Tuesday, February 26, 2008
instructions for dancing
I have one James Goldsmith to thank for my unabashed infatuation w/ the Magnetic Fields (see 'em? they're there). Because it was a great many moons ago, after an evening spent at Beth & James', that David lit up the stereo, the room, the apartment, the city, my whole life--w/ a disc that hasn't since slipped from my personal top 5 (3?). Oh, Holiday. My first love was "Desert Island," which soon gave way to "Deep Sea Diving Suit," which never gave way to anything though "Strange Powers" and "Take Ecstasy w/ Me," at times, came dangerously close. As we stood doing whatever (making dinner, if memory serves) in the kitchen of that old Ballard beauty (that black & white checked bathroom, those skylights, the space the space the space), a strange new sound filled the room/my ears. And boy did I like it. "What? Who's this?" "Uh, Magnetic Fields. Borrowing it from James." I don't know, I must've gotten in a "why am I just now finding out about this?" to which I must've received a "because you don't know good music" (heh, sore point). Anyway, suffice it to say, life'd be less lustrous w/o staggering quantities of MF in my music library (for one, a particularly juvenile stalker-story wouldn't have found its way into the archives, which'd, I think, be a shame), and so thanks--those who know/knew.
The Town Hall show was on Saturday--their third of four. At my side, Doug and David; in my heart, hope (no Distortion/all 69, no Distortion/all 69). And whadaya know--hope was not for naught. The lineup:
01 "Wasps' Nests" (The 6ths)
02 "No one Will Every Love You"
03 "California Girls"
04 "The Abandoned Castle Of My Soul" (The Gothic Archies)
05 "The Nun's Litany"
06 "I Looked All Over Town"
07 "Epitaph For My Heart"
08 "I Don't Believe You"
09 "Dreams Anymore"
10 "The Little Ukulele"
11 "All Dressed Up In Dreams" (The 6ths)
12 "Zombie Boy"
13 "Papa Was A Rodeo"
14 "Take Ecstasy With Me"
15 "Courtesans"
16 "Crows Everywhere" (The Gothic Archies)
17 "Too Drunk To Dream"
18 "The Book Of Love"
19 "No River" (Future Bible Heroes)
20 "Drive On, Driver"
21 "What A Fucking Lovely Day!" (Merritt tune from Showtunes)
22 "Yeah! Oh, Yeah!"
23 "It's Only Time"
24 "Three-Way"
25 "As You Turn To Go" (The 6ths)
26 "Grand Canyon"
I mean, Epitaph? Rodeo? Book of Love? Yikes, the goodness was almost too thick to absorb. Though I'd seen Rodeo live once before, both it and Book of Love sounded especially vital this time around. Just so pretty and brave. Sadly, though others seemed approving, I found Ecstasy to be a bit of a letdown--piano-heavy and w/ Shirley, not SM, at the helm. Just a different song this way. And, and, and... Grand Canyon. Gulp. This is, I dare say, my favorite of favorites, so it goes w/o saying that I couldn't have imagined a better finale. The only thing better would've been if it had come as a surprise. (Damn bloggers, posting setlists from prior shows. And, okay, damn me for seeking them out.)
What else... I don't know, the Distortion stuff was alright (live, they went sans fuzz/feedback in favor of succinct melodies & lyrics), though I firmly hold that Merritt's writing's not up to snuff this time around. Feels kinda lazy. And the Claudia/Stephin back-and-forth was predictably cute/witty/cranky, though w/ a few too many Muppet references in my opinion.
Again, spotlight on the early years, as I suppose is generally the case...
More/better.
studies
I like this picture: Cafe Regular, my neighborhood. Though Pan & I dug certain elements (all exposed brick, antique furnishings, rustic feel), its tiny size made personal conversation difficult, and those old schoolhouse desks, while sweet, don't convey much warmth/coziness. Onwards. (We're planning a WV survey, once I'm tucked into my new living quarters.)
Run, pause: classic shot of BK Bridge/Financial District.
One of my favorite parts--nay, my favorite part--of running across the Manhattan Bridge is when the apartments of Chinatown come into (close) view. At one point, your line of vision is on par w/ top-story windows, and I love the glimpses of small scenes unfolding--people at the sink washing dishes, cooking over the stove, chatting on cell phones...
