend who had also paused on his bike a couple of feet ahead to wait on me, "let's get out of here."
We ride down a few blocks to Whole Foods on Houston Street and Bowery. I wasn't quite prepared for a ride into the city. So there we stood, planning the best way to lock up both of our bikes using Theo's wire when....
"Excuse me. Is Mike dead?"
I turn around to see the same stranger I thought I had escaped a few blocks ago.
"Yes," I said, and this time, assuming he had already forgotten our previous interaction, I would choose both options, details and comfort. "He died today...of cardiac arrest." I continued, "Mike was great! He's a legend."
He appeared genuinely distraught. His brow curled up. He seemed to be crying without tears. Theo chose not get involved.
"What the fuck?!" he exclaimed as if I didn't give him the same news minutes ago. "Mike is dead! Ohhh! Mike is dead. I lived for Michael," he said slowly approaching.
He took a step back and continued to rant on the curb while facing traffic. I was so focused on the stranger's reaction that I paid little attention to the movement concentrated around his pant zipper.
It wasn't until he announced, "I'm going to piss right here in the street," that I realized what was about to happen. I duly ignored that portion of the one-sided conversation. He repeated, "I'm going to piss in the street. I don't give a fuck. Fuck police! Michael is dead!" This time it sounded more like a threat than a warning. I supposed I should appease his attention-seeking maybe just a little.
"No. You don't want to do that," I said, appearing concerned.
"Michael is dead! I might as well be dead! I don't give a fuck any more because Michael is dead. Fuck police. I'm going to piss right here in the street."
He kept true to his promise and the sound of a lengthy stream soon began hitting my eardrums.
"Boy, did he come back and what an awkward conversation this is indeed," I thought.
Disgusted and confused, Theo and I hurriedly lock up our bikes to the rack so we could be ready for whatever The Urinator was planning to throw at us when he finished. Sure enough, he approaches us, dropping his pants down to the ground a few times before adjusting his belt.
"I'm 5-(?) years old," he says pulling off his hat to reveal a head of white hair. "You don't know what that man meant to me. Nobody knows what Michael meant to me. I grew up on Michael."
Thankfully, he decided to disappear on his own after overdressing his point.
I must admit, I too loved Michael. As a young boy, considering I possessed the amazing imagination that most young boys do, I would idolize and pretend to be a comparatively very small group of heroes: Superman, the Red Power Ranger from Mighty Morphin Power Rangers and, of course, Michael Jackson. There existed a tradition among myself and my young colleagues to watch the same VHS movie over and over and over again back-to-back. Considering the length, I think I've seen the "Sound of Music" on VHS over fifty times in my lifetime. I've seen a number of Disney movies hundreds of time but I don't think I've ever repeated nor will ever be able to repeat any visual experience as many times as I did the "We are the World" video segment that was added on to the end of my kindergarten graduation tape. Sure the record featured a gang of music superstars but not one of them shined brighter than Michael. There was something so magnetizing about him. It was the style, the passion. You couldn't get any more original. The famous moonwalk, the glove, the white socks.
In the evenings, when the sun disappeared behind the blackness and the shows deemed inappropriate for me would come on, I would shut off the television and sit under the tape deck, playing, pausing, rewinding and fast-forwarding a Michael Jackson cassette over and over and over again. I suppose I was infatuated with pushing buttons, but I can't hide that the music was most captivating.
I understand people's perception of Michael Jackson. I would be the first person to admit Michael was crazy. I remember the pictures of him dangling his child off a balcony. It was not a pretty sight. I remember hearing about him going to court in pajamas and climbing trees. I will not deny his physical appearance got increasingly shocking as the years went on. I was not in the room and I couldn't tell you whether he touched little boys inappropriately, liked them in his bed, or just enjoyed their company in an odd manner. In fact, if I was a parent of a child that stayed over at the Neverland Ranch, all I would need is a slight rumor about my child's safety to make me furious. I'll admit Michael was crazy, but why do people assume he was intentionally crazy? Because he's an international superstar with a ton of money doesn't mean he's not human. It's like the rapper Game says in his song, "Don't Need Your Love",
I love Michael Jackson...not enough to urinate in the street for, but this man provided me with brilliant and inspirational music and entertainment one could not dream of getting from anywhere else. It makes no difference to me if he looked like a freak. No one is proud of what put his face in the news for the past decade, but his voice remained on the radio for a reason.
