Bread
So In Love
My life was a sad song for a little while there, but it's getting better, and I'm getting what I need. Thanks, people of mine, for reminding me what I love.
I hope you love this like I love this...
Curtis Mayfield, So In Love
and further listening...
It's All Right (with The Impressions)
People Get Ready
(Live performance circa 1988, track down the original version off the People Get Ready album with The Impressions)
We People Who Are Darker than Blue ¶ 1:46 AM 1 comments
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Today, just a song that I happen to love. Curtis Mayfield, So In Love. The brass and organ riffs in this song break my heart in pieces, and put it back together again every chorus. Listening to this song feels like being in love feels to me, earnest and hopeful and sad all at the same time. Curtis's music is like that, is open and gentle and vulnerable in ways that really reasonate with me. My life was a sad song for a little while there, but it's getting better, and I'm getting what I need. Thanks, people of mine, for reminding me what I love.
I hope you love this like I love this...
Curtis Mayfield, So In Love
and further listening...
It's All Right (with The Impressions)
People Get Ready
(Live performance circa 1988, track down the original version off the People Get Ready album with The Impressions)
We People Who Are Darker than Blue ¶ 1:46 AM 1 comments
Snapshots, Spring 2007
Rather than a mad recap, I thought I'd let pictures tell the tales. Something about 1000 words. Something about just not sinking too far in the details. Suffice to say I've surfaced back on top, I'm feeling more in control, summer is coming and I'll take whatever is coming.
As for these last months, the quirky never stops. Thank goodness...
FEBRUARY...
...Neck Face tagged the block where I work. I saw my first Neck Face tag three years ago; he tagged several buildings around my block in Williamsburg, my favorite of which was his name along with the trademark hairy monster arm. I hadn't seen anything new in awhile, but I hear in the years since then he's left his mark all over the globe, from California to Tokyo. Seeing him back here put a smile on my face. This is one mailbox; he tagged all of them all down the street. Welcome back, Neck Face!
MARCH...
...Color globes in the window of ABC Homestore on Broadway & 19th. A little art on my way home every night.
...I fall victim to a weird and inescapable obsession with baking. One that gave me temporary amnesia, and caused me to completely forget that while I'm a very excellent cook - I'm a really lousy baker. As evidenced by this coffee cake. I am not daunted, however, and continue to ruin concoction after concoction, all the while reading food blogs and telling myself that I'll get it right eventually.
I didn't.
...March, apparently, is also for lovers. Note the kissing feet under the ad behind the bus shelter while waiting for the bus one blustery Saturday afternoon in the shelter next to theirs. Periodically, one of them or the other would poke their head around the corner to see if the bus was coming, and then they went right back to their embrace. A lot of people around me, mostly older women, were scowling over it, but I thought good for them! Infatuation like that is so lovely. It's two months later now, I hope wherever they are they're still happy, and still kissing with such passion.
...I give up my weird obsession with baking, and go back to cooking, which turns out fabulously. Pizza from scratch, chunks of imported mozzerella, pecorino romano, fresh basil, olive oil. Perfection.
But I'm still reading those blogs...
APRIL...
...Nonni. Nonni, Nonni, Nonni. I visit Kentucky, and the world as I know it comes crashing down on my head. And she is the child, and I am the adult, and the strong, independent, self assured woman who has handled every problem in our family my entire life is gone. And she cries, and suddenly I am her power of attorney, and her finances are a mess, and I'm the master of my own life but the master of hers, too. I can only hope to be the matriarch that she has been.
...Another tag in the neighborhood where I work, this one traced in cement. I looked up the name Rudy Kazooty online, because it was unique and it made me laugh out loud, and because it was sillier and more fun that most of the tags and graffiti I see every day, especially with the added touch of heroic lightning bolt over the oo's. It turns out, Rudy Kazotty is either a children's television character, a puppet, or a Little Golden Book character. Maybe all of the above. I'd love to hear if anyone reading can provide a little backstory here.
...Over 5 Zillion Sold. There's a mexican restaurant across the street from my office called Uncle Moe's. I stop in a lot after work or on my lunch break, and I've gotten to know the guys behind the counter pretty well. They know what I want when I come through the door, and also hook my up when I'm feeling like indulging in their VERY FABULOUS and FAMOUS dessert. A rice pudding empanada. When I come in, they ask me if I want one, and if I do, they don't give me one from the glass dessert case that's been sitting around. Instead, they go in the back and fry me a fresh one. The empanada is stuffed and deep fried, leaving the outside crispy and flaking and heating the creamy rice pudding inside until it's hot and succulent. Then, before serving it, the whole thing is taken out and rolled hot in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar that powders my fingers and elevates this dessert to perfection. And yes, I'm addicted. And no, I'm not getting paid for singing these praises.
