Corner of Kane & Thompkins.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Wish I'd seen these last week
in their prime. Although I suppose a real head on a pike would get a bit soft in time, too. 
Corner of Kane & Thompkins.
Corner of Kane & Thompkins.
this/that
I shaved this morning, clean. A new era and all, but where’d my chin go? It’s always so disconcerting at first.
Two voices missed: Studs Terkel and John Leonard.
I’ve been drinking apple cider. I’ve been drinking it cold. I’ve been drinking it hot, zipped up with a cinnamon & nutmeg. I’ve been drinking it on ice with a splash of bourbon. Years ago, when I was more of a hippie, I washed my hair in it (the cider, not the bourbon).
Evidently, I now live in Snackville. There’s time-honored Sahadi, with its nuts and bonbons. Trader Joe’s is basically a snack store. And on Smith, something called the Nut House (or something like that) recently opened, full of pre-bagged nuts and bolts. For this weekend’s trip to Delaware Water Gap, I’m the man: the almond medley and the crack-like toffee-covered pistachios from Sahadi (I retain my loyalties) should make me friends amongst the wild hill people.
I just finished Norman Mailer’s Miami and the Siege of Chicago, about the anointing of that rough beast Nixon in Miami and the self-destruction of the Democrats in Chicago, 1968. “We will be fighting for forty years,” he says presciently at the end, after one of Daley’s Gestapo has punched him out. Bit of a different vibe at Grant Park the other night, eh?
I’m dipping into John Collier’s short stories, the literary equivalent of the Twilight Zone (for which he wrote). I’m really getting into A.J. Liebling’s World War II Writings, a book I got for my dad, but he’ll have to wait until Christmas.
Two voices missed: Studs Terkel and John Leonard.
I’ve been drinking apple cider. I’ve been drinking it cold. I’ve been drinking it hot, zipped up with a cinnamon & nutmeg. I’ve been drinking it on ice with a splash of bourbon. Years ago, when I was more of a hippie, I washed my hair in it (the cider, not the bourbon).
Evidently, I now live in Snackville. There’s time-honored Sahadi, with its nuts and bonbons. Trader Joe’s is basically a snack store. And on Smith, something called the Nut House (or something like that) recently opened, full of pre-bagged nuts and bolts. For this weekend’s trip to Delaware Water Gap, I’m the man: the almond medley and the crack-like toffee-covered pistachios from Sahadi (I retain my loyalties) should make me friends amongst the wild hill people.
I just finished Norman Mailer’s Miami and the Siege of Chicago, about the anointing of that rough beast Nixon in Miami and the self-destruction of the Democrats in Chicago, 1968. “We will be fighting for forty years,” he says presciently at the end, after one of Daley’s Gestapo has punched him out. Bit of a different vibe at Grant Park the other night, eh?
I’m dipping into John Collier’s short stories, the literary equivalent of the Twilight Zone (for which he wrote). I’m really getting into A.J. Liebling’s World War II Writings, a book I got for my dad, but he’ll have to wait until Christmas.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Vaux populi
And now back to regularly scheduled programming....
It’s never occurred to me to look up the word vaux in a French dictionary. Calvert Vaux, who was English, pronounced it to rhyme with “fox” but the name surely stemmed from across the Channel. Did the Vauxs come over in 1066 and all that? Vaux in French seems to be plural for val, valley. Of course, I would prefer the translation vale, so much more Victorian, which brings me via circuitous route again to C. Vaux, the under-appreciated co-designer of the Central and Prospect Parks. Most of us now say "Olmsted and Vaux", but a few still suffer under Frederick Lawn Olmsted’s superior press, voluminous writings, and better facial hair. Vaux’s collected papers, which I once looked into at the NYPL (pronounced, you know, like “nipple”), barely fill a single archival box. He certainly deserves a higher reputation.
But here’s the sad thing. On November 19, 1895, Calvert Vaux disappeared in the fog while taking a walk along Gravesend Bay. Was it an accident, something more nefarious, or just a long walk on a short pier? Nobody knows. It’s one of the Mysteries of Brooklyn. His drowned body was found three days later. A park down there – formerly Dreier-Offerman, named after a home for unwed mothers -- was renamed for him in 1998.
It’s never occurred to me to look up the word vaux in a French dictionary. Calvert Vaux, who was English, pronounced it to rhyme with “fox” but the name surely stemmed from across the Channel. Did the Vauxs come over in 1066 and all that? Vaux in French seems to be plural for val, valley. Of course, I would prefer the translation vale, so much more Victorian, which brings me via circuitous route again to C. Vaux, the under-appreciated co-designer of the Central and Prospect Parks. Most of us now say "Olmsted and Vaux", but a few still suffer under Frederick Lawn Olmsted’s superior press, voluminous writings, and better facial hair. Vaux’s collected papers, which I once looked into at the NYPL (pronounced, you know, like “nipple”), barely fill a single archival box. He certainly deserves a higher reputation.