This was not meant to persuade anyone to mourn. People should feel the way they want to feel, but I am genuinely disappointed at the number of jokes flying around even at the mention of his death.
R.I.P. King of Pop, Michael Jackson
Sidebar: Theo is blogging on Mike’s biggest hits. My top five include “Thriller”, “Smooth Criminal”, “Rock with You”, “P.Y.T.” and “Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough”. Catch it here.
I pause on my bike on Houston Street in Manhattan with one foot atop the curb to check my phone alerts when a stranger approaches.
"Excuse me, sir."
I look up at the stranger, a tall African-American man carrying a large bag over his shoulder. The apologetic expression on his face and eagerness in his eyes impelled me to prepare myself to let him know I wasn't carrying any cash.
"Is Michael Jackson dead?” he inquires.
"Yes," I replied. "He died today."
My initial thought was to go into detail about Jackson's death since I assumed the stranger hadn't any access to the news. However, the sad look on his face got increasingly intense and I thought I should try and comfort him instead. But before I could decide, the stranger was gone. He was already up the block, quietly panicking and rubbing his forehead. He reached the corner, then I thought I saw him look back as if to say, "I'm not quite finished with you yet," and was contemplating returning to lead into an awkward conversation. My vision is not the best, but I was not taking any chances.
"Theo," I say to my friend who had also paused on his bike a couple of feet ahead to wait on me, "let's get out of here."
We ride down a few blocks to Whole Foods on Houston Street and Bowery. I wasn't quite prepared for a ride into the city. So there we stood, planning the best way to lock up both of our bikes using Theo's wire when....
"Excuse me. Is Mike dead?"
I turn around to see the same stranger I thought I had escaped a few blocks ago.
"Yes," I said, and this time, assuming he had already forgotten our previous interaction, I would choose both options, details and comfort. "He died today...of cardiac arrest." I continued, "Mike was great! He's a legend."
He appeared genuinely distraught. His brow curled up. He seemed to be crying without tears. Theo chose not get involved.
"What the fuck?!" he exclaimed as if I didn't give him the same news minutes ago. "Mike is dead! Ohhh! Mike is dead. I lived for Michael," he said slowly approaching.
He took a step back and continued to rant on the curb while facing traffic. I was so focused on the stranger's reaction that I paid little attention to the movement concentrated around his pant zipper.
It wasn't until he announced, "I'm going to piss right here in the street," that I realized what was about to happen. I duly ignored that portion of the one-sided conversation. He repeated, "I'm going to piss in the street. I don't give a fuck. Fuck police! Michael is dead!" This time it sounded more like a threat than a warning. I supposed I should appease his attention-seeking maybe just a little.
"No. You don't want to do that," I said, appearing concerned.
"Michael is dead! I might as well be dead! I don't give a fuck any more because Michael is dead. Fuck police. I'm going to piss right here in the street."
He kept true to his promise and the sound of a lengthy stream soon began hitting my eardrums.
"Boy, did he come back and what an awkward conversation this is indeed," I thought.
Disgusted and confused, Theo and I hurriedly lock up our bikes to the rack so we could be ready for whatever The Urinator was planning to throw at us when he finished. Sure enough, he approaches us, dropping his pants down to the ground a few times before adjusting his belt.
"I'm 5-(?) years old," he says pulling off his hat to reveal a head of white hair. "You don't know what that man meant to me. Nobody knows what Michael meant to me. I grew up on Michael."
Thankfully, he decided to disappear on his own after overdressing his point.
I must admit, I too loved Michael. As a young boy, considering I possessed the amazing imagination that most young boys do, I would idolize and pretend to be a comparatively very small group of heroes: Superman, the Red Power Ranger from Mighty Morphin Power Rangers and, of course, Michael Jackson. There existed a tradition among myself and my young colleagues to watch the same VHS movie over and over and over again back-to-back. Considering the length, I think I've seen the "Sound of Music" on VHS over fifty times in my lifetime. I've seen a number of Disney movies hundreds of time but I don't think I've ever repeated nor will ever be able to repeat any visual experience as many times as I did the "We are the World" video segment that was added on to the end of my kindergarten graduation tape. Sure the record featured a gang of music superstars but not one of them shined brighter than Michael. There was something so magnetizing about him. It was the style, the passion. You couldn't get any more original. The famous moonwalk, the glove, the white socks.
