On My Street Corner

He's been there as long as I have been there.  He was there before I was there.  I assumed.

Every day he works at the store at the end of my block.  Tirelessly, he opens the store, he is there all day and then he closes it.  Sometimes I see him cycling up the street, on his way to work.  For thirty years he has been doing that.  For nine years I have been a witness.

We chatted and one holiday he cried as he told me how he missed his wife, who was no longer alive.  He was not looking forward to going home to an empty house; so we talked a little.  And by we, I mean the neighbourhood.  In the morning as I walked by and wished him a good morning, he would hold my hands and kiss my cheek.  He didn't mind if I was super-sweaty from a run, I was never too gross for him.  Or maybe he was just too polite to say.  Or maybe he just knew how he lifted my spirits and how he made me smile.

Sadly, we lost him on Saturday.  He was in an accident as he cycled on Saturday.  He was a part of my neighbourhood.  He was there before I was there.  He would be there after I was there.  I assumed.

No Dessert for You!

There's been a coup!  In my state.  So why aren't there riots in the street?  Or curfews?  Why are we all calmly going about our lives as though nothing has happened?  There's been a coup!

And yet it all just feels like a bunch of petulant children squabbling at the expense of the state's residents - literally and metaphorically.  People are switching sides while others are claiming that they won't talk to one guy because he spends all his time on his Blackberry.  And then the main players leave us wondering what we were thinking when we voted them in; and by we I mean not me.  One has been accused of slashing his girlfriend's face and another may or may not have stolen campaign funds and may not even live where he says he lives.  My, oh my, it makes you just want to throw your hands up in the air and give up.

But we can't give up because there are bills out there that are due to expire and who knows what happens in the world when bills expire.  The state senate is supposed to make some kind of decision about who controls the schools in the city of New York.  The state is supposed to make a ruling about what our sales tax is going to be.  The senators is supposed to determine how much our rents can go up by.  Everyday, the state is losing money due to some snafus that can only be resolved by the state's senators going back to work.  Instead each side is claiming victory, posturing in front of TV screens while doing absolutely none of the work they were elected to do.

There's been a coup?  Why doesn't it feel revolutionary?

A Dream Deferred?

Several months ago Hidef and I went over to the Whitney Museum to check out an Eggleston retrospetive - which was great, by the way.  On our way out, we stopped over at the Museum store where, among many other things, I spotted a jigsaw puzzle of one of Edward Hopper's pieces on sale and I thought, "Why not?"  I like puzzles, I liked the piece and I had never had to put together a 500 piece puzzle of any kind, so this should be fun and better for my brain the television.  

My friend, Boston, was absolutely correct, the puzzle took over my table.  She wasn't wrong at all when she said I would spend a lot of time away from  home thinking about how best to attack the challenge.  She was right when she said my puzzle was going to become the first thing I went to when I got home from work.  But it was a lot less physically painful than training for a marathon, though there were times when my brain hurt.  

I was so proud of the finished product - yes, finished - that I hunted down some glue and stuck it all together.  Ah the joy, the satisfaction... the empty hole in my life once the glue was dry and my table clear again.  What was I to do next?  Well, Hidef went out to another museum and spotted a Basquiat jigsaw puzzle, and I came across a 1,000 piece Obama one.  I started with the 1,000 pieces and boy did that take a while. The pieces were cut a little loose so if I bumped into my table while working, pieces would fall out of place. Also, there was a lot of blue in the puzzle.  A lot and really sometimes all blues look quite alike.  I plugged away and about two weeks before I went under the knife, I had a huge completed puzzle the declared - Yes We Can.  And I did.  I had been forced to go out and get a little side table because there was no space for anything but my puzzle on my big table.  For this masterpiece, I went all out and mounted the puzzle.  This much work must be remembered somehow.

Soon after Earth Day, I was strolling through a Barnes & Noble and came across something I couldn't leave behind.  It was an "Earth Friendly Jigsaw Puzzle".  A 500 piece picture of a Panda bear, each piece is actually a mini-picture of something else to do with being friendly to the earth.  But that wasn't want caught my interest.  Yes it was on sale but that wasn't quite it either.  What got me?  In this little box was an opportunity for me to indulge in some eco-terrorism.  How, you might wonder.  Well, people, the box declared that each piece of this puzzle is imbedded with wildflower seeds!  So, after I finish this puzzle, I can walk down the street, casually tossing jigsaw puzzle pieces into empty lots and, in a few months, I can walk down the same street and be greeted by beautiful, blooming wildflowers (so much more fun than being greeted as a liberator).  I can send little pieces out in every letter I write and spread the love by way of flowers.  