The last time I stopped in, which was at the end of April, was after a long and stressful work day. They were nearly closed, but let me in. They had their music cranked up and rocked out to what sounded a lot
like a Spanish speaking Led Zepplin while I ate. They brought me this without my asking, and we sat and talked awhile. All across the walls of the place were photos of little Taquerias, one after another, all taken with the same camera and developed in the same warm tones. I asked if the restaurants were all owned by their family; it turns out not, but that one of the brothers is learning photography and took them while on an internship in California. Above is my favorite, with an awning proudly boasting Over 5 Zillion Sold. I love that pride, and the life standing behind it. I love thinking about the owner of the business, who must have sat thinking about what to say on his awning, what would make his or her business stand apart from the many others like it and draw a crowd. I wonder if if made them smile like I did, and how many customers were told about the 5 Zillion before it ever went up on the awning. I miss how business used to be that way. Before computers, and chains, and automated phone systems and credit cards. The guys at Uncle Moe's get it about running a family business, and catering to your local and regular crowd. Here's hoping all of us choose to give our patronage to the little guys first.
...I was reminded that I have the two cutest, sweetest cats ever...
...who snuggled up with me and kept me company while I was tearing my hair out trying to take care of Nonni's bills...
...and chased my blues away with their supreme cuteness. Albert & Alex seen here, some candid snaps from a Saturday afternoon in April.
MAY...
...Peak blooming at the Cherry Esplenade at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.
A blue sky, fragrant flowers, green grass, a perfect spring Saturday afternoon.
...Recently saw the movie The Reaping at the Clearview Cinema on 19th St. When I bought my ticket, I went inside to find the ticket taker, an older gentleman, engaged in a lively conversation with a patron who had just Fracture, the two of them debating its merits. The patron looked to be about 60, wore a tan fishing hat, a red flannel coat, and a business suit. I smiled at their rather curmudgeonly exchange, at which they turned to me and began to flirt shamelessly. We chatted briefly about movies in general, and I asked them their top three best movies of all time. The ticket taker said, without hesitation, Inherit the Wind, Gone with the Wind and Terminator 2. The patron felt it was too hard. He told me he had seen a lifetime of movies, 55 movies a year in fact, and it was just too much to pick three out of such a big pool. I stopped to think about that. 55 movies equals one a week, with three weeks in which he sees two. I was curious about which occasions he marked with a double viewing, but before I could ask he gave me the once over, and told me a story. He said he had spent his early career on Wall Street, and was miserable. He said in his 40s he had a midlife crisis, and decided he needed to figure out his life's purpose, but first needed to figure out how to know what it was. That involved quitting his job and just "being" for a little while. He said it took him 10 years, but he figured out that his life's work was to elevate people's minds, and he was to do that through demonstrating complete and unconditional kindness to all living creatures, human and animal alike. He told me he wrote a book on that very thing, but that rather than waste precious time fighting and compromising with the book publishing industry, he wrote a 42 page book and made it a point to give out ten pages a day, one each to ten different people he met during his day to day travels. He told me that he had given a page to Hilary Clinton, and to Katie Couric, and he gave one to me. His name was Bob White, and he handed me a handwritten, xeroxed piece of his life's work.
Would that I can be so lucky as to achieve that level of definition. Even if the meaning never goes beyond myself.
Thanks, Bob White, for nudging me back to my own writing life. ¶ 1:23 AM
Monday, May 14, 2007
It isn't so much that nothing has been happening that is worth writing about; rather, I've been slogging through a mess of a life these past months. On top of all the hurrying and the laughing and the crying and the motion, stopping to write has seemed simply to overwhelming.Rather than a mad recap, I thought I'd let pictures tell the tales. Something about 1000 words. Something about just not sinking too far in the details. Suffice to say I've surfaced back on top, I'm feeling more in control, summer is coming and I'll take whatever is coming.
As for these last months, the quirky never stops. Thank goodness...
FEBRUARY...
...Neck Face tagged the block where I work. I saw my first Neck Face tag three years ago; he tagged several buildings around my block in Williamsburg, my favorite of which was his name along with the trademark hairy monster arm. I hadn't seen anything new in awhile, but I hear in the years since then he's left his mark all over the globe, from California to Tokyo. Seeing him back here put a smile on my face. This is one mailbox; he tagged all of them all down the street. Welcome back, Neck Face!
MARCH...
...Color globes in the window of ABC Homestore on Broadway & 19th. A little art on my way home every night.
...I fall victim to a weird and inescapable obsession with baking. One that gave me temporary amnesia, and caused me to completely forget that while I'm a very excellent cook - I'm a really lousy baker. As evidenced by this coffee cake. I am not daunted, however, and continue to ruin concoction after concoction, all the while reading food blogs and telling myself that I'll get it right eventually.
I didn't.
...March, apparently, is also for lovers. Note the kissing feet under the ad behind the bus shelter while waiting for the bus one blustery Saturday afternoon in the shelter next to theirs. Periodically, one of them or the other would poke their head around the corner to see if the bus was coming, and then they went right back to their embrace. A lot of people around me, mostly older women, were scowling over it, but I thought good for them! Infatuation like that is so lovely. It's two months later now, I hope wherever they are they're still happy, and still kissing with such passion.
...I give up my weird obsession with baking, and go back to cooking, which turns out fabulously. Pizza from scratch, chunks of imported mozzerella, pecorino romano, fresh basil, olive oil. Perfection.
