AnimaMundi

Frozen Hiatus

To all of my faithful 5,278 readers, you can see that I have not written much here for a while. I could blame it on a number of factors: the holidaze, laziness, the subzero wind chill, my constantly inflamed sinus-mucus membrane system, the lack of imagination, writer's and reader's block, Twitter... I suppose it is all of these factors combining to numb the psyche and thus immobilize my fingers.

I have a couple of drafts, one of which is time sensitive and the further away from the winter solstice we get the less meaningless it becomes. One draft post is on Sybil, our long dog-gone bloodhound. Her meaning to me is eternal so her memory is not bound by time.

It's Complicated

When the weatherman says it's complicated, that means they don't what the hell is going to happen. They were predicting 2"-5" of snow. We got at least 8" of heavy wet snow. I know it's winter in upstate NY and anytime after December 1st watch out! So I cranked up my snowblower this morning and, being the fucking winter warrior that I am, I cleared half of the driveway in no time. Then the damned machine kept veering to the left. I looked at the tire and it wasn't flat but had separated from the rim. Meaning that it was indeed flat but didn't appear flat. There was no air in the tire. I tried a pump. No luck. My friend T. came over and we got the god damn wheel and tire off after a bit of a struggle. Thanks, locktite. Well, it works. So, we bring the tire and wheel over to his immaculate garage. This guy has carpeting in his garage. How many people do you know that have carpeting in their garage? It's not plush carpeting, but still. Anyway, he has this huge ass air compressor and we try several different ways to inflate the tire, but the seal between the rim and tire was screwed up. So, I bring the tire up to my crack Russian mechanic G. who is just up the street. I look up on one of the lifts and see this old car that reminded me of a vintage MG only somewhat larger. G. tells me it is a 1948 Bugatti. This car is a year younger than I am and it doesn't look that bad. It is a convertible and sits up there with pride and a certain presence. G. told me that The Bugatti runs and that an older gentleman wants to drive it again before he dies. I think about that while I look at the car and try to imagine what roads and hills it has been on. Who sat in the seats with the wind blowing their hair and scarves into the air? The back fender has an "NL" sticker on it for the Netherlands.

When I ask G. how much for the snowblower tire repair, he replies nothing. I look him in the eye and say thank you. G. has serviced my Accord and Accra's since 2000 or so. Before that he serviced my late 80's Volvo 240 many times. So we have an economic and neighborly relationship dating back a few years. I have handed over many dollars to this hardworking guy. I have heard about Russian mechanics from the Ukraine. They know how to manufacture parts for autos for which parts are no longer made. It's this way with the 1948 Bugatti. For it to see the road again, he will have to make parts. I'd like to see that car on the road and meet that gentleman owns it. While G. repairs the seal on the tire, two of his mechanics take a break. I stand next to them. One is a Russian who is at least 6+ ft tall and another is a Latin American. They both are seated at a table. The Russian is about as tall seated as the Latin American is standing. They talk cars and the pros and cons. Both hardworking immigrants to the new land of opportunity. They come to work everyday and don't ponder Ponzi, bank bailouts or hedge funds.

In other weather related news, I just got my new Fedco Seed catalogue in the mail. It's always fun to look through it and see what new varieties are on offer. The pen and ink drawings seem from another time and are beautifully done. This year there's Goethe quotes peppering the text and seed descriptions. In view of the recession, the revealed inadequacies of our food sysytem and the fact that many people started gardens for the first time, it is ironic that New England's weather for the summer of 2009 was the worst in 40 years. This was the summer of end blight and the loss of almost all of the tomato crop. That's why those heirlooms or any tomato for that matter were so expensive at the farmer's markets in the Northeast this year.   

