New York
Everyone on earth knows I’m an elf. Everyone. Today I went to Feature and met a woman who was talking to Jim and Hudson. I looked around at the show then, and heard her quietly ask, “Is the little elf still here?”
Hudson gave me flyers for the reading next week. It starts at eight thirty, but I’m supposed to be there by seven forty-five. I have elf training until six that day, so I will need to have my clothes laid out.
November 20, 1990
New York
I read last night at the Kitchen. There were around eighty people there. Hugh came, and Lily. The audience took things pretty seriously, which was disappointing. I was hoping for laughs.
November 23, 1990
New York
This was the official opening day of SantaLand and I worked for eight hours. I started the morning at the Magic Window, then spent time as an exit elf, Santa elf, maze elf, and counter elf. The Santas wear wool suits. They sweat and get heat rashes on their asses and knees. Most of them sit on pillows.
I get an hour for lunch and a twenty-minute afternoon break. Today I ate in the cafeteria with a she-elf whose husband is a female impersonator. Hmmmm.
November 25, 1990
New York
I was a photo elf yesterday when two men, both in their mid-twenties, came to visit Santa. They didn’t want to sit on his lap or have their pictures taken. Instead, they just wanted to be sensitive. When asked what they wanted for Christmas, one of them said, “I’d like it if some homeless people could have a decent meal.”
His friend nodded in agreement. “Right on.”
I stopped listening and fooled around with some stuffed animals on the mantel. When I turned back around, the men were on their way out the door. “And, hey, Santa,” one of them said. “Look after our boys in the Gulf, will you?”
He said it with such gooey poignancy. Santa and I laughed merrily after they’d left.
The elf I share a locker with, Keith, invited me to his Bible-study group tomorrow night.
December 7, 1990
New York
Lily and I saw a warning poster outside a small theater that read THIS PLAY WILL LEAVE YOU FEELING SAD AND EMPTY.
I led a five-year-old boy to Santa’s door and said, “Look at all the toys my master has.”
The kid was small but sophisticated. “I’ve got more toys than that. To tell you the truth,” he said, “I’m very spoiled.”
I got yelled at twice today, once when I was working as an entrance elf. The job amounts to hustling up visitors, and I thought I did a pretty good job. “Patronize Santa,” I said. “Behold his chubby majesty. Santa was born and raised in a small home. Hail him. Santa’s patience is beyond your comprehension. Come test it.”
I’d been at it for ten minutes when a manager came by. Then he went and rounded up two other managers and the three of them brought me to the desk for a scolding. I wasn’t saying anything nasty or sexual, though. I just heightened the discourse a little.
December 10, 1990
New York
Walking home I passed two men on 14th Street who were working with long poles, one of which hit me in the nose and drew blood. The man who hit me found it funny and laughed.
“Hey,” I said. “That really hurt.”
He laughed all the harder and I asked if now I could hit him in the nose with a long pole so we could be even. I told him he had to apologize, so he did, but it really doesn’t count because I had to ask for it.
Today a Japanese child came and played his violin for Santa.
December 29, 1990
Raleigh
Tell people you live in New York, and I’ve noticed they’ll offer half a dozen reasons why they don’t live there: the crowds, the high cost of living, the crime. I’m not suggesting they move or anything—far from it. It’s funny how defensive certain people get.
1991
January 2, 1991
New York
I took the Carey bus from LaGuardia and was crossing 42nd Street when a guy said, “Hey, big man, how about giving me one of those cigarettes?” He was a good six inches taller than me, so I pointed that out and asked why he’d called me big man. “Did you think I’d find it flattering?”
“Hey,” he said. “That’s just the way I am.”
I said, “Fine, and this is the way I am.”
As I walked away he called out after me, “Hey, it’s just a fucking cigarette.”
“Well, you know me,” I called back.
In front of Grand Central, a big black guy asked did I want a taxi, and when I said yes, he grabbed my duffel bag and proceeded down the street. I followed and watched as he hailed a cab, threw my bag into the backseat, and demanded a tip.
I took my bag out of the backseat and hailed another cab. The driver told me that he hates those self-appointed porters. When he hears one of them shake a passenger down for a tip, he rolls down his window and shouts, “You don’t owe him shit! Don’t give him nothing.”
January 7, 1991
New York
I found a PlayGuy magazine in a trash can on West 4th Street and read the letters section, where a college student wrote that six months ago he began drinking his own semen. “The kinkiest thing I ever did was the time I saved up a seven-day output of my cum and put it in a bottle. I went to the cafeteria for dinner, got a salad, pulled my little bottle out of my pocket and put it on the table. When a couple of P.E. majors asked what it was, I told them that it was a high-protein salad dressing my mom had sent me. Several of them asked to share my dressing, which I gladly did. I could barely contain myself as I watched these guys pour my cum on their greens and eat it. Now, some people might think my antics are a bit much. But I enjoy it and it feels good. Isn’t that what sex is all about?”
“I enjoy it and it feels good” doesn’t really justify his actions, in my opinion. Then again, he can’t honestly have done this, can he?
February 5, 1991
New York
Elaine called last night with a possible job. I’d be working for an Italian woman named Alba who runs a small press and is looking for a personal assistant two days a week, for $10 an hour. I think it involves typing, which might be a problem. On the phone she was enthusiastic, so we’ll see.
February 7, 1991
New York
This afternoon I met with Alba at the Chelsea Hotel, where she rents a room she uses as an office. She’s a trim woman, pretty. Nice clothes, nice accent. When I arrived, she was talking to another trim and beautiful woman, an American, who was planning to attend a twenty-four-hour chanting seminar led by a noted Buddhist. She said she really, really needed to chant and throw out some good energy, that the world would be a better place for it.