AnimaMundi

NYTimes Metropolitan Diary March 3, 2008

Dear Diary:

On a recent afternoon, I arranged to meet my daughter at the corner of 34th Street and Fifth Avenue. As I waited, a double-decker tour bus approached the intersection.

As I watched it travel east along 34th Street, I remembered that a patient of mine was a tour guide on just such a bus. On a whim, I looked up. As luck would have it, I saw her on the deck, microphone in hand, giving a tour. I waved, and as the bus turned south onto Fifth Avenue, she looked down and saw me.

Without missing a beat (I read her lips), she said to her group, “And there on the corner of 34th and Fifth stands the original Dr. Pepper.” The tourists all waved and cheered. I waved back as the bus made its way down Fifth Avenue.

Dr. Robert S. Pepper

Uncle Fester Face

This is inspiring. Animamundi is now first on Google search for Uncle Fester face.

Two Photos

I hate brunch so when I saw this, it gave me a laugh.

Aldo reindeerized:

The Last Marathon Man

David Byrne has an interesting journal, although some of his entries are quite long and I get bored and click. However, many of his entries are entertaining and informative. One of recent entries concerned music production costs and the empire of record labels. He also has an interesting take on the NY Times' new building and print media. On the end of the NYC Marathon:

"We had a snack at a nice Hunters Point café and watched outside as the cleanup crews picked up the piles of paper cups and tissues that had been handed out to the runners. Here the streets ran bright yellow with Gatorade — it looked like the marathoners had all peed themselves. A few stragglers limped and walked by, and I wondered if I would be privileged to see the very last person in the marathon, a sight more rare and more difficult to establish than who came in first. I think it was a man in a multicolored headwrap with a few-days-growth beard, who might have been smoking a cigarette as he made his way up the street, listing slightly towards the curb."

Local News

The local news affiliates of the major mainstream networks in the capital district of Albany, NY are deadpan dull. They have not a hint of personality, but this, I suspect, is not unique in the USA. Some dress horrendously frumpy and talk the mono-corp-media speak. WPIX in NYC used to employ one Jerry Girard, a sportscaster. This man not only knew sports, but also had a wicked sense of humor. One night he commented on the longest collegiate baseball game in history. Eighteen million innings. Then he said: "At the end of the game there were 16 people left in the stands, 10 of them still alive." After 21 years, WPIX wanted to employ another person and relegate Jerry to weekends, i.e. a demotion. Jerry walked without a word.

During the Giants' lean years, Girard quipped: "The Giants really have to tighten their defense. I saw a linebacker with binoculars. You have to get closer to the ball than that."

Only in New York.

The Pope and Style

I recently came across a picture of Pope John XXIII. It was a sepia drawing that had been in K's family pictures. Since then, the Pope's picture has been found taped to the kitchen cabinets, on the back of my coat in the closet, on the back of a chair, on the side of the frige, on the front of our China-less China closet, next to Aldo in his bed. The Pope is popular. Now you can dress like the Pope.

Hits

Today marks the most hits for my blog, 55 and counting. Ashley watch out.

No Post

The lack of posts can be attributed to the following:

a) the weather, it has been so damned hot and sunny and great

b) home repairs

c) lawn mowing

d) radio show demo tweaking

e) travel

f) Saratoga Springs (NYRA)

e) summer laziness

f) lack of NOLA posts is due to corruption that I can't really comment on since I don't know anything about the political landscape

The Evil Weed

I recently came across this statement: "I used to do drugs and still do and I used to too." This scientifically proves that drugs destroy neurons, synapses and all the other psychic connections necessary for prolonged productive rational thought. So some schmucks in New Zealand (do they even know what pot is down there?) say that smoking pot is worse than tobacco.