"...in our discussion of the cotyledon...we found several leaves and apparently several modes carried together around one point. As the various species of pine develop from the seed, they display a rayed circle of unmistakable needles that, unlike other cotyledons, are already well developed. Thus in the earliest infancy of this plant we can already see a hint, as it were, of the power of nature. which is to produce flowering and fruiting in later years."  Goethe, from "The Metamorphosis of Plants"

"Seed is the biggest issue around democracy in food. Seed is a common resource, and we have to protect it for future generations...I would call GM a cruelty to seed...I will live to see the end of Monsanto."  Vandana Shiva

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has for the most part meant little to me. I had been taught the mythical first thanksgiving gospel. Our family observed it with all of the fixin's, but it sort of left me with an, eh. I liked coming home for Thanksgiving from college given the rations in the cafeteria and my own cooking skills at the time. Don't get me wrong, I still love a good turkey sandwich on toasted rye with mayo. In fact, it is my sandwich of choice when I eat at the local deli. 

I am all for giving thanks for my family and friends, what I have experienced and for what I have. Some people love Thanksgiving for its non-religious slant. I don't want to eviscerate Thanksgiving. It's not that important to me. It should be enjoyed for its simple meaning. Let's get it over with so we can start shopping in earnest.

Uncle Fester Redux

It was in January 2008 that I posted this about my head, hair and face. Now it has happened again. This time the circumstances were different. When I went to my barber, Joe, the other day, I asked him to cut my hair just like his only slighter longer. He has a brush cut that has grown out for about two months or so. It's an inexact science as everyone's hair grows at different rates. But not that different, unless you are Larry David. When I asked him to do this, he remarked to the white haired gentleman shorn right before me, "I never know what this guy wants!" I turned to him and said "just like yours only an inch longer." As he was cutting my hair, he continued to talk to the white haired gentleman he had just shorn about taxes, repairmen and roofers. Not good. I had my back to the mirror. When I turned around I looked at my head. He had brush cut the sides of my head and left my thinning top longer. It looked stupid. Like Ed Grimley without the gel-spike. So I asked him to take more off the top. Which he did. My hair will look like I asked him to cut it in about a month or so. I am going to take a photo of it then and show it to him. Joe is cool. He'll say "Why didn't you tell me that's the way you wanted it cut?" 

Here ya' go:
  

Library of Alexandria

Some years before I had even heard of the Library of Alexandria, I had a big dream about its contents and its wealth as "the place of the cure of the soul". The books and manuscipts were displayed before me in a special light. It was a humbling dream. It only was years later through reading the works of Carl Jung and E.M. Forster that I learned of the biblioteke, which term actually refers to the Collection of Books rather than the building itself, and its importance in the history of western civilization. In light of the dream, the print copy book versus the ebook is at an interesting nexus right about now.

Autumn in NYC

Our trip to NYC was a good one. The Excelsior Hotel is a great place to stay if you can get a reasonable rate. It's right across the street from the Museum of Natural History. I figured we parked somewhere under the Hayden Planetarium in the constellation of Orion. On Friday we had a fine lunch at Land Thai Kitchen. The place is small, but big on hospitality and flavorful food. They don't hold back on the robust spices and chilies. The Massaman curry with chicken, the green curry with chicken and the wok cashew nut with shrimp were all top shelf. Thanks to Gastropoda for the deem. I went again on Saturday night and ordered take out to bring back home. Our waitress from the day before, Pookie, remembered me. I found this a comforting touch. How many places have I been in where a person remembers me from a one time visit? In a city of millions of people.

On Friday night we met friends for an early 6:30 dinner at Fatty Crab at their Hudson Street location. Without a doubt, I can rank this as one of our worst dining experiences in Manhattan dating back to 1980. What's up with that, Zak? Where is Zak Pellaccio amidst your empire? Nowhere man. It is something I don't even want to blog about. The food and music were that lousy. The decibel level at the place was in the redzone continually. Think hardcore-screamo-noise-pop-grunge-garage-punk cubed. The food was flat, meagre and exorbitantly priced at $155 with 4 glasses of wine before tip. Luckily, the gracious people we met there made it all worth it. I tried to get even by posting on City Search, Chowhound, Menupages, Yelp, NY Magazine and post #80 on eGullet. I felt that I had to say something. 

