ROBB TODD

Someone actually let me have a book. My first collection of fiction is on sale. You can even enjoy a Kindle edition.

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© 2012 Robb Todd

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    I ALSO HANG OUT HERE

    OTHER PEOPLE'S STUFF

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    The man pointed at a pigeon perched on the back of a bench and said it wanted to sit on my arm if I would give it somewhere to land. He called the birds by name. “Come here, Cinnamon. Here, girl.” I held my arm out.

    The man pointed at a pigeon perched on the back of a bench and said it wanted to sit on my arm if I would give it somewhere to land. He called the birds by name. “Come here, Cinnamon. Here, girl.” I held my arm out.

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    TWO REALLY IMPORTANT THINGS ONE The last movie I saw was set in present day but the young protagonist had an answering machine. When is Hollywood going to give that up? Nobody younger than 50 has an answering machine and only seven people fifty or older have them—and four of those are broken and the dudes just won’t throw them away. That’s not a lot of answering machines! If they haven’t stopped making them entirely, they will soon. Sorry, screenwriters. You’ll have to find another device to clue us in on important narrative details.  TWO Later this month, the Uptown Collective’s Led Black Book Club will feature my collection, Steal Me for Your Stories. Drop by APT 78 in Washington Heights at 1pm on Feb. 25. I’ll read you a story. This is probably as close as I will have to a book release party, so … let’s party. More info is here, and it’s so fancy you have to RSVP. Do you know what RSVP stands for? Yes, Retired Senior Volunteer Program. That’s an important program. RSVP is also a track by The Bloodhound Gang from the 2000 album Hooray for Boobies. HOORAY!

    TWO REALLY IMPORTANT THINGS

    ONE

    The last movie I saw was set in present day but the young protagonist had an answering machine. When is Hollywood going to give that up? Nobody younger than 50 has an answering machine and only seven people fifty or older have them—and four of those are broken and the dudes just won’t throw them away. That’s not a lot of answering machines! If they haven’t stopped making them entirely, they will soon.

    Sorry, screenwriters. You’ll have to find another device to clue us in on important narrative details. 

    TWO

    Later this month, the Uptown Collective’s Led Black Book Club will feature my collection, Steal Me for Your Stories. Drop by APT 78 in Washington Heights at 1pm on Feb. 25. I’ll read you a story.

    This is probably as close as I will have to a book release party, so … let’s party. More info is here, and it’s so fancy you have to RSVP. Do you know what RSVP stands for? Yes, Retired Senior Volunteer Program. That’s an important program. RSVP is also a track by The Bloodhound Gang from the 2000 album Hooray for Boobies.

    HOORAY!

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    YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE THE INTERNET UNATTENDED  I went to another country for a while. In that country, the doubya doubya web is expensive for foreigners. In that country, which is very cold, I snowboarded for the first time. By “snowboarded” I mean I fell down a mountain for two hours. I’m still a little numb. Also, people drink more when their lives are covered in snow. Also, they are nicer and say sorry when you are the person who should say sorry. They give you doughnuts, too. Also, some people leave hearts in the snow with their boots because they have that much love to give.  While all that was happening, this happened: LITnIMAGE and Fwriction : Review published stories I wrote with my very own fingers. They’re short. Read them. These stories are in my collection, which is now available on Amazon as a Kindle edition. That makes my brain melt a little. 

    YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE THE INTERNET UNATTENDED 

    I went to another country for a while. In that country, the doubya doubya web is expensive for foreigners. In that country, which is very cold, I snowboarded for the first time. By “snowboarded” I mean I fell down a mountain for two hours. I’m still a little numb.

    Also, people drink more when their lives are covered in snow. Also, they are nicer and say sorry when you are the person who should say sorry. They give you doughnuts, too. Also, some people leave hearts in the snow with their boots because they have that much love to give. 

    While all that was happening, this happened:

    LITnIMAGE and Fwriction : Review published stories I wrote with my very own fingers. They’re short. Read them. These stories are in my collection, which is now available on Amazon as a Kindle edition. That makes my brain melt a little. 

    Humiliation for the good of the world

    Necessary Fiction asked writers to share unedited, unpublished early work, and discuss how they have evolved. What a great idea. I’m into humiliation.

    Here’s what I had to say about it — and if you think my writing sucks now, wait till you read this. It is much worse. 

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    EVERY DOG IS A KILLER IN HER HEART A man on the street said, “Can you help me? I’m poor.” I handed him a banana and he said, “Everything you need to know about life you can learn by watching animals,” and he peeled it by pinching off the black spot at the bottom, not by pulling the stem. “I speak several languages, including toddler, and I’ve picked flowers from rhinoceros horns. Every ritual is forced upon us.” He ate the banana and rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand, looked around, stared into shop windows, eyed the pedestrians, regarded the traffic. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a faded tattoo of a sleeve. “All we know are assemblages.”