Chinese New Year proceedings were still underway on this day: I caught some dragon dancing (sortof visible in the distance), also seen hours earlier on my way into the city.
Chinatown on the w/e is nutty--just so much clamor. The day before this, while running to the WV to check out that (my) studio, I'd gotten an earlyish start--like 8:30 or so. And it was amazing, how much was already happening. The bakeries had lines, the produce and fish markets leaked people and smells, hair salons were in full tilt (at 9 a.m. on a Saturday??)... 
Second-favorite. Incredible in person.
Roche-Wolbrink
At the annual Roche-Wolbrink Oscar party. Ashley gets a tatt: tears, three. 
Aw, second home, as of late.
C. Wolbrink was one of several who devoured my crack-popcorn mix/contribution (salted nuts, dried cranberries, melted white chocolate...). Best smiler I know.
Same flat, different night, w/ pig...
Wha??
Shuga
4-pack, minus one. They came from here (Sunday's running destination of several weeks back), and they pretty much delivered. Cake lacked the perfect amount of spring, and the frosting was a wee bit sweet, but they're damn cute, huh? And they come in so many flavors... Oh, and I love the way their bakers wield an icing tool (knife? spatula? whatevs), love how it comes out all wavy and dense... 
Now these, these are all mine. (Send Tupperware?) Made 'em for D's daughter's first birthday party (an actual order! my first), and though the requested princess accessories (sugar crowns, wands, castles) evaded me, good ol' fashioned sprinkles (jimmies, whatevs) apparently went over well enough.
Vegan-everything. Except, I guess, the sprinkles?
For Doug's 30th. Frosting's white/vanilla, not lavender as suggested. This was maybe the finest batch I've cranked out to date, the cake springy and moist, and just rich enough, chocolate-wise. They were best kept chilled, as exposure to room temperature made a small mess of that frosting...
These just were not very cool. (Do I need to say?) They came from here, and that frosting was totally Duncan Hines. Not automatically all-bad, but paired w/ cake that was just alright and an alarming marketing campaign (right above their bakery case is a giant poster ad depicting a heaving Philly Cheesesteak, a food item which happens to be peddled one narrow counter over), it kinda was.
Friday, February 22, 2008
strange powers
Damn snow, foiling my attempt to act in the wake of last night's surge of inspiration. Really quite the movie, though I would've appreciated a more in-depth look at Kenya and the pervasive impact of running there, as well as some more food porn. Re: the latter, all viewers are treated to is Gu packets--how scrumptious!--a bucket of mediocre-looking fried chicken, a plate of everyday spag & meatballs, and a 'deleted scenes' clip of Deena Kastor cookin' up some admittedly mean-looking avocado enchiladas. Really, though, that's about it for complaints. The selection of profiled runners is satisfying in range of ability and life experience, and the lineup of professionals/experts (Hal Higdon, Amby Burfoot, John Bingham, Jeff Galloway, Kathryn Spitzer...) exhaustive. The landscape shots stun (especially dazzling--Kastor and her crew training amidst an endless and idyllic expanse of countryside) and the words on running as metaphor for life are elegant, if not, well, predictable (inevitable). If/when it begins showing on more screens, it's def worth a see.
Thing is, I can't really damn the snow. It's very pretty--for at least another hour, before the rain/sleet/muck hits. And while it did thwart this a.m.'s running effort (I called it after 2.5 miles of too-much), it was good for a laugh in the process. Funny, it was sortof the opposite of last w/e's running experience--Saturday and Sunday sessions made practical by the tossing into the mix of a few strategic errands.
Saturday I set out early for the West Village via Manhattan Bridge (while in theory I prefer the famed Brooklyn, in practice the clackity-clack of all those wooden slats gets to be a bit much after a while), precise destination W. 11th. It was a potential sublet option I was scheduled to check out, and well, six days later I can say w/ 100 percent surety that from March 1 through April 30 (31st?), said option = home. Yeah, yeah, my heart's still rooted in Park Slope, but when presented w/ the riDICulous opportunity to pay the same rent for a place--a studio all my own, not a single room, no less--surrounded by some of New York's finest ghosts, one does not turn the other cheek. Especially when one such studio includes a generous 12-paned window revealing much natural sweetness beyond, crisp white walls, and a robust Internet connection. (We won't go into the mini-fridge/lack of stove/shared bathroom/150 sq ft dimensions--hi college, I'm back!) The entire block's a brick-laid dream, tucked between 24-hour diners, time-honored bagel shops, Ricky's (gotta have one)... Gonna write lots. Gonna read lots. Gonna have people over for wine & storytime. I'm beyond excited. I can't talk.