For those stoners out there here are some  pot-sites, as if you didn't already know about them:

Marijuana.com

PotTV

Cannabismarijuana

Clouds

I was looking for a photo of a very old oak tree down the road a piece from where we live. It was a very fine specimen that stood tall and sturdy on a slight rise on the road. People say that there was a farmhouse there at one time, but I haven't pursued it. The majesty of the oak was enough for us. Some say it is 150 -200 years old. It was North Street. Last week a storm came into our area from the North which is unusual. I saw the black clouds rolling in tinged with a brushstroked gray that looked like ominous eyelashes. I grabbed the camera and thought I might get a something of the electrics. When I opened the door a bolt of lightening flashed across the sky from southwest to north. The immediate clap of thunder sent me back into the house. I think it was that bolt that did in the oak. Everyone is saying that it was the high winds, but I'm not sold on that. These acres of land that include some protected wetlands are under development. Two enormous homes have been built so far. It's one of the few remaining pristine spots in the town. So, while searching in vain for a photo  of the great tree I came across these photos. The scans were such that you can't enlarge each shot when clicked on.

The Sea, The Sea

My favorite aunt is slowly fading. She's 83 and has had a pretty good life. She told me that all she wants to do is gamble. Her daughter took her to Foxwoods a few weeks ago. This reminded of a tale that a pro bartender named Tony Walsh told me about his 90 something mother. The Walsh family ritually converges on Siro's one night late during the Saratoga racing season. One night I happened to be at Siro's and was introduced to some of the family at the historic bar whilst they got ready to dine, i.e. serious drinking. Tony said that his arthritic crippled mother experiences a miraculous Lourdes-like healing when the track opens each season. It's sort of the same thing with my aunt Celena and the slots. She's in good spirits, even though she can't smoke those foot long cigarettes anymore. Oxygen and lighters aren't a great combination. So, last week I went down to the CT and RI shore to spend a few days at her son's home. My cousin plays some great trumpet with this nefarious crew. I caught them Friday nite. They're pretty hot. Sugar Ray and his golden throat were on hand. Many years ago, I was at the infamous Knickerbocker for a rehearsal and I told Ray that he sounded like Nick Gravenites. He liked that. You might want check his latest album, "My Life, My Friends, My Music". It kicks and is a very strong effort. Greg Piccolo was on tenor. The man can blow. "Hommage" is a fine tribute to his musical influences. We spent some time talking about New Orleans. He gets it. He knows what New Orleans means to the planet. He ranted and then apologized. I told him that he didn't have to apologize for anything.

Thursday afternoon I spent some time at the Point Judith lighthouse after a mediocre order of fried clams at Iggy's Dough Boys in Narragansett. People on Chowhound had raved about the quality of the fried clams. These people are either not from the coast or have their taste buds up their ass. The best fried clams have big plump sweet bellies and are the nectar of the sea. The batter should be very light and the oil fresh. I had better Maryland fried clams inland at The Chowder Pot, south of Hartford, CT. The sea and crystalline salt air washed away any memory of Iggy's. The cirrus clouds looked like delicate flowers in a sky sea of cool bright blue. Debussy could not compose at the ocean. I understand why.

Several good finds during my stay:

Fresh stripped bass at Water St. Cafe in Stonington, CT

Tunisian Harissa found in Marshall's for $3. The importer in Maine wants $12 for 185g jar!

This Stanley Turrentine compilation that I listened to several times with the wind blowing through the house

Vale Do Bonfim 2004 Reserve Douro from the vast Symington Estates

I finally met up with a very talented woman photographer who found my little blog a while back via The Mystic Horns. We've been e-mailing each other for some months. I knew what she looked like, but she didn't know what I looked like. When I arrived at the gig, I started talking with Sugar Ray at the bar. Soon, a woman walked up to us at the bar and said hello to Ray. I didn't immediately recognize her, but then the photograph popped into my photographic memory. I mentioned NOLA and something about her that surprised her. She was a little taken back and asked how did I know these things. She asked my name, but I said nothing. It was then that she put NOLA + Mr. Norcia (Ray's father and my music teacher from grade school in Westerly, RI) + I might be coming to the gig together. It's all about the music, non? She then slapped me on the face with the ferocity of a tigress. After that, she threw Sugar Ray's heirloom harmonica at me, leaving me with a bump on my temple the size of a grapefruit! I lie. She yelled something at me in recognition and started to laugh. I don't think she swore. She then came over and we hugged each other. I believe that is what happened anyway. Never trust a man to get the story straight-right. A woman with lots of caffeine in her is a much more reliable source of remembering interpersonal encounters.