But here’s the sad thing. On November 19, 1895, Calvert Vaux disappeared in the fog while taking a walk along Gravesend Bay. Was it an accident, something more nefarious, or just a long walk on a short pier? Nobody knows. It’s one of the Mysteries of Brooklyn. His drowned body was found three days later. A park down there – formerly Dreier-Offerman, named after a home for unwed mothers -- was renamed for him in 1998.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Day One
1. Yeah, baby! Now comes the hard part. We're going to have to push hard.
2. Who was that guy giving John McCain’s measured and gracious concession speech? I’m sure glad he wasn’t running.
3. McPalin got 55 millions votes, half a million of them here in NYC. That’s a mighty lot of assholes. Ungracious of me? You betcha! But I’ve had to listen to their reactionary howls, their ignorance and stupidity, their selfish greed, their know-nothing nationalism, their hypocritical bullshit and moral ugliness, for months (years!) now, and I've watched their masters try to destroy this country, so fuck them.
2. Who was that guy giving John McCain’s measured and gracious concession speech? I’m sure glad he wasn’t running.
3. McPalin got 55 millions votes, half a million of them here in NYC. That’s a mighty lot of assholes. Ungracious of me? You betcha! But I’ve had to listen to their reactionary howls, their ignorance and stupidity, their selfish greed, their know-nothing nationalism, their hypocritical bullshit and moral ugliness, for months (years!) now, and I've watched their masters try to destroy this country, so fuck them.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
On Tenterhooks
Don’t a lot of people think the word is “tenderhooks,” because that’s the situation you feel yourself in, hanging tenderly on hooks? According to my trusty, at-the-elbow 20lb Webster’s Third, a “tenter” is a device to stretch and dry cloth, the hooks being what held the material there, straining.
I’ve been disappointed by American politics for close to thirty years now (I was precocious) and I’ve lived the long slide into corrupt reaction, so it’s hard for me to get my hopes up that McCain will be beaten. It never ceases to amaze me how lies and bullshit so often triumph. How hate, fear, and the exploitation of ignorance, the GOP’s only notable ideas, keep winning.
But… the record turn-out sounds promising. The weather seems to fair in most places, which is always to the good. True, the outrageous delays in voting remind us that our masters don’t actually want us to vote, so I hope the O-drive is strong enough to stand hours upon hours of waiting in the swing states. There were six-hour delays in pre-Election Day voting in some places, so I’m guessing there will be all day vigils today in the swingers.
Personally, I want to see a GOP bloodbath, a tsunami flushing out the Augean stables. I want Mitch McConnell, as perfect a specimen of oligarchy as King Coal has produced in a century, to go down in Kentucky. I want to see Bush’s ass-wiper Norm Coleman bite the Minnesota dust. I’d love to see Indiana, klan-central 80 years ago, go to Obama. And North Carolina, where the ghost of Jesse Helms still rides in the night, wouldn’t that be sweet? I want to see the hideously reactionary Prop 8 in California voted down so that discrimination isn’t written into that great state’s constitution by theocrats. I want to see those western anti-women initiatives soundly defeated… yeah, I want plenty. And I bet you do, too. Let’s see what we get.
I’ve been disappointed by American politics for close to thirty years now (I was precocious) and I’ve lived the long slide into corrupt reaction, so it’s hard for me to get my hopes up that McCain will be beaten. It never ceases to amaze me how lies and bullshit so often triumph. How hate, fear, and the exploitation of ignorance, the GOP’s only notable ideas, keep winning.
But… the record turn-out sounds promising. The weather seems to fair in most places, which is always to the good. True, the outrageous delays in voting remind us that our masters don’t actually want us to vote, so I hope the O-drive is strong enough to stand hours upon hours of waiting in the swing states. There were six-hour delays in pre-Election Day voting in some places, so I’m guessing there will be all day vigils today in the swingers.
Personally, I want to see a GOP bloodbath, a tsunami flushing out the Augean stables. I want Mitch McConnell, as perfect a specimen of oligarchy as King Coal has produced in a century, to go down in Kentucky. I want to see Bush’s ass-wiper Norm Coleman bite the Minnesota dust. I’d love to see Indiana, klan-central 80 years ago, go to Obama. And North Carolina, where the ghost of Jesse Helms still rides in the night, wouldn’t that be sweet? I want to see the hideously reactionary Prop 8 in California voted down so that discrimination isn’t written into that great state’s constitution by theocrats. I want to see those western anti-women initiatives soundly defeated… yeah, I want plenty. And I bet you do, too. Let’s see what we get.