Anyway, en route to home #433,453, I swung through the Financial District, which is an area I tend to steer clear of in favor of the nearby Battery Park/Westside Highway stretch. Not this day though, on this day I ran straight through--taking Pine Street I think it was, which at some point narrows substantially and becomes enticingly dim, barren, hushed on bitter-cold non-workdays such as this... Everything really does close down come Saturday, only faintly suggesting the M-F clamor that's always just around the corner. And then there's Trinity Church spindling out over all that capital... Looking back, this fleeting segment was the high point of the run, reasons stated.
The next morning, Sunday, I used a near-identical course to reach Timmy & co. for brunch. Lured there in part by promises of mac & cheese on par w/ Mo's (RIP, dearest), I was... not disappointed. But not blown away, either. Just really hard to beat a solid brick of deep-fried, four-cheese goodness, I guess. Yeah, so I waited, mm, two hours for my digestive system to do what it does best, then taking again to the road, course reversed. This leg of the journey didn't feel as fine as the first (uhh), but I was able to stop and snap some neat photos (views of Chinatown/East River from the bridge) along the way (post to come), which is good for something.
I don't know, maybe it's the Virgo in me, maybe it's something primitive, but I sometimes find it intensely satisfying to connect daily purpose (and gluttony, apparently) with sport. Because while I love what running does for me psychologically, and sometimes spiritually, it can also feel good to be efficient, practical. Makes me think of last night's movie--a scene wherein a young Kenyan guy is interviewed about how he runs a combined 10 miles to/from school every day. Of course, he does this out of sheer necessity, which is altogether a different story, but being able to rely completely on one's own power to move through the day--this feels important.
Return to gluttony: I've been a cupcake queen as of late, whipping up a few dozen for an ex-coworker's daughter's first bday party (I was paid! a real job!), then a batch last w/e for Mr. Doug's 30th bday extravaganza. (The latter ones--vegan chocolate cake w/ vegan vanilla buttercream and hot pink sprinkles all the way--earned me, I will say, mountainous praise and a sliver of disbelief. Again, pictures to come.) On a related front, Ms. Sandypan (full speed ahead, biz school!) and I rounded through the 'hood on Saturday, hitting up a selection of coveted PS coffee shops in search of... inspiration. Scrupulous note-taking was completed, fancyass spreadsheet is in the works. (E, you're still a partner! Full rights! Only thing: Pan nixed the salon component--something about cupcakes and blowdryers not mixing, blah blah. Anyway, I'll work on changin' that mind of hers if you work on... moving?)
Next up: Oh, just this. Yeah, just that.
Photo credit: http://66.230.220.70/images/post/jacobs/08.jpg
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
home
Pretty Prospect. Pretty Park Slope...
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Just words
[My friend Jen sent this out the other day. Too good not to pass along.]
An excerpt from Obama's speech on the war in Iraq: He gave this speech just before that fateful Senate vote in 2002 which gave President Bush the authority to wage preemptive war. He was not yet a US senator. People arguing against Obama say that he is just words. I say, back in 2002, I could have used a few more leaders with words like these.
"After September 11th, after witnessing the carnage and destruction, the dust and the tears, I supported this administration's pledge to hunt down and root out those who would slaughter innocents in the name of intolerance, and I would willingly take up arms myself to prevent such tragedy from happening again. I don't oppose all wars. And I know that in this crowd today, there is no shortage of patriots, or of patriotism.
What I am opposed to is a dumb war. What I am opposed to is a rash war. What I am opposed to is the cynical attempt by Richard Perle and Paul Wolfowitz and other armchair, weekend warriors in this administration to shove their own ideological agendas down our throats, irrespective of the costs in lives lost and in hardships borne.
What I am opposed to is the attempt by political hacks like Karl Rove to distract us from a rise in the uninsured, a rise in the poverty rate, a drop in the median income - to distract us from corporate scandals and a stock market that has just gone through the worst month since the Great Depression. That's what I'm opposed to. A dumb war. A rash war. A war based not on reason but on passion, not on principle but on politics. Now let me be clear - I suffer no illusions about Saddam Hussein. He is a brutal man. A ruthless man. A man who butchers his own people to secure his own power. He has repeatedly defied UN resolutions, thwarted UN inspection teams, developed chemical and biological weapons, and coveted nuclear capacity. He's a bad guy. The world, and the Iraqi people, would be better off without him.