A good getaway, a little bittersweet though. What isn't?

My mother's wedding reception at The Knickerbocker 1943

Futuristas

Via Maud, Dispatches From Tomorrowland throws out some very thought provoking stuff on who knows what and who doesn't. In this age of the arrogant superior all-knowing uber-illuminati, he echoes the thoughts of many great minds past and present. That is, we know nothing. No thing. Nothing. Zilch. With this admission, humanity takes the first step towards wisdom. Someone is still waiting. 

"Trying To Maintain My Naivete While Becoming Jaded"

Pee Wee Herman was born in Peekskill, NY. "Pee Wee's Playhouse" was a hoot in more ways than one. The NYT called it "maniacally subversive". Here's their piece about what Mr. Rubens has been up to lately. He's working on a new adventure movie. I'm in line.

Long John Silver Now Offering Free Jack Rabbit With Every Order of Shrimps

This made my my day. She's back and so is Long John Silver's promo.

Important update: The jack rabbit remix of the germane parts the video are on You Tube here:

Jack-Your-Body-Rabbit

In NYC, You Gets What You Gets

Overheardinnewyork.com has some gems. Of course, there's only a few million on the streets.Over heard at Katz's Deli, where they bend over backward to please.

And this, overheard at Trader Joe's of all places. I wonder if he bought the walnuts there?

In the Garden of Eden, Penn Station.

Merry Christmas

Hot Dog Vendor

In John Kennedy Toole's "A Confederacy of Dunces", Ignatius J. Reilly's mother, Irene, would have been proud of her son if he made this kind of cash.

Night Ride

Somewhere around 1997, I received an email asking if I would could DJ a wedding in Parsippany, NJ. It was the only time I ever got a DJ gig from the internet. I replied that I could do it. The person responded and asked if I had a problem with a lesbian wedding. I told her not at all and we agreed on a price. So, I contacted my African DJ friend Beto who at the time lived in Bloomfield. He rented speaks to me for a nominal charge and then post-wedding reception we would head into NYC for his regular Saturday night at Kilimanjaro in Tribeca. It was a late August day that was pitch perfect. The country in western NJ is very bucolic and Parsippany is an affluent community set amidst farmland and horse ranches. We had a little trouble finding the place since it was secluded. When we got there, we walked in and saw a hillside overlooking a swimming pool. It was very impressive. It was obvious that the family owned a profitable business. We set up the equipment on the hillside next to a tree. Beto had enormous speakers so there was no problem projecting the music down to the pool. But this wasn't a bass-heavy wedding so we kept the volume moderate. The caterers were top shelf and we feasted like royalty. The only request that we received from the daughter of the host father was "please play some Sinatra for my father". So I did. They liked it. The host father was Italian old school. He broke down a little when he gave the obligatory toast. He made a remark that his daughter had taken him places that he had never imagined in his life. Then everyone was either jumping in the pool or dancing. After we had feasted and played some music for the enjoyment of all, we packed up. I went into the kitchen to get our fee. There was a feeling in the air of jubilence from the young people who were friends and family of the couple. There was also another feeling of slight unease from the parents of the couple. It was palpable in the August night. They tipped a very generous $100 and I bid the couple good luck and fortune. We made our way off into the approaching midnight. Beto drives like he's on the Autostrada del Sole in Italia. I followed him doing a constant 85. Even in western NJ, the highways crisscross overhead like halogen webs of steel that are hypnotizing in their continual arcs. Never having been in this part of NJ, I thought that the intricate lace of overpasses would begin closer to Gotham. Not so. Loreena McKennitt's "The Book of Secrets" was on the cd player. The night, the technogical marvels flashing above my head at 85 mph and her angelic voice singing of ancient trees, voices, civilizations, the city of cities on the horizon. It was mystical in a very odd way. I was tired after all the driving, but I was in awe at what I was seeing combined with what I was hearing. The track "Night Ride Across The Caucasus" was one I kept repeating while we sped along the highways.

