Boom Death of a Tales, Man!
posted by March 25 at 19:55 PMon
I walked into Twice Sold Tales on John St., off Broadway, just now, for the very last time. The building it inhabits will be a pile of dust, very, very soon. Right now, it looks like this…
(photo by Miss Barbara Pomer)
…and soon it will be gone entirely.
Let us pause for a moment to remember Twice Sold Tales the way it was, and by “the way it was” I do not mean “they way it has been lately”, which is retarded.
And by retarded I mean that they did not quite ever recover from the square footage they sacrificed when The Bush Years crashed down on the economy’s head like a lead boot and they were forced to dry-wall the poor old bookstore in half. All the aisles were smooshed together and it was impossible, by God, to browse comfortably.
Someone’s ass was always in your face, or rubbing up against your ass, and as delightful as this sounds on paper, it was never (oh, never!) the ass you wanted in your face. It was always that other guy’s ass. The guy whose ass you wouldn’t even want to rub with somebody else’s ass. And to expand upon this assy theme, the place began to smell like ass, too—cat ass. Big cat ass. The biggest. Lots of them. You know what I’m talking about.
Now, please to not misunderstand: I adore them damn cats; they’re what made the place so darling. So quaint. The cats always kept out those “allergy” types completely, and aren’t they always just so fucking annoying? Of course they are. So. But when the place shrank, the cats’ butts did not, and apparently they all exist upon a diet of road kill, and, well…disaster.
What I’m trying to say is that it got all too cat-assy and small. Thank you.
ANY-hoozits, there once was a day when Twice Sold Tales was big and roomy and only moderately assy and it was the most wonderful place to browse books and scratch cats in the universe. It was enchanting when mixed with a latte and a Sunday afternoon, and it was a respectable place to meet cute boys. (Twice Sold Tales had an enormous Gay Interests section when gay was still interesting, and a huge Theater Section when theater still mattered, and all this was when Capitol Hill was still gayer than the Easter egg that Charles Nelson Riley laid, so, the place was cruisier than an MX missile. That goes without saying of course.)
And that is the day I beg you to remember. That big, roomy, only moderately assy, gay, cruisy Sunday day.
It’s all over now.
Sure, Twice Sold Tales isn’t vanishing completely, only skittering down Denny a few blocks, and the move really can’t result in anything but an improvement….but still. I can’t help but feel just a little bit sad…