EMPATHY or Mykel's July 2026 Blog/Column

Monday, June 01, 2026

EMPATHY or Mykel's July 2026 Blog/Column

You’re STILL Wrong

or
Mykel's

JULY 2026 Blog/Column
by Mykel Board

EMPATHY

When you start to develop your powers of empathy and imagination, the whole world opens up to you.

– Susan Sarandon

The opposite of anger is not calmness, it’s empathy.

– Mehmet Oz

One of his (Marquis DeSade) greatest talents was empathy; no sadist can aspire to perfection without that diagnostic ability.

– Vernor Vinge

I walk down Broadway from Bleecker Street. Passing the convenience store on the right, I stop in to check my lottery ticket in the machine: I slip it in gently… making sure the testing light bathes every bar of the barcode. NOT A WINNER, flashes the machine. What a surprise! FUCK YOU!

Then, it's on to the bank where I take out $50 in cash from the ATM... using my Disney ATM card given to me by the bank… without choice… and more embarrassing than an open fly.

The cash spits out: a twenty and half a dozen fives… should last the rest of the day.

I leave the bank and head south on Broadway. On the way to Houston Street, I pass a grey-bearded guy sitting on a street-level window ledge, reading one of those free newspaper give-aways.

As I pass, I turn toward him and shout…

FUCK YOU!

He barely glances up at me and returns to his reading. I continue my walk. At least once a day, this same ritual ensues. I pass the guy… shout FUCK YOU! at him… and keep walking. It's losing its effect I fear, but first: some background.

For the last few months, almost every day, I walk past this guy and he's sitting, reading… usually a thick book… never talking to anyone... never asking for money… never implying homelessness… just a mystery. In my mind, I construct a story of how he lives in a shelter and comes out on the street to read whatever he can find. I don't know how or where he pisses, shits, eats, or does any of the stuff people have to do. He's just there… reading.

To myself, I call him Amiri, using the name LeRoi Jones chose after his writing made him famous. James Baldwin is, of course, my favorite black writer, but Amiri is a much cooler name than James.

When I see Amiri reading that free newspaper instead of a book, I figure his favorite books have run out. What a tragedy! The guy loves reading… never bothers anyone… lives for the written word and he runs out of books. I can help.

I try to sell books on Biblio, eBay, even Amazon… but there's some stuff that would never sell and has already been rejected by Mercer Street Books. I'd love to give it to Amiri and express my admiration for another real- paper-and-ink book lover.

I figure I've got to ask him first. He may have a secret stash someplace, or he may want me to bring my donation to someplace else, free from the NY weather. I keep some book names in the back of my mind. Maybe I could give him some Jim Thompson… can’t go wrong with that, can you.

The next day, instead of passing him, I stop and talk to him.

"I see you here every day," I tell him. "I just wanted to ask you…"

"Leave!" he says to me, like a pedestrian might brush off a sniffing dog.

"But I first…" I say, "can I just find out if you…"

"Leave!" Amiri says again… in a louder voice dropping to a vocal exclamation point pitch at the end of the word.

"LEAVE!" He says for the third time, briefly looking me in the eye and then returning to his newspaper.

FUCK YOU!

I shout in all capital letters walking away from him, angry at the response when all I wanted was to do a good deed… to help.

Every day since then, when I pass Amiri, I turn and say FUCK YOU in a loud voice and just continue walking. But for some strange reason, my anger builds.

I know what I'll do. I'll get one of those free books from the library give-away table-- a paperback. I'll walk up to Amiri… stop.. take out the paperback… and start tearing it up. First I'll rip off the cover. Then tear out… page by page… ripping each page in half after I tear it from its binding.

That'll teach him. What could sadden a book-lover more than seeing a book destroyed in front of him? Shirk my gifts? I’ll teach him a lesson.

Bang! I head for the library. I don't know how it works in other cities, but here in New York, libraries have a FREE TABLE. People can bring their unwanted books… sometimes CDs, DVDs, magazines… and leave them on the table. Other people can pick out what they want and take it home… or try to sell it at a used book store. That means what’s left is usually only crappy books, or books in some obscure foreign language.

Ah, here’s The Golden Glove, a "middle reader" That means a children’s book (Junior High) or so.