In the evenings, when the sun disappeared behind the blackness and the shows deemed inappropriate for me would come on, I would shut off the television and sit under the tape deck, playing, pausing, rewinding and fast-forwarding a Michael Jackson cassette over and over and over again. I suppose I was infatuated with pushing buttons, but I can't hide that the music was most captivating.
I understand people's perception of Michael Jackson. I would be the first person to admit Michael was crazy. I remember the pictures of him dangling his child off a balcony. It was not a pretty sight. I remember hearing about him going to court in pajamas and climbing trees. I will not deny his physical appearance got increasingly shocking as the years went on. I was not in the room and I couldn't tell you whether he touched little boys inappropriately, liked them in his bed, or just enjoyed their company in an odd manner. In fact, if I was a parent of a child that stayed over at the Neverland Ranch, all I would need is a slight rumor about my child's safety to make me furious. I'll admit Michael was crazy, but why do people assume he was intentionally crazy? Because he's an international superstar with a ton of money doesn't mean he's not human. It's like the rapper Game says in his song, "Don't Need Your Love",
"First they hate you, then they love you, then they hate you again."He had to deal with the pressures of fame starting from a very young age. Everyone has their issues, some more than others. Divorce, debt, health problems, drug abuse: just a few of the things that make us crazy. He went through all of the above, not to mention having his nose fall off. I do not plan to defend his actions but one cannot deny this man's brilliance. He touched not just The Urinator's generation but was a staple of mine also. He was not just a big deal in my city, state or country but an icon in every part of the globe.
I love Michael Jackson...not enough to urinate in the street for, but this man provided me with brilliant and inspirational music and entertainment one could not dream of getting from anywhere else. It makes no difference to me if he looked like a freak. No one is proud of what put his face in the news for the past decade, but his voice remained on the radio for a reason.
This was not meant to persuade anyone to mourn. People should feel the way they want to feel, but I am genuinely disappointed at the number of jokes flying around even at the mention of his death.
R.I.P. King of Pop, Michael Jackson
Sidebar: Theo is blogging on Mike’s biggest hits. My top five include “Thriller”, “Smooth Criminal”, “Rock with You”, “P.Y.T.” and “Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough”. Catch it here.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Stop Walking!
So...Tiffany and I are taking a stroll in Williamsburg, Brooklyn the other night when we come across this traffic signal on Montrose Avenue.My friend, Rich, doesn't see the problem. In fact, he insists it signifies "stop walking", which is an oddly practical explanation. Yet I still find this potentially dangerous. Therefore, my question remains: What if you're a fervent optimist?
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Jewelry Exchange
Being that I'm near-sighted and refuse to wear corrective lenses or contacts, you can imagine my shock when I saw this sign for Jewelry Exchange in Coney Island, Brooklyn from two blocks down.
Sidebar: It was gloomy all day today, but it didn't rain and neither did I need a hoodie. Progress.
Sidebar: It was gloomy all day today, but it didn't rain and neither did I need a hoodie. Progress.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Welcome to "Everybody Loves RaaYmaN"
Hello World!
Welcome to my not-so-new new blog, Everybody Loves RaaYmaN. I've actually had this blog up for quite some time but quickly found myself giving it the Twitter Treatment.
It's June 17 in New York City and I have yet to put away my hoodie/hoody/hood...and when I do get a chance to lay it down, out comes the umbrella!
With all this indoor time, I thought I'd update you on some of my music, writings, day-to-day exploits, news and randomness around New York City, many more randomnesses, etc.
Today is going to be a bad day. I can feel it!
Stay warm!
Welcome to my not-so-new new blog, Everybody Loves RaaYmaN. I've actually had this blog up for quite some time but quickly found myself giving it the Twitter Treatment.
It's June 17 in New York City and I have yet to put away my hoodie/hoody/hood...and when I do get a chance to lay it down, out comes the umbrella!
With all this indoor time, I thought I'd update you on some of my music, writings, day-to-day exploits, news and randomness around New York City, many more randomnesses, etc.
Today is going to be a bad day. I can feel it!
Stay warm!
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