But I'm still reading those blogs...
APRIL......Nonni. Nonni, Nonni, Nonni. I visit Kentucky, and the world as I know it comes crashing down on my head. And she is the child, and I am the adult, and the strong, independent, self assured woman who has handled every problem in our family my entire life is gone. And she cries, and suddenly I am her power of attorney, and her finances are a mess, and I'm the master of my own life but the master of hers, too. I can only hope to be the matriarch that she has been.
...Another tag in the neighborhood where I work, this one traced in cement. I looked up the name Rudy Kazooty online, because it was unique and it made me laugh out loud, and because it was sillier and more fun that most of the tags and graffiti I see every day, especially with the added touch of heroic lightning bolt over the oo's. It turns out, Rudy Kazotty is either a children's television character, a puppet, or a Little Golden Book character. Maybe all of the above. I'd love to hear if anyone reading can provide a little backstory here.
...Over 5 Zillion Sold. There's a mexican restaurant across the street from my office called Uncle Moe's. I stop in a lot after work or on my lunch break, and I've gotten to know the guys behind the counter pretty well. They know what I want when I come through the door, and also hook my up when I'm feeling like indulging in their VERY FABULOUS and FAMOUS dessert. A rice pudding empanada. When I come in, they ask me if I want one, and if I do, they don't give me one from the glass dessert case that's been sitting around. Instead, they go in the back and fry me a fresh one. The empanada is stuffed and deep fried, leaving the outside crispy and flaking and heating the creamy rice pudding inside until it's hot and succulent. Then, before serving it, the whole thing is taken out and rolled hot in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar that powders my fingers and elevates this dessert to perfection. And yes, I'm addicted. And no, I'm not getting paid for singing these praises.
The last time I stopped in, which was at the end of April, was after a long and stressful work day. They were nearly closed, but let me in. They had their music cranked up and rocked out to what sounded a lot
like a Spanish speaking Led Zepplin while I ate. They brought me this without my asking, and we sat and talked awhile. All across the walls of the place were photos of little Taquerias, one after another, all taken with the same camera and developed in the same warm tones. I asked if the restaurants were all owned by their family; it turns out not, but that one of the brothers is learning photography and took them while on an internship in California. Above is my favorite, with an awning proudly boasting Over 5 Zillion Sold. I love that pride, and the life standing behind it. I love thinking about the owner of the business, who must have sat thinking about what to say on his awning, what would make his or her business stand apart from the many others like it and draw a crowd. I wonder if if made them smile like I did, and how many customers were told about the 5 Zillion before it ever went up on the awning. I miss how business used to be that way. Before computers, and chains, and automated phone systems and credit cards. The guys at Uncle Moe's get it about running a family business, and catering to your local and regular crowd. Here's hoping all of us choose to give our patronage to the little guys first.
...I was reminded that I have the two cutest, sweetest cats ever...
...who snuggled up with me and kept me company while I was tearing my hair out trying to take care of Nonni's bills...
...and chased my blues away with their supreme cuteness. Albert & Alex seen here, some candid snaps from a Saturday afternoon in April.
MAY......Peak blooming at the Cherry Esplenade at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.
A blue sky, fragrant flowers, green grass, a perfect spring Saturday afternoon.
...Recently saw the movie The Reaping at the Clearview Cinema on 19th St. When I bought my ticket, I went inside to find the ticket taker, an older gentleman, engaged in a lively conversation with a patron who had just Fracture, the two of them debating its merits. The patron looked to be about 60, wore a tan fishing hat, a red flannel coat, and a business suit. I smiled at their rather curmudgeonly exchange, at which they turned to me and began to flirt shamelessly. We chatted briefly about movies in general, and I asked them their top three best movies of all time. The ticket taker said, without hesitation, Inherit the Wind, Gone with the Wind and Terminator 2. The patron felt it was too hard. He told me he had seen a lifetime of movies, 55 movies a year in fact, and it was just too much to pick three out of such a big pool. I stopped to think about that. 55 movies equals one a week, with three weeks in which he sees two. I was curious about which occasions he marked with a double viewing, but before I could ask he gave me the once over, and told me a story. He said he had spent his early career on Wall Street, and was miserable. He said in his 40s he had a midlife crisis, and decided he needed to figure out his life's purpose, but first needed to figure out how to know what it was. That involved quitting his job and just "being" for a little while. He said it took him 10 years, but he figured out that his life's work was to elevate people's minds, and he was to do that through demonstrating complete and unconditional kindness to all living creatures, human and animal alike. He told me he wrote a book on that very thing, but that rather than waste precious time fighting and compromising with the book publishing industry, he wrote a 42 page book and made it a point to give out ten pages a day, one each to ten different people he met during his day to day travels. He told me that he had given a page to Hilary Clinton, and to Katie Couric, and he gave one to me. His name was Bob White, and he handed me a handwritten, xeroxed piece of his life's work.
Would that I can be so lucky as to achieve that level of definition. Even if the meaning never goes beyond myself.
Thanks, Bob White, for nudging me back to my own writing life. ¶ 1:23 AM