I take the book, stick it in my BEN 10 backpack and head back to Broadway. On the way, I fantasize the horror that will appear on Amiri's face when I stop right in front of him... pull out the book... tear off the cover... tear out the pages... tear up the pages, and throw pieces in the air... letting the wind blow them into the Broadway traffic. I wonder what the passing people will think of a wildly grinning little man walking uptown… throwing book shards into the street.

Even now I'm getting a wide berth as I walk from the library to Broadway. I must look scary. I feel like whistling. I'm gonna show him! He thinks he can just shrug me off when I want to help him. My grin widens as I picture the pained look on his face. Ah, I'm just about to get to his little window alcove.

He's not here. No Amiri. No books. Nothing. Did he get tired of the daily FUCK OFFs? Did I make such an impression that he couldn't put up with it? Damn!

For the next couple days, I check his spot and it's empty. I've stopped carrying The Golden Glove. I feel cheated.

Suddenly I'm not smiling.

Before I go on, I want to tell you about Calvin, Matthew, and Dylan. Calvin is from South Carolina. He must have heat in the blood, because every year he finds a way to go back and winter with his friends there. During the rest of the year he lives in New York… mostly on a milk crate on the corner of LaGuardia and Bleecker Street.

"How you doin' young man?" he asks when he sees me crossing the street and coming towards him.

"Calvin!" I shout to him. "Howya doin'? When did you get back from Charleston?"

"A couple days ago," he tells me. "Where you been?"

We talk for a while. I have to leave him to reserve a couple tables for Drink Club.

"I'll talk to you soon," I tell Calvin, "but first…" I reach into the watchpocket of my jeans and pull out a crunched dollar bill. I hand it to him with apologies for the creases.

"It's the only way I can fit the bills into my cash-for-street-folks pocket," I tell him.

"Mykel," he says, "I know I can always count on you. Crunched or not."

I laugh and head for the Peculier Pub.

FLASH to Broadway and Houston Street: The shady side of Broadway. Matthew is in his usual wheelchair shaking a plastic cup with some change and a few dollars bills in it.

“Matthew!” I shout to him. “I gotta talk to you.”

“Sure Mykel,” he answers, “but first could you get me a bottle of water from our Egyptian friends.”

I smile, knowing exactly what he wants… a $1.50 plastic bottle of Poland Spring Water, from the food truck on the corner.

“It’s for Matthew,” I tell Mamoud in the truck, fishing out a couple dollars from my wallet.”

“I figured,” comes the reply. “Keep the bills,” he says motioning me to take a bottle from the icebed under the window.

“Ok,” I tell him, “then how ‘bout an everything bagel for me.”

“Butter, no toast,” he replies, knowing in advance what I like.

I nod and watch him slice and butter up a bagel. I hand him three bucks. “Those you keep,” I say.

“Shokran,” he replies.

I put the bagel in my backpack and return to Mathew… handing him the water.

“How’s your other wheelchair friend?” Matthew asks.

“She gets out sometimes,” I say. “She has friends, but I think she spends too much time inside.”

“You told me about those stairs in front of the building, Mykel. Here’s what you should do: tell your friend to go to any hospital and ask to speak to a social worker. A social worker can hook her up with some city agency that could force them to put in a ramp… or find her housing in an accessible building. That’s their job.”

It’s the beginning of a long conversation. I always learn a lot from Matthew… the ins and outs of the NY disability laws… tricks about Access-a-ride… and more. He’s just got this stuff down. I’m the student… and only need to fork over a few dollars a week for tuition.

Then there’s Dylan. He’s the only white guy among my current street-living friends. (Will, from Texas, lived on the subways… but he went back to Texas to be a graphic artist.) Dylan camps out on Broadway, just north of Great Jones Street. He marks his territory with a blue chalk outline on the sidewalk. A mattress lays in the middle of the outlined square, along with a couple plastic cups, a hand-mirror, and – bunched up to one side-- a wool blanket I gave him on an especially blustery day in November.

Sometimes Dylan shows up with a crate of packaged food: “Google Gummy” candy (I didn’t even know it existed.), unfrozen frozen food, packets of raw ground beef or fish. Sometimes, heads of lettuce or bunches of carrots. He “sells” these from his mattress for whatever a passing person (usually an NYU student) is willing to pay.

Yesterday, I spotted a PayDay candy bar among his mysterious groceries. It’s my favorite and still there in his box of sale goodies. I pull a dollar out of my watch pocket.