Vote aqui
The line was around the corner and down the playground fence, the longest ever, by far, that I’ve seen it, at 6:25. In 1960, 63% of the the electorate voted; since then it has dwindled to where 51% is considered a good turnout, so I am curious to see what the final number, and percentage, is today. The weather, after all, is lookin' good.... It only took 35 minutes to vote at the steam-powered beast inside the curtains at Ol’ ED 96, and then buy some chocolate madeleines from the bakesale ladies.
One dog person with a Lab said to another with a beagle-ish, “Has he voted yet,” and the beagley leash-holder said, “Not yet, but he’s a rescue from the South so I’m a little worried.” Come on, a beagle-mix? I don't think he had to worry.
As a person of the left, I can’t get all that excited about Obama… except for the symbolism. And until we have a real democracy, symbolism is pretty much the best you can get. And what do I mean by symbolism? After more than four centuries of multicultural/multiracial fact, it’s about time. Yes, the symbolism, of a the new America, and the shaking off the dead white hand of the old. Thankfully, NY allows for fusion ballots, meaning that I didn’t actually have to vote for the spinelesss Democrats. Hallelujah! I voted Working Families, Line E. Obama gets the vote (pity I couldn’t split it so that I wouldn’t have to vote for his odious running mate, the Senator from the banking and credit industry), but so does the WFP, which acts as something of a progressive force on the Democrats.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Weekends
The first workday that follows the end of DST is always pretty grim. Sunset tonight is only moments away.
*
Ten courses at a wedding reception Saturday night at the Golden Unicorn on East Broadway in the Inner Borough. One of the people at our table didn’t eat seafood, so the poor guy had to sit through five (or was it six?) courses munching on the candied almonds. That was well over an hour of watching other people eat. Weirdly, two large flatscreen televisions were on the whole time, showing football, other sports, and once, when I glanced up, the hideous visage of Donald Trump (take about urban blight!).
I made vanilla syrup, red wine mustard, and apple sauce as my gift for the wedded couple (as if they wanted more food after ten courses!), in reusable glass containers, in a recycled paper basket. Yes, my own little protest against the orgy of gifts that weddings have become.
*
If I’d been on-line this weekend and read my own comments, I would have known that two fellow Brooklyn bloggers were planning to come to the Audubon bird walk Sunday morning. So I got to meet Amy Amarilla and Leah Bluebird of Happiness in real life. As you might guess from their websites, they are good people, and I hope to run into them again.
*
After a look at all those Marathon maniacs running down 4th Avenue, OHS and I brunched at Stone Park Café in Park Slope; fancy ($$) but awfully good. One black mark: no hot chocolate. It was also well before noon, so they had to remind me that we still have blue laws in NYC (no mimosas before noon on Sunday, even for heathens).
*
On Saturday, at Union Square, I found some Grade B maple syrup. Elusive stuff, darker, smokier, and worth hunting out. I think I’ll be drinking it straight out of the mason jar as tomorrow's nail-biter approaches.
*
Ten courses at a wedding reception Saturday night at the Golden Unicorn on East Broadway in the Inner Borough. One of the people at our table didn’t eat seafood, so the poor guy had to sit through five (or was it six?) courses munching on the candied almonds. That was well over an hour of watching other people eat. Weirdly, two large flatscreen televisions were on the whole time, showing football, other sports, and once, when I glanced up, the hideous visage of Donald Trump (take about urban blight!).
I made vanilla syrup, red wine mustard, and apple sauce as my gift for the wedded couple (as if they wanted more food after ten courses!), in reusable glass containers, in a recycled paper basket. Yes, my own little protest against the orgy of gifts that weddings have become.
*
If I’d been on-line this weekend and read my own comments, I would have known that two fellow Brooklyn bloggers were planning to come to the Audubon bird walk Sunday morning. So I got to meet Amy Amarilla and Leah Bluebird of Happiness in real life. As you might guess from their websites, they are good people, and I hope to run into them again.
*
After a look at all those Marathon maniacs running down 4th Avenue, OHS and I brunched at Stone Park Café in Park Slope; fancy ($$) but awfully good. One black mark: no hot chocolate. It was also well before noon, so they had to remind me that we still have blue laws in NYC (no mimosas before noon on Sunday, even for heathens).
*
On Saturday, at Union Square, I found some Grade B maple syrup. Elusive stuff, darker, smokier, and worth hunting out. I think I’ll be drinking it straight out of the mason jar as tomorrow's nail-biter approaches.
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