But I also know that Saddam poses no imminent and direct threat to the United States, or to his neighbors, that the Iraqi economy is in shambles, that the Iraqi military a fraction of its former strength, and that in concert with the international community he can be contained until, in the way of all petty dictators, he falls away into the dustbin of history. I know that even a successful war against Iraq will require a US occupation of undetermined length, at undetermined cost, with undetermined consequences. I know that an invasion of Iraq without a clear rationale and without strong international support will only fan the flames of the Middle East, and encourage the worst, rather than best, impulses of the Arab world, and strengthen the recruitment arm of Al Qaeda. I am not opposed to all wars. I'm opposed to dumb wars.
So for those of us who seek a more just and secure world for our children, let us send a clear message to the President today. You want a fight, President Bush? Let's finish the fight with Bin Laden and Al Qaeda, through effective, coordinated intelligence, and a shutting down of the financial networks that support terrorism, and a homeland security program that involves more than color-coded warnings. You want a fight, President Bush?
Let's fight to make sure that the UN inspectors can do their work, and that we vigorously enforce a non-proliferation treaty, and that former enemies and current allies like Russia safeguard and ultimately eliminate their stores of nuclear material, and that nations like Pakistan and India never use the terrible weapons already in their possession, and that the arms merchants in our own country stop feeding the countless wars that rage across the globe. You want a fight, President Bush?
Let's fight to make sure our so-called allies in the Middle East, the Saudis and the Egyptians, stop oppressing their own people, and suppressing dissent, and tolerating corruption and inequality, and mismanaging their economies so that their youth grow up without education, without prospects, without hope, the ready recruits of terrorist cells. You want a fight, President Bush? Let's fight to wean ourselves off Middle East oil, through an energy policy that doesn't simply serve the interests of Exxon and Mobil. Those are the battles that we need to fight. Those are the battles that we willingly join. The battles against ignorance and intolerance. Corruption and greed. Poverty and despair.
The consequences of war are dire, the sacrifices immeasurable. We may have occasion in our lifetime to once again rise up in defense of our freedom, and pay the wages of war. But we ought not -- we will not -- travel down that hellish path blindly. Nor should we allow those who would march off and pay the ultimate sacrifice, who would prove the full measure of devotion with their blood, to make such an awful sacrifice in vain."
Kinetics
I don't know what the deal is, just haven't much felt like writing in this here blog lately. I think that sometimes when I've got exhilarating internal stuff going on, I'm torn between wanting to formulate a coherent explanation of/reaction to it, and wanting to keep it stowed, let it settle and spread and get warm, w/in me. Certain feelings and impressions seem to defy language, and it's this defiance that I'm gradually learning to accept, and to celebrate, because I think that by sitting quietly w/ ideas--be 'em big or small, slow or fast-moving--by holding still w/ understanding, I learn to trust myself. Even those times when language is w/in reach, I've found that safeguarding thought/sentiment can produce an incredible rush. Of course, other times it seems to breed an existential loneliness, but this is yet another thing I'm learning to appreciate the value of. I don't know, perhaps best of all is when/where *incredible rush* and *existential loneliness* meet. Reminds me, looks like a neat read.
Yeah. So there's plenty I can easily and readily write about, namely, all the great things I've taken in recently. My newish friend Amy, whom I met through volunteering, has sortof become my Friday night art buddy (most of the big museums are open late on Fridays). A couple weekends ago we swung by MOMA for the Lucian Freud exhibit she'd heard about, which was really neat. Yes, it's you-know-who's grandson, and apparently he's known for both his paintings and etchings, which you can view here. His male nudes are amazing, as are all of his human forms, clothed and unclothed, awkwardly and conventionally posed. A couple of very sweet dog portraits, too.