“I’ll take the PayDay,” I tell him.

“I’m not taking money from you for this stuff,” he says. “I don’t like taking money from my friends.”

I smile… reveling in the status rise from donor to friend. Yes! He thinks of me as a friend. I’m proud.

Then there’s Jim Testa… he’s NOT a street-living guy. He lives in New Jersey, but I see him in NY at least once a month… sometimes more. He’s a regular at the Algonquin Roundtable with me and Dorothy Parker and some other slightly less famous people.

Jim used to work for an insurance company and we often joked that the ARTLESS song, When You’re My Age You’ll Be Selling Insurance, was about him. It wasn’t.

After he quit the insurance biz, He got a job as a “special ed” teacher. These are both “day jobs… like an actor who works as a waiter to make ends meet. See, Jim’s “real job” is a music critic and occasional musician. I’ve known him since the early days of punk… probably for longer than you’ve been alive. My George Foreman Grill, KitchenAid Blender, and innumerable books, records and CDs come from Jim. When I needed to hook up my turntable to the amp, Jim came over on a sweaty summer day and spent hours getting it to work right.

You can probably tell that I think a lot of the guy.

But there was one thing… at the Roundtable. I need to set the scene:

Besides Jim, me, and Dorothy, there’s Max and Bill. Bill used to work in a record store, and is one of those guys that you mention the first three words of any punk song, and he’s got the title and usually the rest of the song. Max is his girlfriend. She’s a super smart female, who is one of the few girls on earth that can whistle…. I don’t mean a happy tune… I mean a stadium kill the umpire whistle. Wow! Other Roundtable participants are Jennifer Blowdryer (you know her), Rufus, who is a professor of pizza making, and random others who join us… or don’t.

During the discussion, I talk about my admiration for colored people because they so quickly go their own way. Clothing styles, fashion, music, they suddenly stop, change, and BANG!! Do something new… different… and the rest of the world catches up... then POW! Something else new… to be copied by white people.

White people spend hours and cash trying to catch up with them. As soon as they get the new haircut… try to make the new music BANG! Negroes create something new… and the melanin-impaired spend more months...or years... trying to copy it.

“Mykel,” says Jim, “How can you say that? You know… you have absolutely no empathy. As long as I’ve known you, I’ve seen that.”

That comment sticks with me a long time after that Roundtable meeting.

“What the fuck?” I think over and over again. “Calvin, Matthew, Dylan… these homeless guys are my friends. I spend several bucks a day out of my watch-pockets for street people who are my friends or who I meet for the first time. I find out their stories... ask them about their lives... sometimes ask them for advice… or just to tell me what their day-to-day is like. And you say I have no empathy? What does saying colored people or Negroes have to do with empathy? And besides, everyone at the Roundtable is white. Who am I lacking empathy with?”

These thoughts go through my mind, building up a defense against an accusation that troubles me more than it should. I am a social guy. I use out-dated vocabulary because I hate to be told how to speak. I hate to have the language rug pulled from under me. The words I use are not pejorative, they’re neutral… and used to be common.

Then, I start thinking about the guy with the books... and it hits me. What if Amiri just wanted to be left alone? What if he collected the books that interested him, and just wanted to read them? What if he wanted a bit of book privacy in the middle of the hectic life that makes Manhattan? What if he thought I was going to bother him… that I was a missionary, a social worker, just an annoying local who wanted to chat when all he wanted to do was sit and read? What if he only wants privacy… to get away from dealing with people? What if my FUCK YOU! is another brick in the backpack of someone already carrying too many bricks? What if he didn’t know I wanted to give him books, but thought I was someone who wanted to chat, disturb his reading, or get him away from it? Why didn’t I think of any of this before?

I walk outside to where Amiri sits… where I’ve shouted FUCK YOU! to him at least once a day… except for the days he wasn’t there. He’s there now. I walk up to him... smile... tip my metaphorical cap… and say “Nice day, isn’t it?” and then keep walking.

See you in hell,
Mykel Board

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.com. Through the post office: send those... er...  DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

SPECIAL THANKS DEPT: I want to thank Jim Testa and Dawn Suvino (who is mentioned, but not by name) for their friendship and life-changing help… and empathy. Thanks! Also a big thanks to Marlene Wicherski, one of the editors of the great DC punkzine, Truly Needy. She has the nasty task of editing this blog.