Maud and Max are good, very talented and humble people. They both have that languid southern feel. We like that.  We were fortunate to get to meet you both. Big up to both of you. Thanks again for taking the time to get together. And Maud, bless her heart, managed to drag herself away from Ancestry.com for a few hours.

On Saturday we made for the Chelsea Market before the swarms of people attending the NYC Wine and Food Festival clogged the place. After walking around the West Village and the LES, we decided to try Sigiri for lunch. The place is small, but big on their welcome. The curries were bold and robust. There is no holding back here either. We shared the prawn and chicken curries. Sri Lankan cuisine is similar to southern Indian, but different and unique in its own way. Sigiri is definitely on the return visit list.

Saturday night we made the obligatory visit to Fairway Market for Parmigiano cheese, sherry vinegar and a few other things. Aldea and Locanda Verde will have to wait till our next visit. Our energy levels were not optimal so...

On Sunday, the line at The New French was very long so we opted for Petite Abeille just down Hudson Street a few blocks. It was decent enough. The staff were very friendly and the food was good. Nothing exceptional, but solid fare.

We spent the rest of the day walking to Washington Square and Union Square.

In NYC the rare always happens. It is bound up with the people of the city. This is why I love NYC. The people make NYC. This is what makes us keep coming back.

P.S. Oh, these were all over the pavement.   

 

Wild Wild West

The Italian Wine Guy on the Italian Wine Trail journeys to Marfa, Big Bend and the Chihauhau desert.  He is a creature of the desert so he knows its sounds and smells. Check out his slideshow for a feel for what it's like to be there. I especially like the night shot that is more than a little surreal.

The Summer of Death Or Who Died Today?

A few days ago, I had written a short draft about the deaths of so many celebrities this summer, but then deleted it. It wasn't going anywhere and I was hot & humid-blitzed and still am.

Ironically, our current culture is one of a denial of death at all costs. Yet the media that we have created only serve to heighten our awareness of the deaths of many more people around the planet on any given day or month. The ghost in the machine seems to reflect another opposite facet of the obsessive cult of immortality and the puer aeternus.

It was when I saw this "Abundance of Death" post on Kottke that I started to think about the big D again, as I am wont to do every now and then. Coincidentally, this past winter was pretty deadly for friends and relatives, one of the more plentiful crops for the grim reaper in recent memory. Last February, I remember looking at my cousin's obit photograph in The Westerly Sun. I couldn't have seen that picture on the web say 10-15 years ago.

On August 20, 2009, I heard on NPR that the average life expectancy in the USA has risen to 78 or so. Men clock in at 75+. Women at 80+. Women have always and still rule. According to NPR's 2007 stats, we are still 3rd on the planet in terms of life expectancy. But the ever reliable Wikipedia, ranks us as #50. The figures are from the 2009 World Fact Book. Big discrepancy. I'll try to look into this slight gap.

The Daily Death highlights an increasing awareness of the deaths of celebrities and micro-celebrities due to the convergence of 24-7 news, gossip web sites, Twitter, Facebook, RSS feeds et al.

Kottke wrote about the future obituary glut in 2005: 

"Frankly, I don't know how we're all going to handle this. Chances are in 15-20 years, someone famous whose work you enjoyed or whom you admired or who had a huge influence on who you are as a person will die each day...and probably even more than one a day. And that's just you...many other famous people will have died that day who mean something to other people. Will we all just be in a constant state of mourning? Will the NY Times national obituary section swell to 30 pages a day? As members of the human species, we're used to dealing with the death of people we "know" in amounts in the low hundreds over the course of a lifetime. With higher life expectancies and the increased number of people known to each of us (particularly in the hypernetworked part of the world), how are we going to handle it when several thousand people we know die over the course of our lifetime?"

