I did not know one person in Montana. I sat in the house and tried to write a novel about high school; I went for walks, drank quarts of Coors beer, listened to the radio. At night, a neighbor's horse shifted his weight from hoof to hoof out in the trees, and sometimes cropped grass so near I could hear him chew. The first snowstorm blew in from the north, and crows crossed the sky before it like thrown black socks.
(ian frazier, from great plains)
07.03.13
06.18.13
CONSUMED: A PARTIAL LIST.
amsterdam (book). my plan to bathe in the healing light of ian mcewan's booker-prize-winning novel after a comparatively underwhelming experience with atonement, she was not so successful. amsterdam isn't a bad book—it's funny, it anticipates in a slumping english newspaper the sort of editorial panic those of us in magazines enjoy these days, and it makes the lake district sound mildly interesting—but it is also quite short, and its morality-tale ending feels abrupt. part of the pleasure of a book like atonement is the painterly buildup to a character's shocking decision; amsterdam in its entirety feels as long as the tallis family's fateful dinner party, and its payoff doesn't justify the broad strokes mcewan has to use to get his characters in place in the time he allows himself. i'll give you one more chance, mcewan, and if you don't behave, i'll turn you into a goon.
an equal music (book). vikram seth's the golden gate (pushkin sonnets about san francisco) is my second favorite novel-in-poetry,* and it's had me promising myself for years that i'd read his prose as well. an equal music feels quite a bit like poetry; it's about chamber musicians, love, and sexy old europe [london, vienna, and venice], and its central romance is studded with substantial chunks of unabashedly florid prose. normally that would bug me, but seth's sincerity feels sweet rather than creepy most of the time.** music at its best feels like a really, really long alex ross column, and who can object to that?
frankenstein's army (film). the missus and i make a point of seeing the most ridiculous-sounding horror movie at the tribeca film festival every year, and this one—a found-footage stinker in which a platoon of russian soldiers attempt to win world war two by enlisting dr. frankenstein and are instead torn apart by a gaggle of what look like the anthropomorphic bomb-goblins from labyrinth—was that. it feels a bit unsporting to call it nonsensical, but i do expect my horror to be internally consistent, and frankenstein's sloppy video-game angles and haphazard plotting make the leprechaun franchise look like tolstoy.
fresh meat (film). "there are so many amazing movies at the festival this year," said director danny mulheron,*** "and then there's this movie." mulheron's horror-slapstick (about a family of cannibals "who happen to be maori" held hostage by violent fugitives in suburban new zealand) felt like low-budget kiwi robert rodriguez circa four rooms, and i kind of loved it: fresh meat was the last thing i saw at tribeca this year, and after two weeks of dancing for Extremely Serious Filmmakers, i was delighted to meet one who ripped all of the reserved seating markers out of his theater so that everyone could sit where they liked. a cannibalism-comedy double feature with fresh meat and eddie the sleepwalking cannibal would not be a bad way to spend an evening, is what i'm saying.
julius caesar (play). joe and i nearly took a weird train out of london to see the RSC's julius caesar on our trip to england last fall, and i'm a bit sorry we didn't, both because impromptu shakespeare binges are awesome and because when it crossed the atlantic it landed at the BAM harvey theater, a problematic little venue full of loutish cell-phone answerers which makes me think without fondness of when i was limber enough to fold myself up like a hipster's bike. theater aside, the theatre was quite good: the production is set in present-day africa,**** and caesar & co. bring to mind any number of nasty modern dictators. "nasty" is the key word here; i don't find any of shakespeare's tragic heroes especially cuddly, but julie has always been down at the bottom of the list, and he's still there now. the minimal concrete set felt postapocalyptic rather than military—lots of postapocalyptic shakespeare around these days—and the witchy-tribal soothsayer made the players' very modern punishments feel ages old. i like this new timelessness.