SPEAKING OF JIM TESTA DEPT: For folks who don’t know, the US has the world’s highest percent of its population in prison. Yes! We’re number one! And it also has the world’s highest rate of medical bankruptcies. Jim Testa could be one of them… but you can help prevent that. https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-james-cover-medical-expenses-this-summer

DEAD KOCH DEPT: Today is primary day. I just cast my vote for Brad Lander… who was arrested for blocking ICE kidnapping of people awaiting trial at immigration court. When NYC mayor, Ed Koch died, they named a bridge after him. He was awful. He started the race-based “stop and frisk” laws, heavy enforcement of homeless round-ups, etc. Some people supported him because he was Jewish… and strongly believed to be gay. There was a lefty Democratic organization Village Independent Democrats that refused to support him… And they still exist, but seem to have changed sides. The NY Primaries are now full of fake lefties, including millionaire Dan Goldman for Congress, and pro-censorship Grace Lee for State Senate. These guys are running in Greenwich Village so they have to look liberal. Guess who supports them. Yep… not the socialists, but the “Independents.” Fuck you!

THE GOOD GUYS DEPT: While the fake lefties plaster themselves all over the city… the Democratic Socialists of America have already elected the current NYC Mayor and AOC (who’s facing some challenges from her right). I never thought I’d see the day where self-proclaimed socialists could make it in American politics. I’m glad to be wrong for once. It gives me hope… but we’ll see when the results are in. I expect the worst.

LINKS

I’m happy to present the art of Sarah Thobe… who paints personalities as part of her portraits. Check her out at https://sarathobe.com/.

And it was great to hear from my very long-time friend, Fred Lonberg-Holm. Celloman extraordinaire. You can hear him at https://fredlonberg-holm.bandcamp.com/album/the-return-of

Anthony Allen Begnal asked me to mention his Hardcore Conversation You Tube channel, and I’m happy to do so here.

Longtime scene/zinester Robb Roemershauser has restarted the Above Ground Zine Library. The Zine library doesn’t yet have an address at the location but, feel free to donate zines that you no longer want to the Aboveground Zine Library 2100 Sawmill Road Apt. 22-202, New Orleans, LA 70123. The Zine library will be located in the upper 9th ward on a busy street.

My pal Matt Sheahan says: You can link to my website - www.matthewsheahan.com or my Substack - https://politenewyorker.substack.com/ . Matt is a great musician and very funny guy.

My Kenyan pal, Albert Melody shares a facebook adventure in one of those great Kenyan national parks. Guess who he shared the adventure with!!! You can read about it here. Albert also has a blog at: Albertomelody.blogspot.com

Teddy Labato has a “lo-fi noise” link to his band Check it out.

It’s About Time dept: Finally, a book about Hungarian Punk  put out by Puke and Vomit records.   Great scene there and I was glad to have contact with bands like Der Trottel and Tizedesz. Glad to have been a (very small) part of that scene. 

Zine fans can find my list of old stuff that I want to get rid of here.

Here are some other contacts to make:

Teddy Lobato’s band can be found at https://www.facebook.com/THEBASSMANsPSYCHEDELICNOISE

Karl De Winton sent me a link to his bandcamp DJ stuff. https://share.google/5sTnXjgMkFbiWQvzA
NSFW… but that depends on your job. 

Dan Hetrick asked me “How 'bout us punk rawk programmers?” And offers http://merk.chat  Free chat for the people!

I’ve talked about Bob Cutler before. But he has more to offer than DYSTOPEKA
https://chrometuna.com/ https://theklusterfux.com

Riot Division makes its musical offering at: https://www.facebook.com/riotdivision

Barstool Revolution Zine is on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/people/Barstool-Revolution-Zine/61557909822199/

Rina Borei shows off her inflatable Octopus on  Instagram at @oona.frost

Jim Testa, friend, journalist, editor, musician and wordsmith, (he appears in this month's post) has an interesting substack about music and more. You can find it here.

Sid Yiddish sent me this link to all his videos. It’s a great place to start, especially if you don’t know him. 

I did a nice interview with The Aither zine. Interesting questions, complete, and questions I’ve never been asked before. You can read it .here It’s a good one. 

