Evan's been teasing me this last week or so, and I entirely deserve it. See, I've been crushing on this Canadian singer, this little blond girl (I guess I have a thing, sometimes, for cute blond girls -- but then again, who doesn't?) with the voice of an angel and the cutest little snub nose you ever did see. Armed with an autoharp, a grumpy-looking violist friend, and an adorably curly-headed little brother, she's totally won me over.
(Basia Bulat, Gold Rush)
Also solo gorgeous Gold Rush, Walk You Down, Run, Heart of My Own, Heart of My Own (again, and in Paris!).
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
fuschia bike (remnants), firmly locked, 123rd street
I've been walking past this bicycle almost daily for the past week or so on my way to the train after work. First a wheel went missing. Then the handlebars. Eventually (I imagine) nothing will remain but the lock, impenetrable, lingering like the smile of the Cheshire Cat.
lone pumpkin, 187th Street
This adorable little pumpkin has been quietly growing away just outside the front door of my apartment building. No one seems to know who planted it, but I think a certain communal affection has grown up around it a bit. I've seen parents pointing it out to their kids, and the kids crouching down to peer at it and touch it, and I've even caught Joe, our beloved little old doorman, watering it on occasion.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
coffee (again), or, the small not knowings
As some of you may have gathered by now, I drink a bit of coffee and harbor a certain fondness for the men from whom I purchase said coffee. And I've been feeling a little bit sad recently at the lack of lunch cart on the corner of 116th & Amsterdam, not far from my office. Not because I don't have other options for my mid-day coffee, of course, but because the guy there and me, well, let's just say I've been buying coffee from him for a very long time. Over a decade now, in point of fact.
He's been known to go on vacation every once in awhile, and there have been scattered days when his little cart hasn't graced us with its presence. But this time feels different. It's been a couple weeks now since he's been around, and a couple days ago there was (gasp) a pretzel stand in his spot. Which seems somehow like he's given up that corner, and the city is offering it up to other street vendors. And this made me realize that while I put a lot of weight in my daily routines I have little idea what goes on behind them, or on other side of them. Has he left the country and gone back to his childhood home far away? (And where exactly is that far away, anyway?) Has he fallen ill (or possibly worse)? Will he ever again gruffly waive off my attempts at digging that last quarter out of the lint-strewn bottomless pit that is sometimes my bag?
It's funny to miss someone one barely knows, and yet there it is. This tiny, consistently bright thread woven through the fabric of my beloved city, through the daily fabric of my life, has disappeared into the unknown and unknowable and this, this breaks my heart a little bit.
He's been known to go on vacation every once in awhile, and there have been scattered days when his little cart hasn't graced us with its presence. But this time feels different. It's been a couple weeks now since he's been around, and a couple days ago there was (gasp) a pretzel stand in his spot. Which seems somehow like he's given up that corner, and the city is offering it up to other street vendors. And this made me realize that while I put a lot of weight in my daily routines I have little idea what goes on behind them, or on other side of them. Has he left the country and gone back to his childhood home far away? (And where exactly is that far away, anyway?) Has he fallen ill (or possibly worse)? Will he ever again gruffly waive off my attempts at digging that last quarter out of the lint-strewn bottomless pit that is sometimes my bag?
It's funny to miss someone one barely knows, and yet there it is. This tiny, consistently bright thread woven through the fabric of my beloved city, through the daily fabric of my life, has disappeared into the unknown and unknowable and this, this breaks my heart a little bit.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
bells. also the walking dead.
We were down on the Bowery the other day looking for strange kitchen gadgets on the cheap, and one of the restaurant supply stores we found ourselves exploring had $5 bells. You know, the kind that sit on counters in motel lobbies the world over, at least in the movies and old novels. Cute little silver dome-shaped bells with a little button on top just begging to be depressed. By which of course I mean rung. Sometimes irresistibly, just to hear that pleasingly harmonious jangly chime ring out again and again and again. (At least this is how I feel about them sometimes.)