pym (book). did i find pym, mat johnson's tale of an unemployed professor who leads a team to antarctica in search of the cold-ass honky described at the end of edgar allan poe's narrative of arthur gordon pym of nantucket, or did pym find me? i first set out for it after storming out of a washington hotel room in a fit of hanger (i found neither it nor food, but i did acquire a lovely edition of 1Q84). when i finally did get my own copy, i found, among other things, a surprisingly awesome story-within-the-story of a thomas-kinkade-like conservative (orange county is composed almost entirely of pastel stucco and republicans; we have strong feelings about thomas kinkade, and conservatives). i've also found mat johnson to be one of the few writers i can follow on twitter without wanting to pull out my own teeth. bring pym to the beach this summer! lily concurs.
the reluctant fundamentalist (film). first a 2007 novel by pakistani author mohsin hamid, the reluctant fundamentalist was, by the time we met, a Very Serious Post-9/11 Thriller featuring, among other things, british/pakistani dreamboat riz ahmed, kate hudson as a recent college graduate with terrible brown hair, and kiefer sutherland as a wall street master-of-the-universe type (kicking down terrorists' doors has been very, very good to him; i didn't recognize him when i saw him at the premiere). it's thoughtful and intense—both ahmed's character's response to the ongoing way he's stereotyped and his movie-spanning chat with liev schrieber are put together quite pleasingly—but i imagine one's enjoyment of it and, more to the point, one's appreciation of its twisty conclusion would be rather compromised if, say, one had to tiptoe out of the theater ten minutes before it ended in order to collect audience award ballots. ah, the heartbreak of film festivals.
stranger things happen (book). kelly link's first collection didn't kick me in the teeth nearly as hard as her second one did, but it's still some of the cleverest, scariest, most original fiction i've read in years. come for the prospective father-in-law with interchangeable handmade noses ("water off a black dog's back"), stay for the stuff in "the specialist's hat" that i'll reference without actually talking about because it makes me nervous. salon's laura miller called stranger things happen "an alchemical mix of borges, raymond chandler and 'buffy the vampire slayer;'" that's about right.
V/H/S/2 (film). like frankenstein's army, V/H/S/2 is found-footage horror (here, an anthology of four short films united by the premise of a couple of investigators breaking into a house to find a missing man and finding videocassettes full of mayhem*****); unlike frankenstein's army, it was occasionally so scary it was actually exhausting (in shorts which don't have time to develop fancy plot points, you're mostly dealing with jump-shock after jump-shock; also, i saw it by myself at midnight on a friday). "a ride in the park," by the blair witch project's co-director, is themost only enjoyable helmet-cam video i've ever seen; "slumber party alien abduction" features the fictional suffering and demise of the director's own dog, but said dog was rewarded with innumerable hot dogs at the shoot, we learned in the Q&A after the movie, so i'm alright. this love we have is real, late-night tribeca.
imaginary reading group discussion questions
01 the leprechaun franchise, she is rebooting this year. shall you watch?
02 do any of shakespeare's tragic heroes tug at your heartstrings?
03 do you get hangry?
04 how hard would it be to talk you into going to antarctica?
05 the shit: when was it last scared out of you?
06 what is the premise of your found-footage horror film?
*toby barlow's crazy, lurid sharp teeth - free verse about werewolves in los angeles - is my first.
**the love story does occasionally stray into bridge across forever territory, but the two decades i've put between myself and richard bach have made echoes of him in other books slightly more manageable.
***(once a nominee for best female performance for his work as heidi the hippo in meet the feebles)
****the RSC's artistic director was inspired by nelson mandela's notes on julius caesar in the robben island bible, a copy of the complete works of shakespeare smuggled between south african political prisoners. each man underlined passage which was meaningful to him, and mandela chose "cowards die many deaths..." from julius caesar, act II, scene II.
*****generic mayhem, not blackstone's mayhem or dean winters as mayhem****** in those allstate commercials.
******a fellow volunteer claimed to see dean winters at the same premiere at which i encountered kiefer "babyman" sutherland. she was beside herself.
amsterdam (book). my plan to bathe in the healing light of ian mcewan's booker-prize-winning novel after a comparatively underwhelming experience with atonement, she was not so successful. amsterdam isn't a bad book—it's funny, it anticipates in a slumping english newspaper the sort of editorial panic those of us in magazines enjoy these days, and it makes the lake district sound mildly interesting—but it is also quite short, and its morality-tale ending feels abrupt. part of the pleasure of a book like atonement is the painterly buildup to a character's shocking decision; amsterdam in its entirety feels as long as the tallis family's fateful dinner party, and its payoff doesn't justify the broad strokes mcewan has to use to get his characters in place in the time he allows himself. i'll give you one more chance, mcewan, and if you don't behave, i'll turn you into a goon.