Here’s Ricardo Wang with a “micro-label” in Seattle “specializing in 8-track tapes and CDs. WOW! Check out one of their label staples: The Dead Air Fresheners, best band name of the year. 

Also on bandcamp: My very long time faves in NYC, the BLACKOUT SHOPPERS. Featuring pals Seth and possibly the next vice-president of the US

Sid Yiddish has posted a video of a show done for WZRD in Chicago. Great live performances, and if you catch the video around the 20+ minute point you might see a familiar face doing the lyrics to his songs (some unrecorded) as poetry. You’ll find it here.  

And this sounds right up Sid’s alley. The Bilderberg Jazz Arkestra on Bandcamp!

Eric Grayson has an online music review zine, Sobriquet. Full pictures of the sleeves too! Something missing from too many zines. Sometimes you CAN judge a… er… book… by its cover. 

Steen Thomsen is a Dane I’ve known ever since Lincoln was shot. I put his band THE ZERO POINT on the great WORLD CLASS PUNK Cassette for ROIR. It must be worth a mint now. I don’t have any left, I’m afraid. You can (and should connect to the Zero Point) connect to the Zero Point on facebook. Tell ‘em Mykel’s blog sent you. 

Sorry Dorothy, we are STILL in Kansas. And it’s as weird as OZ. Check out Bob Cutler’s DISTOPEKA. 

You already know Murder & Mayhem zine… those guys who did the Mykel Board centerfold. (No genitals shown… and probably for the better.) Their online version is here.

The Clean Boys from Denmark are also longtime friends of mine. In Denmark we recorded as The Bend-over Boys.  Only one 10-inch available… but at least now I can say I have a 10-incher! 

Finally, for this month, Margaret O’Brien asked me to include the site: anti-war.com They seem to be folks after my own heart. I’m glad they didn’t call it “anti-defense.”

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here. 

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. mykelboard@gmail.com

DAR! or Mykel's September Blog/Column

 

You’re STILL Wrong

Mykel's

September 2024 Blog/Column

DAR!

"It's kind of like some sort of… gay radar. I call it… the homometer."
                                            — Ed Helms on The Daily Show

Canadian psychologist Nicholas Rule studies social intuitions—the snap judgments we make about people we’ve just met. In a series of experiments, he and his colleagues tested people’s abilities to judge others’ sexual orientation, and came to the conclusion that gaydar is real. -- Psychology Today

Your vibe attracts your tribe.”
                                    – Unknown

Vibe high and the magic around you will unfold.
                                – Akilnathan Logeswaran

Sitting at the bar downstairs at the Peculier pub. I’m showing New York to Paula, one of a ton of my lesbo pals, just in from California. There are only a few of us here… it’s still early… clock would be striking 6 if the clock actually struck. For the moment no one else sits at the bar. A couple couples are at the well graffitied table around the main floor. Mac is the waitress. As is the custom here, the waitresses always show navel. (For some reason, all are innies… maybe that’s also a requirement.) Andrew, a former waiter who never showed navel is now behind the bar pouring beer and mixing drinks. Paula drinks a PBR. I drink an Ithaca Flower Power.”

We click our glasses and say “Baka yaroo!” Which I tell my English-speaking friends means “cheers” in Japanese… but actually means something like “you fuckin’ idiot”

“How’s the girlfriend?” I ask.

“Don’t ask…. That bitch!” answers Paula.

“Ouch!” I say, then laugh.

Right then… like a movie where the director cues the Enter The Mysterious Stranger^®, a girl walks in and up to the bar. Wow! I use my palms to push my eyes back into my head. Talk about MY TYPE. Concentration camp thin… a flawless face with just a touch of the oriental… one-hand cupable breasts… a built in pout. She stands next to me… leans over the bar to order an Imperial Stout from Andrew.

“You have good taste,” I say to her. “And tolerance up the wazoo for an imperial stout at 6 in the evening.”

She smiles.

I feel myself beginning to harden. Paula leans over and whispers something in my ear. It sounds like “Eyekul, Caesar Tyke,,, whore ket tit.”