"Ride on, through the night, ride on

There are vsions, there are memories

There are echoes of thundering hooves

There are fires, there is laughter

There's the sound of a thousand doves

In the velvet darkness

by the silhouette of silent trees

They are watching, they are waiting

They are witnessing life's mysteries

Cascading stars on the slumbering hills

They are dancing as far as the sea

Riding o'er the land, you can feel its gentle hand

Leading on to its destiny

Take me with you on this journey

Where the boundaries of time are now tossed

In the cathedrals of the forest

In the words of the tongues now lost

Find the answers, ask the questions

Find the roots of an ancient tree

take me dancing, take me singing

I'll ride on till the moon meets the sea"

The web of highways became more entangled as we entered the city. By the time we had reached Manhattan, I didn't know where I was in time. 

Orwell and Baudelaire

I found these quotes in our local free paper today.

"Political language is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable." --George Orwell

This is why I don't pay any attention to political rhetoric and politics.

The first sentence in my horoscope today: "What's irritating about love is that it's a crime that requires an accomplice."---Baudelaire

New Pix Up

For all you Aldo fans and he knows who you are and you know who you are, there's a few new pictures of the little guy in the photo album. The one against the white background is after we got him home from the vet. This photo shows his obvious revulsion at being caged from Friday to Monday morning. The kennel where we've left him once before was booked, so we called our vet for last minute accommodations. His Aunt Diane developed bronchitis and had to bow out. She was supposed to have come and play with Aldo for the weekend. If we had a slot machine in the house, I bet she would have come. She was genuinely sorry she couldn't care for Aldo in his home. Aldo wasn't sympathetic.

Here are some pictures of the past hot summer sky, heirloom tomatoes at Green Acres Farm, our holly bush & lilies.

Aluminum Foil

The other day I was wondering in my secret laboratory how aluminum foil is made. Now I know. Fantasticular.

"Words Are Stupid. Words Are Fun. Words Can Put You On The Run... Eat Your Words, But Don't Go Hungry, Words Have Always Nearly Hung Me..."

Maud Newton is always on the look out for new words, like "poocha". I have never had the pleasure of taking a shower while someone came in and took a shit. I guess I'll have to wait.

9/11 Pop-Up Coin

This 9/11 commemorative coin is a wonderfully imaginative and idiotic way to remember the catastrophe.

What's Your Name?

The naming of a person, animal or thing sometimes sheds a some light on the essence of the entity named. Anima Mundi chose me rather than vice versa. The horrific deluge of the fine city of New Orleans and the consequent continuing aftermath came to me through bloggers rather than the MSM. The soul of the world is not in great shape as is clear from New Orleans pre-levee breaches and especially post-deluge.  That fragile soul's been in ICU for a while now and looking for a transfusion unlike any other.

This a distillation of some thoughts and quotes about anima mundi, the world soul:

The Greeks were the first known to use the term the “soul of the world” imprisoned in matter. The alchemists further refined the meaning to describe the alchemical process of freeing the soul of man trapped in the body and the world soul locked in dead matter. It also refers to the “mythic and psychological undercurrents that shape world affairs…so the world has a soul, a destiny that plays itself out in everyday events”. Jung reiterated the soul of the world idea when he researched the alchemistic process that was in fact an unconscious projection onto matter of what was happening in their psyche.  From Thomas Moore’s “Care of the Soul”: “ The soul exists beyond our personal circumstances and conceptions. The Renaissance magus understood that our soul is part of a larger soul, the soul of world, anima mundi. This world affects each individual thing, whether natural or man-made. To the modern person who may think of the psyche as a chemical apparatus, the body as a machine, and the manufactured world as a marvel of technology, the idea of anima mundi might seem strange indeed…My own position changes when I grant the world its soul. Then, as things of the world present themselves vividly, I watch and listen. I respect them because I am not their creator and controller. They have as much personality and independence as I do."

Your Former Neighbors

This is what happens when you talk about weird things in the elevator.

Plush Monkeys

Since I love monkeys, this might be of interest to all the monkey lovers out there.

Kinky Friedman's Thoughts for the Day

When our accountant, Danny Powell, once asked my father what his financial goals were, Tom replied, "My financial goals are for my last check to bounce."

I was so high I needed a stepladder to scratch my ass.