At any rate, we have such a bell at our reserves desk in the library and we are all well-trained, Pavlovian style, to jump at the ringing of said bell. But sadly, our sweet little overworked bell has been rung beyond endurance and for awhile now has emitted only a sad little clunk instead of that pleasingly jangly chime. We jump anyway, our ears well attuned to said clunk, but our dear patrons don't necessarily know this and sometimes stand there at the desk banging away at that bell, oblivious to our (almost always) internal cringes and grimaces and twitches.
So you can imagine my excitement upon seeing that row of little boxes all neatly aligned, each containing a single shining bell, hidden deep in the bowels of one of those cavernous Bowery restaurant supply stores. And finally this morning I remembered to bring it to work, chiming softly with my every step from within the confines of my beloved messenger bag.
It is early in the day still, and our doors have not yet opened to the public, yet here I sit in anticipation of that sound, that jangly harmonious chiming noise, ringing out through our cavernously dark basement library and brightening up yet another gray and rainy late-August day.
Also, The Walking Dead is coming soon to the little screen. How excited am I? Pretty damned excited. Well, I would be more excited if I got AMC, but my technologically savvy boyfriend assures me that there are ways and then there are ways of getting around such minor impediments as that.
At any rate, we have such a bell at our reserves desk in the library and we are all well-trained, Pavlovian style, to jump at the ringing of said bell. But sadly, our sweet little overworked bell has been rung beyond endurance and for awhile now has emitted only a sad little clunk instead of that pleasingly jangly chime. We jump anyway, our ears well attuned to said clunk, but our dear patrons don't necessarily know this and sometimes stand there at the desk banging away at that bell, oblivious to our (almost always) internal cringes and grimaces and twitches.
So you can imagine my excitement upon seeing that row of little boxes all neatly aligned, each containing a single shining bell, hidden deep in the bowels of one of those cavernous Bowery restaurant supply stores. And finally this morning I remembered to bring it to work, chiming softly with my every step from within the confines of my beloved messenger bag.
It is early in the day still, and our doors have not yet opened to the public, yet here I sit in anticipation of that sound, that jangly harmonious chiming noise, ringing out through our cavernously dark basement library and brightening up yet another gray and rainy late-August day.
Also, The Walking Dead is coming soon to the little screen. How excited am I? Pretty damned excited. Well, I would be more excited if I got AMC, but my technologically savvy boyfriend assures me that there are ways and then there are ways of getting around such minor impediments as that.
Monday, August 23, 2010
comics & tweets
Evan and I headed to midtown yesterday afternoon in search of the perfect bowl of ramen, and came pretty close to finding it at Menchanko-tei. But just as we were getting ready to head back out into the light of day, the skies opened up and a torrential downpour set in. Luckily for Evan, Midtown Comics just happened to be literally next door to where we had been slurping up our noodles and Japanese picles. Not so luckily for me, though: at first because I was bored, and then eventually because I found such wonderful things and what I need just about as much as a kick in the head is something else to start spending my hard-earned money on. Like the Walking Dead (only $38 for over 1000 of yummy zombie badness? How can a girl say no to that?). And Buffy. And more Sandman. And this stunning little number. And the lushly gorgeous comic-book rendering of the Dark Tower series, which I have been reading this summer in its original novel form. Oh the temptation...
In other news, friend Zak posted this fascinating (and infuriating) Salon article yesterday explaining how the so-called "ground zero mosque" has been trumped up into a false scandal to win over votes in an election year. All the controversy aside, I can't help but find it disturbing to think that we live in an era in which our politicians 'tweet' at us. As in, "Sarah Palin had tweeted her famous 'peaceful Muslims, pls refudiate' tweet."
Headline I would like to see? Sarah Tweets Her Last: former half-term Alaskan governor and failed vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin's twitter feed canceled permanently by order of defenders of the English language everywhere.
In other news, friend Zak posted this fascinating (and infuriating) Salon article yesterday explaining how the so-called "ground zero mosque" has been trumped up into a false scandal to win over votes in an election year. All the controversy aside, I can't help but find it disturbing to think that we live in an era in which our politicians 'tweet' at us. As in, "Sarah Palin had tweeted her famous 'peaceful Muslims, pls refudiate' tweet."