an equal music (book). vikram seth's the golden gate (pushkin sonnets about san francisco) is my second favorite novel-in-poetry,* and it's had me promising myself for years that i'd read his prose as well. an equal music feels quite a bit like poetry; it's about chamber musicians, love, and sexy old europe [london, vienna, and venice], and its central romance is studded with substantial chunks of unabashedly florid prose. normally that would bug me, but seth's sincerity feels sweet rather than creepy most of the time.** music at its best feels like a really, really long alex ross column, and who can object to that?
frankenstein's army (film). the missus and i make a point of seeing the most ridiculous-sounding horror movie at the tribeca film festival every year, and this one—a found-footage stinker in which a platoon of russian soldiers attempt to win world war two by enlisting dr. frankenstein and are instead torn apart by a gaggle of what look like the anthropomorphic bomb-goblins from labyrinth—was that. it feels a bit unsporting to call it nonsensical, but i do expect my horror to be internally consistent, and frankenstein's sloppy video-game angles and haphazard plotting make the leprechaun franchise look like tolstoy.
fresh meat (film). "there are so many amazing movies at the festival this year," said director danny mulheron,*** "and then there's this movie." mulheron's horror-slapstick (about a family of cannibals "who happen to be maori" held hostage by violent fugitives in suburban new zealand) felt like low-budget kiwi robert rodriguez circa four rooms, and i kind of loved it: fresh meat was the last thing i saw at tribeca this year, and after two weeks of dancing for Extremely Serious Filmmakers, i was delighted to meet one who ripped all of the reserved seating markers out of his theater so that everyone could sit where they liked. a cannibalism-comedy double feature with fresh meat and eddie the sleepwalking cannibal would not be a bad way to spend an evening, is what i'm saying.
julius caesar (play). joe and i nearly took a weird train out of london to see the RSC's julius caesar on our trip to england last fall, and i'm a bit sorry we didn't, both because impromptu shakespeare binges are awesome and because when it crossed the atlantic it landed at the BAM harvey theater, a problematic little venue full of loutish cell-phone answerers which makes me think without fondness of when i was limber enough to fold myself up like a hipster's bike. theater aside, the theatre was quite good: the production is set in present-day africa,**** and caesar & co. bring to mind any number of nasty modern dictators. "nasty" is the key word here; i don't find any of shakespeare's tragic heroes especially cuddly, but julie has always been down at the bottom of the list, and he's still there now. the minimal concrete set felt postapocalyptic rather than military—lots of postapocalyptic shakespeare around these days—and the witchy-tribal soothsayer made the players' very modern punishments feel ages old. i like this new timelessness.
pym (book). did i find pym, mat johnson's tale of an unemployed professor who leads a team to antarctica in search of the cold-ass honky described at the end of edgar allan poe's narrative of arthur gordon pym of nantucket, or did pym find me? i first set out for it after storming out of a washington hotel room in a fit of hanger (i found neither it nor food, but i did acquire a lovely edition of 1Q84). when i finally did get my own copy, i found, among other things, a surprisingly awesome story-within-the-story of a thomas-kinkade-like conservative (orange county is composed almost entirely of pastel stucco and republicans; we have strong feelings about thomas kinkade, and conservatives). i've also found mat johnson to be one of the few writers i can follow on twitter without wanting to pull out my own teeth. bring pym to the beach this summer! lily concurs.
the reluctant fundamentalist (film). first a 2007 novel by pakistani author mohsin hamid, the reluctant fundamentalist was, by the time we met, a Very Serious Post-9/11 Thriller featuring, among other things, british/pakistani dreamboat riz ahmed, kate hudson as a recent college graduate with terrible brown hair, and kiefer sutherland as a wall street master-of-the-universe type (kicking down terrorists' doors has been very, very good to him; i didn't recognize him when i saw him at the premiere). it's thoughtful and intense—both ahmed's character's response to the ongoing way he's stereotyped and his movie-spanning chat with liev schrieber are put together quite pleasingly—but i imagine one's enjoyment of it and, more to the point, one's appreciation of its twisty conclusion would be rather compromised if, say, one had to tiptoe out of the theater ten minutes before it ended in order to collect audience award ballots. ah, the heartbreak of film festivals.
