Nondor vs. Nandor: To Live and Shave in L.A. Cubed

N. Nevai phoned yesterday while I was walking through the university media lab. I left the building, walked outside, and mostly listened. Our conversations are still somewhat stilted, and this one was no exception. Still, it's good to be glueing bridge fragments. He had good news, appalling news, disappointing news. It's always hair-pulling time with Nondor, and usually a malingering drift about the edges of ribald delight with Nandor. He personifies duality, and the Hegelian fusion of poles inevitably forces displacement. He exploits this with varying degrees of success. When he's off, he's insipid, mawkish, uncomfortably plaintive. But when he's on...

This is the Nevai I choose to encourage. The Nevai who slaloms off the face of the ineffable and plops head first into the lap of a brazenly femme Brazilian pre-op, scattering magnetic poetry tiles across the hood of an overdue Cobalt rental coupe driven by a Valley runaway wearing tight blue worsted tap pants.

It's good that he's back among the living dead.

TS

PS: Check out this link to Lucia Nevai's new book, Seriously: A Novel. (She's Nondor's mom.) If you've never met her, you've missed out. A groovy lady.