In order to effectively determine guilt or innocence, juries should be empaneled entirely from a population of prostitutes, bartenders and bellmen from sleazy hotels.

Native Americans believe you can't really own land, a horse or a waterfall. The only thing they believe you can really own is a casino.

Kinky Friedman's Thoughts for the Day

"I drive a Yom Kippur Clipper. That's a Jewish Cadillac. It stops on a dime and picks it up."

"Either I'm not a practicing Jew or else I've got to practice a little bit more."

"I've always been searching for a lifestyle that doesn't require my presence."

"The only thing wrong with Southern Baptists is that they don't hold 'em under long enough."

Kinky's Thoughts for the Day

"You can lead a politician to water, but you can't make him think."

"I don't know how many supporters I have, but they all carry guns."

If you elect me the first Jewish governor of Texas, I'll reduce the speed limit to 54.95."

"I've got a head of hair better than Governor Rick Perry's. It's just not in a place I can show you."

Kinky's Thoughts for the Day

"Never take a whizz on an electric fence."

"Find what you like and let it kill you."

"May the best of the past be the worst of the future." (Favorite Irish Toast)

"The only two good balls I ever hit was when I stepped on the garden rake."

"Leap sideways, before your karma runs over your dogma."

"If Mama Cass and Karen Carpenter had shared that ham sandwich, they'd both be with us today."

Catfish Legend

Jim Louis lives in New Orleans, but summers in Virginia, I think. He can't take the summers in NO since he does manual labor for a living. I don't blame him. In his latest post, he relates how he has a way with children and what happened when they went fishing.

"Who Killed the Electric Car"

Segway leading a funeral. What's up with that?

Jumping The Shark and Diet

Not being a pop-culture hipster, I wasn't aware of the actual scene in Happy Days that inspired one of the most durable pop-metaphors of the last few decades. The episode aired in September 1977 when the ratings of the show were very low.  In other words, shark meat.

In other food news, Woody Allen, that old philosopher and philanderer, writes on what the old sages had to say about diet. (Via Maud Newton)

Pan Is Not Dead!

Pan, a horney nature god of shepards and their flocks, inspired sudden fear in lonely places. Thus, our word "panic". This, on the other hand, inspires trauma.

Rigatoni to Fusilli (Springs To Us Americanos)

Click on image to read the caption.

I Need Ether

I like offering advice on the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, so I'm thinking of signing up for this. There's only one obvious problem, I hate talking on the phone. I wouldn't mind doing it by e-mail or through my blog like Dr. Slimbo, but he's much more imaginative than I. Plus he beat me to the punch.

Time and Space

Boing Boing links to Worth1000 photoshopping contest for UFO sightings.

If you spend an inordinate amount of time on the throne, there's this for the crapper.

Firebrand Blogger's Night Guard Gone For Good

Maud Newton has some hilarious personal posts. In fact, I like her personal posts better than any of her literary ones, e.g. there's this one. If you live in the Great Northeast, you should like this cheerful forecast.

Dining with Lauren Cerand

NYC publicist and styliste charmanteuse (French suffixes?), Lauren Cerand, dines at Balthazar more than anyone I know. She also is probably one of the most engaging people to go with. Ask anyone or everyone.

Marie Antoinette or Laveau?

And then there's Richard who asks, somewhat vainly, "Does that bustle make my ass look fat"?

Coming Soon To A Lamppost Near You

I don't know a hell of a lot, but I do know that these ladies won't be appearing anytime in the near future in upstate NY. (Via Boing Boing)

Sunday, Sunday

The Oscars are here and that means warm weather's coming to the great Northeast, eventually. I have no interest in the Oscar hype, but Lux Lotus has some interesting thoughts on the whole shabang.

Is Rob Walker the authority on "St. James Infirmary"? He prefers uncertainty and ambiguity to expertise.

For your dancing pleasure, point your cursor to Home of the Groove. Be sure to check out his posts on Carnival and Mardi Gras and audio of some seminal party tracks.

Damned good video by Richard Sturtle's sista.

Meme For a Day

I've been tagged by someone I respect and read so...