I know my hearing is bad so I answer, “We’ll talk later, when there’s less noise” I say and return to my banal beer conversation with Mysterious Stranger^® As we talk, the bar fills up slightly. Among the new folks entering is a young woman wearing a short summer dress. Dark hair and skin with a touch of Indian (red dot, not feather) in it. The new entrancée looks around, spots Mysterious Stranger^® with us at the bar. She smiles walks over to us… to Mysterious Stranger^® actually… and kisses her hello. I don’t mean a peck on the cheek kiss, I mean a tongue deep passionate guess-where-my-tongue-will-be-next kiss.

“So long,” says Mysterious Stranger^® as she and the femmy girl walk to the back of the bar, and out of sight.

“Mykel,” Paula says to me, “did you hear what I said to you?”

I shake my head.

“I said, ‘Mykel, she’s a dyke.’ Didn’t you get the vibe?”

This brings me to the point of this blog-post. I’m notorious for not getting vibes. I have absolutely no GAYDAR. My friends who have the skill can smell one a mile away. To me, that girl just looks like an office lady. That guy looks like a CVS delivery boy. I just can’t tell. Two guys could be futt-bucking in a restroom stall and I wouldn’t know.

Of course it’s a liability…. Especially since my personal tastes go to butch girls and femmy guys… but I NEVER KNOW... unless I end up with some late night skin-to-skin. That skin-to-skin could be night-time nookie, or a fist to my jaw!

One of my friends: female… bisexual. (Not that I believe in that stuff… but that’s another post) says she’s got LAYDAR. This is a vibe detector that buzzes when the object is hot to trot. It works with any gender. What a great ability! I often wonder how many ready-to-goes I missed because I couldn’t tell… or the reverse… how many hours I wasted chasing after someone who’d get not further than “Let’s just be friends.” (Is there an uglier phrase in the English language?)

But GAYDAR and LAYDAR are not the only DARs I lack. There’s also GENDAR. It’s controversial with XY and XX and all that Olympics shit. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean just every day people, dressed in everyday non-gendered clothing. Sure, a beard is a dead giveaway. Balding helps too. But with a neutral haircut, neutral clothes: sneakers, jeans and a loose t-shirt… I can’t tell! Yeah, I love the middle look… “can’t tell” is sexy… but I also can’t bring myself to defile English and refer to one person as THEY. I know some girls like to hide their biology under a crewcut or even using Rogain on their face. That’s okay with me. But if you have a Santa Claus beard or the kind of face you’d want to lick the make-up from… LET ME KNOW WHAT’S UNDERNEATH DOWN BELOW! I can’t tell.

Then there’s JOKEDAR. People who know me know that I lie casually. I think lies are funny. When I’m out with my multinational friends, I pretend to show off by telling people CHEERS in Spanish is Besa mi culo… In German it’s Leck mich am Arsch. Actually, both phrases mean Kiss My Ass. I already explained how I hand the Japanese.In Tagalog, the main language of the Philippines, CHEERS is Putan ina mo! Oh yeah, that means Your mother is a whore. It’s one of my many playful habits, and I’m often at a restaurant or bar with friends, turning heads at other tables, making strangers laugh. But there’s always at least one… sometimes more… who come back with that’s not funny. Well, what is?

Lately, the only things people seem to find funny are jokes about politicians they don’t like. Are you one of those Stephen Colbert types who just says Donald Trump over and over, getting a laugh every time? Or worse are you part of the OFFENSE squad… like half of facebook and maybe all of Reddit who think nothing about politics, gender, race, or most anything else is funny… unless they agree with you? One of my “friends” on facebook banned me because I said Kamala Harris doesn’t look black. That wasn’t fully in jest… but it certainly lacks humor to take offense at it. If someone says I don’t look Jewish do I take offense? Of course not! I just unzip and pull out my ID. I’m not sure I even know what OFFENSE is! Sure I get angry at stuff. And sometimes people say things (mostly things about me) that make me sad… is that OFFENSE? I don’t know! I have no OFFENSEDAR!

Speaking of looking Jewish, another DAR I lack is JEWDAR. A story I often repeat is my visit to Kafka’s (yes, he was one too) grave in Prague. It was during Communist times, so I was an unusual American. As I stood looking at the tombstone, an older woman, who was removing branches and other debris from the grave spoke to me in English.

“Are you Israeli?” she asked.

“No,” I told her. “I’m from New York.”

“But you are Jewish…” she said with some authority.

How did she know? What was there? Of course the answer is that she had the Jewdar that I lack.