On my Google home page I have the NY Times obituaries in a side bar. Sometimes I find out about a death otherwise, e.g. Manny Oquendo who died on March 25, 2009, and wondered why his obit didn't get into the NY Times until April 12th. Here is one of the premier Latino bandleaders and timbaleros of all time and it took over two weeks for his obituary to show up in the NY Times! He was born in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, not that far from West 43rd St. in Manhattan, as the crow flies. But when a pioneer of the study ulcers dies it takes less than a week for his death to make the obituary hit list. WTF? I mean come on. I wonder how long it would take for Joey Shithead's death to make it into the NY Times obits?

In today's NY Times obit, there's a entry for Larry Knectel. Who the hell is he? He was part of Phil Spector's Wall of Sound group, The Wrecking Crew. How would I have know this unless I was a knowledgeable fanatic? I vaguely remember his name on the credits to some albums. The web makes us aware of the deaths of people we would never had known shit about. I have bought cd's as a result of the NY Times obit of a musician that I had heard of but did not own any of his/her work.

Lots of Death ahead. But the one death of the summer of 2009 that keeps on giving will never die, really. His death is the only one to bring down the mighty Twitter. Not many or any will do that again. Wait, it's Michael Jackson's birthday. On which day he was supposedly buried.

P.S. If it wasn't for the web, I think the death of Ellie Greenwich would have gone largely unnoticed. I didn't know who she was, but the music that she wrote, ah...

And Eunice Shriver and Ted Kennedy, the 3rd longest serving member of the US Senate? Who were the other two who served longer? One of whom is still a senator.

It's telling that when one mentions celebrity deaths, people take notice. During 2009, many people anonymous to the internet have died while struggling to make a life. Most of these deaths go unchronicled and unnoticed. Some of these people have created a life of service to humanity. They don't receive headlines and would shun it if they did. These people are the ones who pass the cup to the next generation.

On MSM, at the end of the year they show the faces of the people who died during 2009. It will be something else this year.  

 

P.S. I know that this is choppy and doesn't flow very well. That's because I had a very stolid boring high school English teacher. His nickname was "Tiger Lowry" and he had halitosis.

Update: The Awl is upset about coinage of the phrase "Summer of Death."

Was it NY Magazine?

I believe it was The Awl.

Update: The summer of death ain't over, yet. Ismael Valenzuela died yesterday.

Update: Mr. D has about a week left to the summer of 2009. In the interim Larry Helbert, Patrick Swayze, Sheila Lukins and Norma Rae.

Omission: Reverend Ike died on July 28, 2009.

Update: The Grim Reaper's swath of the summer of 2009 isn't over yet. RIP Mary Travers and Henry Gibson.

Update: Kottke spots Kurt Anderson quoting David Kipen on Twitter.

The Awl on the NY Times getting in on the act too.

I forgot about James Luther Dickinson and David Carradine.

The autumnal equinox is at 5:18 pm September 22, 2009.

The 2009 Summer of Death is now officially over.

 

Weird People That I Have Known and Loved

I should make this a semi-irregular thing here. Maybe I will, depending how well my memory serves me or vice versa.