    EVERY DOG IS A KILLER IN HER HEART

    A man on the street said, “Can you help me? I’m poor.” I handed him a banana and he said, “Everything you need to know about life you can learn by watching animals,” and he peeled it by pinching off the black spot at the bottom, not by pulling the stem. “I speak several languages, including toddler, and I’ve picked flowers from rhinoceros horns. Every ritual is forced upon us.” He ate the banana and rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand, looked around, stared into shop windows, eyed the pedestrians, regarded the traffic. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a faded tattoo of a sleeve. “All we know are assemblages.”

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    Umbrellas are dumb.

    Umbrellas are dumb.

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    BEER CLOUD Definitely a wig for a woman (or man!) living in Brooklyn. 

    BEER CLOUD

    Definitely a wig for a woman (or man!) living in Brooklyn. 

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    WE WILL NEVER DIE JUST YETThis is important (and do not ever let someone who is successful at life tell you otherwise): There is a building near my office that was used as an exterior shot on a famous sitcom about a group of friends. It has been off the air for almost a decade but the show is syndicated. Tourists stand on the corner and take pictures of it. All day long. The show was not even filmed in this city. This is our culture. Tourists. Photos. All. Day. Long. I took two pictures of food today. I do not have a healthy relationship with food nor money but I get along with liquid fine. Remember when we saw the plane writing in the sky?The approaching train sounded like lasers. On the train, a man with a torn jacket said to a little woman wearing a red coat, “Excuse me, miss. What day is it?” She pulled her earbuds out. “Friday.” He said thank you. At the next stop, he said, “One of these guys should give you a seat.” She could not hear him. She had her earbuds in again. “They should give you a seat!” He had an unopened can in his pocket, something to drink. “Is this 59th street?” Another man said, “When it stops, bro.” The man with the torn jack held out his hand with the cross dangling. “Could you spare a quarter?” Outside the gym, a man walked past wearing green jeans. Does that mean anything to anyone any more? Inside the elevator to the gym, a woman told another woman that she has a student whose name is pronounced “shu-thead” but it is not spelled that way. It has an I and no dash. The other woman laughed and said she has a student named La-Dasha, spelled La-Dasha, with a dash. Inside the gym, a sweaty man wore a T-shirt that said, I HAVE DOUGHNUTS AT HOME. The view from the yoga studio is sick. Outside the gym, two giant dump trucks stopped for a little old lady jaywalking with a cane, a pile of dead Chistmas trees near a no-parking sign. A blind man in white fur coat stood on the corner, tapping things. A little girl with a pink, rolling backpack stomped down the sidewalk making angry noises. Relationships, my life, my feelings blahblah I do not know how it is for other people.

    WE WILL NEVER DIE JUST YET

    This is important (and do not ever let someone who is successful at life tell you otherwise): There is a building near my office that was used as an exterior shot on a famous sitcom about a group of friends. It has been off the air for almost a decade but the show is syndicated. Tourists stand on the corner and take pictures of it. All day long. The show was not even filmed in this city. This is our culture. Tourists. Photos. All. Day. Long.

    I took two pictures of food today. I do not have a healthy relationship with food nor money but I get along with liquid fine.

    Remember when we saw the plane writing in the sky?

    The approaching train sounded like lasers. On the train, a man with a torn jacket said to a little woman wearing a red coat, “Excuse me, miss. What day is it?”

    She pulled her earbuds out. “Friday.”

    He said thank you. At the next stop, he said, “One of these guys should give you a seat.”

    She could not hear him. She had her earbuds in again.

    “They should give you a seat!” He had an unopened can in his pocket, something to drink. “Is this 59th street?”

    Another man said, “When it stops, bro.”

    The man with the torn jack held out his hand with the cross dangling. “Could you spare a quarter?”

    Outside the gym, a man walked past wearing green jeans. Does that mean anything to anyone any more?

    Inside the elevator to the gym, a woman told another woman that she has a student whose name is pronounced “shu-thead” but it is not spelled that way. It has an I and no dash. The other woman laughed and said she has a student named La-Dasha, spelled La-Dasha, with a dash.

    Inside the gym, a sweaty man wore a T-shirt that said, I HAVE DOUGHNUTS AT HOME. The view from the yoga studio is sick.

    Outside the gym, two giant dump trucks stopped for a little old lady jaywalking with a cane, a pile of dead Chistmas trees near a no-parking sign. A blind man in white fur coat stood on the corner, tapping things. A little girl with a pink, rolling backpack stomped down the sidewalk making angry noises.

    Relationships, my life, my feelings blahblah I do not know how it is for other people.

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