Last century, I wrote a song called Jews With Tattoos (which an Israeli pal of mine told me was a HIT in Israel!). In the beginning of that song, I wrote the cliched view of Jews: Glasses and a Hitchcock lip, big belly balding too. Lots of pimples, way too smart… Actually, I can’t tell. Does Ron Jeremy, the most famous male porn star in the world, look Jewish? Does Scarlett Johansson look Jewish? Sammy Davis Jr? David Diggs from the musical Hamilton?


I can’t tell, but the internet says he is one of us!

Okay, this next guy “looks Jewish.”

I'd say “Shalom” to him on the street. Otherwise I wish I were like those Chabad guys who come up to everyone passing and ask “Are you Jewish?” (Someday I’ll write about Chabad… I love those guys). Oh yeah, once in a record store I was looking at an LP and mentioned to the store owner that I know the guy on the cover… a fellow Jew.

“In New York, how do you know if someone is Jewish?” he asked me… clearly the tone of a joke in his voice.

“I wish I knew,” I answered.

“He’ll tell you,” he replied.

I walk down Bleecker Street, heading from Sixth Avenue toward the Peculier. A thin young man somewhat taller than me... long hair… the kind of face you’d want between your legs. He wears extremely baggy jeans and a t-shirt that says RANDOM across the chest. He stares into the cellphone in his right hand… poking at it as if angry. I figure he’s having trouble finding some place… learning –as we all do eventually– that among tall buildings, Google maps are wrong.

“Are you lost?” I ask him… as I often ask strangers poking at their cellphones.

He turns to me… wide-eyed and whispers. “We’re ALL lost.”

He raises one arm above his head and points to the sky. “We’re stray sheep,” he continues, his voice getting louder. “My phone is possessed. It’s been taken over by SATAN!” By now he’s screaming at me. “AND YOU ARE HIS AGENT! DON’T THINK I DON’T KNOW!”

Fuck! I have no NUTDAR! I can’t tell a looney until he’s right on top of me. I don’t care how good-looking he is… I don’t want this guy on top of me… I run.

FLASH RETURN TO THE PECULIER PUB: It’s Drink Club. I sit outside with my fellow imbibers, lying about how to say cheers in various languages. You know about that from JOKEDAR. We’re in one of those makeshift sheds that popped up during the plague. One of the many reasons I like eating and drinking outside is people watching. Bleecker Street is a human zoo sometimes.

We’re sitting outside as usual and this big guy passes us. As he does so, he looks directly at me.

“Wow! It’s great to see you!” he says, and then comes over to me and sits next to me. “Don’t you remember me?” he continues. “It was a couple weeks ago. You dropped your cellphone on the sidewalk and I picked it up and ran to you. My name’s Jim. You thanked me and said I owe you twenty bucks for that. You didn’t have it then, but that’s okay.”

“I’m Mykel,” I tell him, “in case you forgot.”

I have no memory of that incident… but I have no memory of most things. I call Mac over to the table. “Bring this guy a beer,” I say to her. She smiles and goes to fetch one. I pull out my wallet, take a twenty and give it to Jim.

“Sorry to take so long,” I say to him.

Mac brings Jim his beer. He drinks it in a fell swoop.

“Thanks, Mykel” he says. “Great to see you again.”

He gets up and leaves, heading toward Sixth Avenue and the subway. It’s only then that I realize it was fake and I lost $20 due to my lack of SCAMDAR. One of the few things I pride myself on is my ability to recognize fakes… but even that I can’t do with the accuracy I’d like. I got taken!! A sincere face... a good story... a friendly hug saying we’ve known each other for a long time. POW, I’m as much of a sucker as the tourists who fall for the pea-shuffles under the shells.

What exactly are these DARS I don’t have. Most people I’ve asked describe it as a VIBE. A feeling that transfers automatically from one person to the next,,, like the smell of unwashed armpits. Sometimes I get the impression of other people. If they’re happy… or angry… or sad. But that comes from a smile, a frown, a fist pounding on a table. Maybe a tear on the cheek. But that’s not a vibe.

A vibe is something mysterious. Something that transfers silently through the air. Happiness without a smile. Anger without a clenched fist. Lust without a pants bulge. I’m aware these vibes exist. Many of my friends have all kinds of them. Some even divide the world into people sending good ones and bad ones. These friends try to explain vibes to me, but I don’t get it. I’m like a person born blind that friends are describing BLUE to. It’s useless. I just can’t understand.