Four Jobs I've Had: Caddy, DJ, Wine Salesman, Music Critic

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over: Night at the Opera, Midnite Cowboy, Any Cheech and Chong, Return of the Pink Panther

Four Places I've Lived: Westerly, RI, Albany, NY, Providence, RI, Miami Beach

Four TV Shows I Love: Seinfeld, Taxi, The Man Show, Tom Green

Four Places I've Vacationed: Sicily, Spain, Ireland, Mombasa

Four of My Favorites Dishes: Homemade Pizza, Pasta with Clams &Tomato, Grilled Ribeye with Thrill of Grill spice rub, Fish Fillets with Tomato, Olives, Capers and Wine

Four Sites I Visit Daily: Maud Newton, Lux Lotus, Nola, Dispatches From Tanganyika

Four Bloggers I'm Tagging:

Lauren

Jason

Chuck

Slimbolala   

"Ideas have a life of their own."

'Tis

Frank McCourt in conversation with Scott Simon. Anyone who cares about education and what we are doing to our youth would like this piece.

(Via The Minor Fall, the Major Lift)

Better Late Than Never

I'm still recovering from the change from Daylight Savings to Standard Time. There's things that need posting, e.g. some New Orleans food sites, a fabulous postcard idea from a photographer in the Crescent City and a note on a top-shelf benefit album for the ravaged city called "Our New Orleans 2005" that's been makin' some noise. A second volume is in the works, so I hear. There's also Aldo good news, wine and food experiences et al.

I lost everything on my hard drive for the New Year. I wanted to start with a clean slate and I did. I still don't have a cd burner that understands software.  I should have left it there, but I tinkered with the fucking machine and cleaned all the windows in da' house. Tabula rasa. That's one of the reasons for my silence and fowl mood for the last 5 days. Dell is sending a tech guy to install a new r/w drive so I can burn baby burn. Stay tuned.

Late Night Thoughts

This time of year brings out the best and worst in people. Many strive to ring in brotherhood and love during the season of the Christ child. This is the way it should be 365 days of the year, Jesus Slam-Dancing Christ! It's not that way though. We save all our love and devotion for these 3-4 fucking weeks. What the hell is that about? Material goods, Watt says. We can only turn on the love if the cash register is blinging or the online sales are clicking? It's a proven factoid. I have witnessed, within my own extended disintegrated family, a glut of presents beneath the Xmas tree that could feed the people of Somalia for a year or so. These relatives claim to be limiting the ludicrous expenditures on Xmas each year. The shear volume of presents beneath the tree remains staggering year to year. Do these people ever think why they put a star on top of a tree at Xmas? I wonder how many people think of the solstice. The mythological Halcyon laid her eggs on a nest in the ocean when Aeolus made the seas calm for seven days at the time of the winter solstice. The symbol of tranquility has turned into a name (Halcion) for a very useful insomnia drug for our sleepless times. Ga' night.

The Internets

Here's a moving post on the Operation Eden weblob of Clayton James Cubitt. It restores faith in one's fellow man.

Aldo, Air Travel and New Orleans

Aldo's scheduled to go to Boston's Angell Animal Medical Center on October 27th. This will be his first trip to a major metropolitan city. He won't be in Harvard Square or the North End. He'll be operated on for a diaphragmatic hernia. At least that's what they think the little guy's problem is. He's asymptomatic though and that's good. This hospital, est. 1915, is the first in the nation started by a humane society. St. Francis will be receiving another sincere request.

On the brighter side, if you plan to fly anywhere within the next few years you may want to read this article or search for best fares now. If you're a wealthy conspicuous consumer, there's no need to click on the link. The preceding article on the site about a "Dry New Orleans" is also worth a read. Michael Ventura's a writer with the guts to say things that many other people shy away from. He pulls no punches. If you like his style, you may want to look into his  "Letters at Three a.m.", a compilation of his posts when he wrote for the LA Weekly.

My blog has been searched by some Brasilians and I've found that there's an animation festival (Anima Mundi) each year in Brasil. But it's not until next July, I think.

More good news. God knows we need it. WWOZ.org is back up and playing the music that made the music of this country. Please donate! They need it. The city needs OZ. The world needs New Orleans. Too many people on the planet don't know how much they need New Orleans. God bless New Orleans. What is New Orleans?