Headline I would like to see? Sarah Tweets Her Last: former half-term Alaskan governor and failed vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin's twitter feed canceled permanently by order of defenders of the English language everywhere.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
'when people speak of a haunted house...'
"I think if you live in one place long enough—"
"When people speak of a haunted house, they mean ghosts flitting about in it, but that’s not it at all. When a house is haunted—what I’m trying to explain—it is the feeling you get that it looks like you, that your soul has become architecture, and the house in all its materials has taken you over with a power akin to haunting. As if you, in fact, are the ghost. And as I look at you, a kind, lovely young woman, part of me says not that I don’t belong here, which is the truth, but that you don’t belong here. I’m sorry, that’s quite a terrible thing to say. It merely means—"
"It means life is heartbreaking."
(E.L. Doctorow, Edgemont Drive)
"When people speak of a haunted house, they mean ghosts flitting about in it, but that’s not it at all. When a house is haunted—what I’m trying to explain—it is the feeling you get that it looks like you, that your soul has become architecture, and the house in all its materials has taken you over with a power akin to haunting. As if you, in fact, are the ghost. And as I look at you, a kind, lovely young woman, part of me says not that I don’t belong here, which is the truth, but that you don’t belong here. I’m sorry, that’s quite a terrible thing to say. It merely means—"
"It means life is heartbreaking."
(E.L. Doctorow, Edgemont Drive)
Thursday, August 19, 2010
weddings, death, violins, bagels, school
It's funny how seemingly disparate threads of our lives, having unraveled years ago, can sometimes re-converge, bringing back crystalline moments we had perhaps forgotten. Such was the morning of returning to school, beginning that strange transition back into the normal world of a 16-year-old girl, a few days after my father's death.
I've had weddings on the brain lately, what with Jessica & Andrew's May wedding and the honor of reading a poem there, the ex-boyfriend's wedding a couple days ago, Mom & Paul's 8th anniversary a week ago, what would have been Mom & Dad's 42nd anniversary in June, Nate & Shanna's first anniversary in September, the upcoming black-tie affair, and of course Katrin & Jon's lovely lake wedding earlier this month.
Oh Katrin's wedding. It was beautiful and joyous and sweet and in a way, for me, heartbreakingly sad. It was a reminder that that place, that beloved lake of mine, is a place I can visit, can even return to again and again, but can never force into still being home. It was also in many ways the wedding I might have wanted had my family stayed in Lake Mohegan, had my father been around to walk me down the 'aisle.' I envied Katrin those moments with Nico, even as I smiled to see them together, looking stunningly beautiful beneath the overarching trees and spattering of raindrops as Nico walked Katrin down to the water, to us, to her Jon. I envied Katrin that perfect moment when the sun came out, bathing them both in a radiant golden light as they spoke their vows to each other, though I was grinning even as I cried (yes, I cry sometimes at weddings).
At the same time I am grateful for having a chance to somehow re-experience this beloved growing-up place at such a lovely occasion, on such a lovely day. The other time there was such a large lake event was for my father's memorial service, back in 1993. We, clothed in sadness and clustered down by the water on a stunningly beautiful April morning, perched on benches and the beached swimming raft and ad hoc rows of folding chairs, listened to Katrin and her sister, Yona, play their little violins in between people speaking -- some tragically sad piece that they had learned the day before just for the occasion (prodigies the both of them, I swear).
It was a special moment to watch Yona, all grown up now and absolutely stunning herself, pull out her violin and swing away at those strings in honor of her sister's marriage. And it was a strangely transforming afternoon, this gathering for such a different kind of celebration -- the unadulterated joy of watching two people setting off on a life together instead of the bittersweet joy of celebrating a life's ending, even if a life well-lived.
And then just yesterday, out of the blue, I got a message from Stephen, a boy I knew a little bit in high school, to whom I had written a letter awhile back (always with the letters, this girl). Seems he finally saw said letter and to reassure me that it was really him replying, even though he doesn't really remember me (embarrassing? yeah a little bit -- such is the legacy of the shy and timid teenager), he mentioned the bagel table.