So, for future reference. If you’re an attractive tough girl… at least if you’re a girl who can beat me up… you’ll have to tell me you want me. If you’re a young femmy guy… like to start at the bottom… you’ll have to rest your hand between my legs before I’ll be aware of how you feel.

I am vibeless.

See you in hell,
MB

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

-→Test Yourself Dept: Here’s a test I found on the internet. Just from visual vibes, you have to guess who is straight and who is gay. Let me know how you do. (I got 47% correct… worse than chance) Part of the problem could be that they showed a side-by-side pictures and asked to choose right or left. I couldn’t guess if they meant MY right/left or the people in the picture’s right/left. My 47% was based on the former assumption.

→ Movies about Everything Dept: In researching this blog I discovered there’s a movie called “Under The Gaydar.” (See the reviews in IMDB) And RON JEREMY is in it! I can’t find it for free on-line, so maybe one of you can tell me how to do that. The plot, by the way, is the story of a guy whose parents fear is gay. So they hire a girl to seduce him and turn him straight. The guy is actually straight, and gets to screw some beautiful girls, paid for by his parents.

→YOU’RE INVITED dept: If you’re in New York on a Thursday, come and join us at Drink Club. Just look for the Drink Club sign or ask the bouncer at the door.

RETURN TO THE NATION DEPT:

I found a stack of old issues of THE NATION and want to recommend some great pieces there. First there’s an article by Aida Chavez that says Biden is using the same order that the Trump administration used to expel migrants at the border without a hearing. I’m guessing we can expect Biden’s VP to do the same if she gets the chance.

There’s also another fascinating piece about “Foundation Colonialism.” That is those charities (like the Bill & Melinda Gates one). It seems that while they give away a lot of money, MOST of it is to organizations based in Western Countries. Their “help” is usually spreading Western medicine (big Pharma), farming (GMOs, heavy fertilizer use), etc. to countries who can and should use the more native-- and cleaner, though less profitable for big industry-- methods.

LINK TRADE DEPARTMENT:

I did a nice interview with The Aither zine. Interesting questions many I’d never been asked before. You can read it here. It’s a good one.

I read that the search engines like lots of links... and it's also nice to support my friends and enemies in their blogs. So facebook me or email me if you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to. I add you. You add me.

Here's a start:

Here’s Ricardo Wang with a “micro-label” in Seattle “specializing in 8-track tapes and CDs. WOW! Check out one of their label staples: The Dead Air Fresheners.

Also on bandcamp: My very long time faves in NYC, the BLACKOUT SHOPPERS. Featuring pals Seth, superstar comic writer, Justin Melkmann and possibly the next vice-president of the US, Charles Bukkake.

Here’s an update on the current URL for Sid Yiddish’s Dating Game (type) entry.

And this sounds right up Sid’s alley. The Bilderberg Jazz Arkestra on Bandcamp!

Eric Grayson has an online music review zine, Sobriquet. Full pictures of the sleeves too! Something missing from too many zines. Sometimes you CAN judge a… er… book… by its cover.

Steen Thomsen is a Dane I’ve known ever since Lincoln was shot. I put his band THE ZERO POINT on the great WORLD CLASS PUNK Cassette for ROIR. It must be worth a mint now. I don’t have any left, I’m afraid. You can (and should) connect to the Zero Point on facebook. Tell ‘em Mykel’s blog sent you.

Sorry Dorothy, we are STILL in Kansas. And it’s as weird as OZ. Check out Bob Cutler’s DISTOPEKA.

And for a quiet smile and a much needed break for you and the dog, try G.C. Adams’ YouTube entry.

You already know Murder & Mayhem zine… those guys who did the Mykel Board centerfold. (No genitals shown… and probably for the better.) Their on-line version is here.

The Clean Boys from Denmark are also longtime friends of mine. In Denmark we recorded as The Bend-over Boys. Only one 10-inch available… but at least now I can say I have a 10-incher!

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here.

Longtime writer, Randall Fleming, has a new book out about the reversal of flag desecration. In his view, the right And more generally it’s about political violence in the 21^st century.

Finally, for this month, Margaret O’Brien asked me to include the site: anti-war.com They seem to be folks after my own heart.

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. mykelboard@gmail.com