However, I have hit a minor roadblock.  I am struggling with the puzzle.  The little pictures in each puzzle piece serve to confound and confuse me.  The images are tiny, and in less than full-on bright sunlight, I can barely see them.   My will to terrorise the masses by way of beautiful flowers and nectar for the bees is begin slowly and steadily eroded by my ever-squinting eyes and failing sight.  

The only thing renewing my resolve is the occasional glimpse I have into the future.  As I disappear into the sunset on my bicycle (another project) people will wonder - "who was that masked flower bloomer?"

And others will respond, "I don't know but people around her call her the Masked Padaaave!"

Keep The Nightlight On, Please

There was no sport on the TV this afternoon but I needed a break from NPR's Planet Money so I went channel surfing and happened upon BBCAmerica on Demand.  Hmm, "Super Botox Me".  Well, I did watch Supersize Me and that was interesting so let me see what this is about.  There is a journalist, Kate Spicer, who is talking about how she has decided to enter the world of, I don't know, let's call it 'extreme beauty'.  I'm thinking, it's 4pm on a Thursday, I can't do much worse than this.

First she goes to a celebrity photographer and has him take untouched photos of her, sans makeup.  Post photos, they sit a sixteen year old girl next to Kate and three beauty professionals, who have been sitting in the audience, come forward to answer the journalist's question, "What does she have that I don't?"

Oooh, let me take a stab in the dark and say, well, she is young enough to be your daughter, but apparently that is not it.  I hear talk about necks and lips and small faces, which is odd to me because a lot of celebrities have huge heads (ahem, Larry King).  But, moving on.

Ms Spicer decides then to travel to America, cosmetic surgery Mecca, and makes an appointment with, and I'm not making this up, a "Knife Coach."  People pay this coach $500 to get advice on plastic surgery.  Honestly, she is the plastic surgery of a hair dresser with a bad perm that is falling out - I would not trust her with my face (a thought that recurs throughout the show).  She talks casually about starting off by injecting toxins in ones face.  Toxins?  Do we no longer know what the word toxin means?  I'm horrified because her face doesn't move even though she claims that she's raising her eyebrows.  I'm horrified because she is pleased.  I'm horrified because we are only ten minutes into this programme.

Well, this show is not called Super Botox Me for nothing.  While an allegedly conflicted is chatting happily with a consultant about Botoxing her toes and I am wondering why she doesn't just wear more comfortable shoes, a surgeon slips into the room to talk to her about the wonders Botox can do for her face.  He has a sense of humour and that's all it takes to convince her to have multiple shots of poison in her face.  Holy hell!  People do this willingly?  Just to make the face lifeless. 

Before I can take a calming breath, she is off to meet with the doctor who does Madonna's face.  It's like I'm watching a horror movie - I am terrified yet I can't look away.  The doctor is talking about looking the best he can and he looks scary.  I am not sure I could look him in the face while having a conversation with him.  He doesn't look human and yet he is proudly stating that he does his own face.  

And I can't help thinking through all of this that these doctors are the devil's minions.  They really know how to break a person.  After talking to them, one really needs Dodo's ego pump.  Only one doctor in this whole thing that she is beautiful and still he found lots of things he could do to "improve" her.  So Kate ends up being injected in the face, with poison, over 75 times, having the skin around her eyes lasered off and still not feeling much better yet needing more, more, more.

Finally, with a frozen face, filled out cheekbones and substantially less skin protecting her eyes, she returns to have her photo taken and her ego picked apart.  Did I mention that one of these beauty experts has obviously had a plastic surgeon work on her face.  She is the one to rave about how Kate looks as though she just took a fortnight off at a spa and now looks naturally rested.  The male beauty pro says Kate looks great but feels she went a little overboard with the Botox - her face from the cheeks up just doesn't move anymore.  But plastic-surgeoned expert disagrees vehemently.  "you look natural."  As though she even knows what natural looks like anymore.  Could she know a furrowed brow if it kicked her in her toxined behind?  

I fear soon that none of us will.  

If It Lasts More Than Four Hours...

My mother came to town to take care of me as wonderful mothers do.  My mother loves CNN and live sport.  Therefore, I have been watching a lot of live television.  In my regular life, I live by the creed of the digital video recorder where, if it can be helped, no TV is to be watched live.  The great benefit of delayed television is the ability to fast forward through commercials.  