Something that's really standing out for me these days, in this exhibit, my and Du/Ojijo's trip to the MET the other week, and my and Amy's trip to the the Whitney last week (tried to see the Kara Walker exhibit, but alas, we were too late; wandered at random instead, drawn to one of Jenny Holzer's Truism pieces, this one a marble bench which included my currently and aptly favorited "the most profound things are inexpressible") is anatomy--human and animal--and musculature in particular. If you scroll through those Freuds, I love the exquisite detail given muscles and tendons, muscles and tendons straining, contracting, stretched across bone... I think this belongs to my very general fascination w/ movement these days: movement across the arts (reminds me the fantastic book I just finished, wherein the beautifully-human Martin mentions an E.E. Cummings quote that resonated w/ him: "Like the burlesque comedian, I am abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement"; here's a satisfying excerpt from the book), movement abruptly halted (while running in the public transportation-challenged, currently-featured-in-a-Chelsea gallery exhibit Red Hook two Fridays ago, I tripped on some street debris, bracing my fall w/ my... chin, mostly, which was served a helping of stitches and a tetanus shot--er, the arm got the shot part--an hour and one ambulance trip later), and movement tentatively resumed (my first day back running after the fall felt kinda dicey, hyperaware as I was of my footing and thus unable to concentrate on much else for the duration; yet it felt important to bounce right back into it, and this last Sunday I ran a successful-enough half marathon in the Bronx, on an obnoxiously looped course and amidst blustering conditions, both of which sadly detracted from the new-to-me scenery I'd anticipated drinking in).
With attention to movement has come attention to... intention. I've been assisted by various circumstances. The no-drinking-for-a-month thing, while over and done, woke me up to a certain kind of intention, and now, w/ my dumb Dell deciding to act all crazy (to, uh, fail to turn on) and my TV and $4 cable hookup scheming to bar me from the expansive, three-station programming schedule I'd been so spoiled w/, I'm backed into a corner: a silent one. No music, either, as I rely on the laptop for this. Thing is, these glitches are apparently not unwelcome, considering my reluctance to place the various customer service calls required of me. I don't know, the last two mornings--and evenings--have passed sweetly. W/o my buddy Matt to get me riled up over remote-controlled helicopter toy recalls, I'm left in peace. And sure, I've got a handful of DVDs I've been dyin' to watch, but Netflix'll wait. Music, though, the absence of music has been strange to adapt to, but the stillness--for a little while, anyway--I don't feel like trading back. Trite, maybe, but it really does allow you to hear yourself think, and not only that, but to hear all the tiny sounds that would otherwise (and do) go unrecognized. For instance, though I live in a cave, w/ the quiet, I'm still able to hear faint stirrings from above: the thin but persistent cry of the baby on the first floor, the honks and rattles of passing vehicles... It's all so acute, but in a pleasant, Vaseline-on-the-camera lens, Obama kinda way. Same w/ other sense experiences: W/o the blaring of the TV or iTunes, I'm somehow better attuned to the inconsequentials going on around me. Take yesterday morning: I was sitting on the toilet (forgive!), and looking right, I followed two teensy rivulets of water as they crept down my shower curtain. It was neat.
I've also been reading more--both before bed and on waking. And whoa... how did I ever not do this often? I don't know, I guess I typically fall asleep watching movies, then race to check email first thing in the a.m., which inevitably leads to checking other email accounts, news sites, blogs... But last night, I just read. In bed. And then read more this morning. In bed. Though I'm spared windows (and now, weather.com), I could see and feel the cold outside, causing me to burrow further beneath the sheets, comforted by the soft waking-up noises reaching me from stories above. It felt like the indoors-equivalent of Steinbeck's "hour of the pearl"--narrow, but thankfully reoccurring.
All of which seems to suggest what this year is about.
Random:
In honor of two-days-from-now: Love it! Though not mine, thankfully.
In honor of... Puyallup?
In honor of authors generally reluctant to interview (this is a year old, though). Amazing: "I always start a novel from a state of tabula rasa. If I think to myself, 'I have to write something in such a way,' it becomes burdensome. All I need is the first scene. But such a scene has to be incredibly concrete, alive, and definite. I don’t plan ahead for characters or story, but I become confident once I have that first indelible scene, that I can finish the novel to its conclusion." [Thanks again, 'pab!]
In honor of little guys makin' it: Nice, too, considering a good stretch of Seventh Avenue appears in jeopardy...
In honor of 2,900-calorie fries: Uh, yum?
In honor of artificial... wha?
In honor of Mendy and her 4ever-crush, matted-hair: Oui?