Back in high school we string players were constantly trying to raise money for the orchestra. One of those ways was selling bagels a couple mornings a week in the school lobby before classes started. It fell to the kids with cars (or in my case to the kid with the really nice mom) to get up at ungodly hours and pick up the bagels. We roped in the rest for slicing and buttering and money-taking duty, and they were pretty good about showing up by 7am on their scheduled days (which now that I think about it is pretty impressive for teenagers). Even so, as orchestra president (whatever that meant), I kind of felt like a nag: constantly reminding or reprimanding or annoying people about coming in for their shifts.
My father died on a Sunday and I stayed home from school for most of that week, but I was on the bagel schedule for that Friday and made one of the friends or relatives who'd flown in for the memorial service drive me to the school. I walked in to find Mr. Schwartz, high school orchestra conductor extraordinaire, and Stephen setting up in the lobby. They looked up at me, glanced at each other, and then Mr. Schwartz just smiled this sad warm smile and said, "I guess we should have known you'd come in today."
And that's how I went back to school, and it's strange that until yesterday I'd forgotten that moment so completely it may as well never have happened.
I've had weddings on the brain lately, what with Jessica & Andrew's May wedding and the honor of reading a poem there, the ex-boyfriend's wedding a couple days ago, Mom & Paul's 8th anniversary a week ago, what would have been Mom & Dad's 42nd anniversary in June, Nate & Shanna's first anniversary in September, the upcoming black-tie affair, and of course Katrin & Jon's lovely lake wedding earlier this month.
Oh Katrin's wedding. It was beautiful and joyous and sweet and in a way, for me, heartbreakingly sad. It was a reminder that that place, that beloved lake of mine, is a place I can visit, can even return to again and again, but can never force into still being home. It was also in many ways the wedding I might have wanted had my family stayed in Lake Mohegan, had my father been around to walk me down the 'aisle.' I envied Katrin those moments with Nico, even as I smiled to see them together, looking stunningly beautiful beneath the overarching trees and spattering of raindrops as Nico walked Katrin down to the water, to us, to her Jon. I envied Katrin that perfect moment when the sun came out, bathing them both in a radiant golden light as they spoke their vows to each other, though I was grinning even as I cried (yes, I cry sometimes at weddings).
At the same time I am grateful for having a chance to somehow re-experience this beloved growing-up place at such a lovely occasion, on such a lovely day. The other time there was such a large lake event was for my father's memorial service, back in 1993. We, clothed in sadness and clustered down by the water on a stunningly beautiful April morning, perched on benches and the beached swimming raft and ad hoc rows of folding chairs, listened to Katrin and her sister, Yona, play their little violins in between people speaking -- some tragically sad piece that they had learned the day before just for the occasion (prodigies the both of them, I swear).
It was a special moment to watch Yona, all grown up now and absolutely stunning herself, pull out her violin and swing away at those strings in honor of her sister's marriage. And it was a strangely transforming afternoon, this gathering for such a different kind of celebration -- the unadulterated joy of watching two people setting off on a life together instead of the bittersweet joy of celebrating a life's ending, even if a life well-lived.
And then just yesterday, out of the blue, I got a message from Stephen, a boy I knew a little bit in high school, to whom I had written a letter awhile back (always with the letters, this girl). Seems he finally saw said letter and to reassure me that it was really him replying, even though he doesn't really remember me (embarrassing? yeah a little bit -- such is the legacy of the shy and timid teenager), he mentioned the bagel table.
Back in high school we string players were constantly trying to raise money for the orchestra. One of those ways was selling bagels a couple mornings a week in the school lobby before classes started. It fell to the kids with cars (or in my case to the kid with the really nice mom) to get up at ungodly hours and pick up the bagels. We roped in the rest for slicing and buttering and money-taking duty, and they were pretty good about showing up by 7am on their scheduled days (which now that I think about it is pretty impressive for teenagers). Even so, as orchestra president (whatever that meant), I kind of felt like a nag: constantly reminding or reprimanding or annoying people about coming in for their shifts.