• I once knew a co-worker who would repeatedly spit on the floormat of my car while I was driving. Granted it was a nervous tick, but I don't know many other people who have reported this phenomenon. (Is that Latin ending correct, now-out-of-the-closet Brothers of LaSalle Academy on the corner of Smith and Academy Avenues?)
• We once knew a then childless couple who were so cheap that they would sit in their car on Halloween night to make sure no one vandalized their house. They refused to buy candy. This was when Halloween was still ok. I am convinced that they were concerned with Mr. Tooth Decay.
• I once knew an intellectual giant who drank LSD from the frige. It was in ice water so it was diluted so much he didn't know he was tripping pretty much all the fucking time. He didn't have his toes in his nose, but he was pretty friggin' heavy and far out. It was the late 60's. This same person quieted a crying baby a few months old without a word. 
• I once knew a gay Puerto Rican man from Brooklyn who used pork chops that he eaten to make a tomato sauce. This was in the mid-80's and he was paid very well by NY State.
• I know a gay man who has a dungeon replete with probing paraphenalia and harnesses that resembles one of Mengele's just-for-fun recreational labs and/or a well stocked tack shop for the polo set.
• We know a woman who has one of her front teeth missing. She lives alone and is on a NY State pension and Social Security. She also has dental care. It has been this way for over a year going on two.
• We once knew an aspiring actor living now in LA who threw his bowling ball down a sewer and repeatedly cursed it loudly for betraying him.
• I know a person who was/is trying to become Google's #1 hit for the search "booty shakin".
• I know a person who asked to be flung out of a car door, roll over and land on the sidewalk. This was in the summer of 1966 and the sidewalk fronted a summer guest house for the geriatric near the Atlantic Ocean. As the elders on the porch gasped, the car no sooner returned and scooped me up. 
• I know a person while on purple-blotter (?) acid who claimed that he saw an upper-torso-Christ-on-the Cross-centric pulsating mandala on the shores of Watch Hill, RI.
• While driving to Providence, RI in a blinding blizzard, the person next to me turned off the headlights on my VW, at night. He said he was trying to find the radio dial. 
• I once knew F.Q.'s older brother in RI. On a hunting trip, this older brother was led to believe he had shot one of his hunting buddies. When confronted with the joke, this guy covered the supposedly dead body with leaves and said "If any of you say anything, I'll shoot you too!"
• I knew a person who went to Martinique and stayed at Anse a l'Ane. At one of the few restaurants in the area, he befriended a waitress who was also the daughter of the owner. One night he asked her what the phrase "lapin chode" meant. He had heard it in a song by the late activist Max Ransay. At first she skirted the question and finally answered that it had something to do with the skin of women being burned by the sun. She then brought him to a table of old men playing cards. She told them that he wanted to know what the words meant. They looked at the guy very warily. No one said anything. "Lapin chode" literally means "hot rabbit", the rabbit part being a form of endearment. To this day on the island, when a woman is caught cheating on her man, he pours boiling oil on her face to disfigure her for life.  
• One of our former nextdoor neighbors were professional grifters. They were bikers who emphasized to us that they rode with doctors and lawyers. The husband had more disability claims than Bernie Madoff had clients. They were next to us less than a year. They introduced themselves to us as the "Four Knights". 
• We also had a nextdoor neighbor who preceeded the Knights. He literally returned EVERYTHING he bought.
• I know a native New Orleanian who once lived in Fargo, ND. On the day and time that the levees breached, he was driving in his car. At the approximate time of the levee failure, the Mardi Grad beads on his rearview mirror snapped. 
• I once had a friend and a woman who were caught swimming naked with the seals at The Mystic Aquarium in the early morning hours .
• I once had a friend who was in between sets at a club in New London, CT. We were both relieving ourselves when he turned and continued to relieve himself on a friend just entering the john.
• I worked with Billy at NY State Dept. of Social Services. Billy would show up at my desk witha quarter on his forehead or at the secretary's desk with a red "immediate attention" tag paper clipped to his zipper. His was notorius for his crowded elevator questions. After the door shut and the elevator climed or descended, he would ask in a loud enough voice so everyone on the elevator could hear: "So how is that woman doing that you ran over last night?" I would then answer in turn: "Oh, she's doing fine in ICU" or "not so good, both her legs are broken and she's in a coma." Some people of course laughed, but some  were probably horrified.

Summer 2009

  Tropea onionsNiman Ranch French Pork Roast old vines in the backyard Radishes & garlicRed cabbagesGarlic from Katchie FarmGrilled haricots verts from our garden
Haricots verts from our garden