Instead I have spent the last month learning about how "I should ask my doctor" about all kinds of drugs.  Drugs for depression, mood and skin control via a birth control pill that is not really for birth control but actually to keep your skin clear and your moods light, erectile dysfunction drugs, oh and some medication to grow eyelashes!  Yes, I am supposed to ask my doctor about some medication that will, apparently, give me eyelashes like Brook Shields'.  

So how exactly am I to broach the subjects with my doctor, you know the one with all the medical degrees?  

"Um, Doctor?  Mr M.D.?  I was sitting at home watching my television and I know you are telling me that I'm just fine but I was watching my TeeVee and this guy with an awesome voice told me that I needed to be talking to you about this medication that will make my life awesome.  I see you shaking my head but the voice sent me to a website with amazing coupons, I'll be paying like half price for these drugs and, well Brooke Shields says my eyelashes can be so much more than what you see before you.  Yeah, yeah, okay so the risks are suicidal thoughts, loose stools and maybe death, but the voice sounded so happy as it rushed through these risks and, honestly, they can't be that serious.  If they were serious risks, would this drug be all over television, at at prime time to boot?  I don't think so.  I have learnt a lot when I thought I was just watching a tennis match and I think I know a little more than you give me credit for.  So what?  You have the degrees and the prescription pad but I have CABLE TV!  Don't keep me from the glorious air-brushed me; make me as cool as the people in the ads."

But please give me your personal number, you know, in the "rare case of side effects".

Ode To Mmm... Mmmmm Good

I love lychees.  I love litchis.  I love a fruit that can be spelt in many different ways and still be correct.  Aren't they awesome?  Such delicious little fruits, I don't get why it's near impossible to find them in the grocery store.  Perhaps the grocery store owners think that we'll be put off by their crackly, knobby exteriors.  Oh owners, how little you know!  Such exteriors add to the joy of consumption.  You crackle and peel your way past the knobby skin to the beautiful, fleshy, delicious interior.  Such sweet tanginess.  And a perfect size to pop inside your mouth and work away.  And just when it's getting good, just too keep you interested, you get to the seed. And not just any old seed, let me tell you, but a perfectly smooth round seed that can then be used by children as some kind of pelting toy.  Or a fake marble.  So it is not just great-tasting it also serves multiple purposes.

And yet my opportunities to enjoy this wonder of nature are few and far between.  In fact, I pretty much only ever come across the litchi in the form of a litchi martini which, I know, is not a real martini but tastes so good AND has a litchi (two if I'm lucky) in it.  As I wrote this post, I was at a street fair, sipping on a litchi in sparkling wine.  You see, I'll take my litchis however you choose to give them to me.  Can anything be as fabulous as the litchi?

Oh look, cherries...

Forget The Horses

You know what the great sign of the Apocalypse is?  Autotune.  People out there are going on about war and pollution but I'm telling you this - you know how we can be sure that the end is nigh?  The fact that just about everyone on radio sounds like a computer with laryngitis.

How did this happen?  When did this happen?  And, how have we not all gone catatonic from the assault on our senses?  This is worse than McDonald's and Pizza Hut trying to pass off their fare as gourmet.  yes, McCafe, I'm looking at you.  Adding an accent grave does not high quality food make.  It just serves to deaden the taste buds, apparently.  

Dead ears.  Dead taste buds.  Oh no... wait... Is this it?  Is there no hope left? 

Excuse Me, You're Who From Where?

My attention was caught by the news story on the Air France plane. The TV blared - plane disappears while en route to France. Of course I had to stop. How can a plane go missing? In this day and age and nowhere near the Bermuda Triangle? For all the puzzlement I feel and for all the updates on television since the story first broke, I have no answers. It feels like an episode of the Twilight Zone gone tragically wrong.

Then, last night I tune into CNN and my future best friend, Anderson Cooper, declares - coming up, a plane disappears while flying from Brazil to France, along with all its passengers which included 2 Americans. He proceeded to flash a photo of the, apparently, only two passengers on the plane worth reporting on and I had an Animal Farm moment - All Animals are created equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

Funny how a book I read what feels like several lifetimes ago can pop into my head and make me feel so sad.

Well, one can only hope that the plane, and all it's passengers, might have decided to take a break on an island because the pilot is a huge fan of Lord of the Flies.