My father died on a Sunday and I stayed home from school for most of that week, but I was on the bagel schedule for that Friday and made one of the friends or relatives who'd flown in for the memorial service drive me to the school. I walked in to find Mr. Schwartz, high school orchestra conductor extraordinaire, and Stephen setting up in the lobby. They looked up at me, glanced at each other, and then Mr. Schwartz just smiled this sad warm smile and said, "I guess we should have known you'd come in today."
And that's how I went back to school, and it's strange that until yesterday I'd forgotten that moment so completely it may as well never have happened.
article of the day
And so hilarious I'm stealing it outright, courtesy of the UK's The DailyMash:
OUTRAGE OVER PLANS TO BUILD LIBRARY NEXT TO SARAH PALIN
19-08-10
Plans to build a state-of-the-art library next to Republican catastrophe Sarah Palin are causing outrage across mainstream America.
Campaigners have described the project as insensitive and a deliberate act of provocation by people with brains.
The issue is forming a dividing line in advance of November's mid-term congressional elections with candidates being forced to declare whether they have ever been to a library or spoken to someone who has books in their home.
Meanwhile President Obama has caused unease within his own Democratic party by endorsing the library and claiming that not everyone who reads books is responsible for calling Mrs Palin a fuckwit nutjob nightmare of a human being.
But Bill McKay, a leading member of the right-wing Teapot movement, said: "Sarah Palin is a hallowed place for Americans who can't read.
"How is she going to feel knowing that every day there are people going inside a building to find things out for themselves and have thoughts, right in the very shadow of her amazing nipples."
He added: "Our founding fathers intended for every building in this country to be a church containing one book, written by Jesus, that would be read out in a strange voice by an orange man in a shiny suit who would also tell you who you were allowed to kill.
"Building a library next to Mrs Palin is like Pearl Harbour. Or 9/11."
And Wayne Hayes, a pig masseur from Coontree, Virginia, said: "I is so angry right now.
"It's like something is on fire right in the middle of my head. Like I've eaten a real hot chilli, but it's gone up my nose tubes rather than down my ass tubes."
He added: "Would these library lovers allow me to set up a stall next to the Smithsonian Museum and start selling DVDs of bible cartoons as long as it was in accordance with local regulations?
"Oh they would? I see. So is that why they're better than me?"
OUTRAGE OVER PLANS TO BUILD LIBRARY NEXT TO SARAH PALIN
19-08-10
Plans to build a state-of-the-art library next to Republican catastrophe Sarah Palin are causing outrage across mainstream America.
Campaigners have described the project as insensitive and a deliberate act of provocation by people with brains.
The issue is forming a dividing line in advance of November's mid-term congressional elections with candidates being forced to declare whether they have ever been to a library or spoken to someone who has books in their home.
Meanwhile President Obama has caused unease within his own Democratic party by endorsing the library and claiming that not everyone who reads books is responsible for calling Mrs Palin a fuckwit nutjob nightmare of a human being.
But Bill McKay, a leading member of the right-wing Teapot movement, said: "Sarah Palin is a hallowed place for Americans who can't read.
"How is she going to feel knowing that every day there are people going inside a building to find things out for themselves and have thoughts, right in the very shadow of her amazing nipples."
He added: "Our founding fathers intended for every building in this country to be a church containing one book, written by Jesus, that would be read out in a strange voice by an orange man in a shiny suit who would also tell you who you were allowed to kill.
"Building a library next to Mrs Palin is like Pearl Harbour. Or 9/11."
And Wayne Hayes, a pig masseur from Coontree, Virginia, said: "I is so angry right now.
"It's like something is on fire right in the middle of my head. Like I've eaten a real hot chilli, but it's gone up my nose tubes rather than down my ass tubes."
He added: "Would these library lovers allow me to set up a stall next to the Smithsonian Museum and start selling DVDs of bible cartoons as long as it was in accordance with local regulations?
"Oh they would? I see. So is that why they're better than me?"
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