stranger things happen (book). kelly link's first collection didn't kick me in the teeth nearly as hard as her second one did, but it's still some of the cleverest, scariest, most original fiction i've read in years. come for the prospective father-in-law with interchangeable handmade noses ("water off a black dog's back"), stay for the stuff in "the specialist's hat" that i'll reference without actually talking about because it makes me nervous. salon's laura miller called stranger things happen "an alchemical mix of borges, raymond chandler and 'buffy the vampire slayer;'" that's about right.
V/H/S/2 (film). like frankenstein's army, V/H/S/2 is found-footage horror (here, an anthology of four short films united by the premise of a couple of investigators breaking into a house to find a missing man and finding videocassettes full of mayhem*****); unlike frankenstein's army, it was occasionally so scary it was actually exhausting (in shorts which don't have time to develop fancy plot points, you're mostly dealing with jump-shock after jump-shock; also, i saw it by myself at midnight on a friday). "a ride in the park," by the blair witch project's co-director, is the
imaginary reading group discussion questions
01 the leprechaun franchise, she is rebooting this year. shall you watch?
02 do any of shakespeare's tragic heroes tug at your heartstrings?
03 do you get hangry?
04 how hard would it be to talk you into going to antarctica?
05 the shit: when was it last scared out of you?
06 what is the premise of your found-footage horror film?
*toby barlow's crazy, lurid sharp teeth - free verse about werewolves in los angeles - is my first.
**the love story does occasionally stray into bridge across forever territory, but the two decades i've put between myself and richard bach have made echoes of him in other books slightly more manageable.
***(once a nominee for best female performance for his work as heidi the hippo in meet the feebles)
****the RSC's artistic director was inspired by nelson mandela's notes on julius caesar in the robben island bible, a copy of the complete works of shakespeare smuggled between south african political prisoners. each man underlined passage which was meaningful to him, and mandela chose "cowards die many deaths..." from julius caesar, act II, scene II.
*****generic mayhem, not blackstone's mayhem or dean winters as mayhem****** in those allstate commercials.
******a fellow volunteer claimed to see dean winters at the same premiere at which i encountered kiefer "babyman" sutherland. she was beside herself.
06.14.13
"Mr. Andrews, there is a folk tale that before being born, every human soul knows all the secrets of life and death and the universe. Then, just before birth, an angel leans down, puts his finger to the new baby's lips, and whispers, Shhh." Harris touches his philtrum. "According to the story, this is the mark left by the angel's finger. Every human being has one."
"Have you ever seen an angel, Mr. Harris?"
"No, but I once saw a camel. It was in the Bronx Zoo. Choose a door."
(stephen king, from "afterlife," tin house #56)
06.07.13
the dirty dozen {mystery train,* round V}
it's been nearly a year and a half since i last asked you to guess what folks on the new york city subway are reading based on what i tell you of their fripperies, and that makes me sad; there are few things i like as well as sweeping generalizations based on clothing and books. the world has changed since some gal on the B train abandoned her paul auster for an oriental trading company catalog and the marriage plot probably disappointed a male backup dancer on a different B train: hilary mantel won the booker prize again, michelle williams announced she was growing out her pixie cut, natasha trethewey became our poet laureate, and visible bras became socially acceptable. it's time to reconsider the mystery train.
who's giving foxy knoxy her day in court? should i, in turn, give one to hemingway?** how would one benefit from a zipper which opened across but not around one's knee? is the male reader going extinct? how does the way we talk change the way we work? book titles are linked to descriptions and cover images, if additional research is your bag. if you correctly pair a book with its reader, i'll update the lists; if you understand the bra thing, that makes one of us. guess early, guess often, and good luck!
{the peeps}
01F, early 20s, bobbed hair, round tortoiseshell glasses, beauty mark, grey cowl-neck sweater, black wool coat with pearly purple buttons, little brown satchel worn over left shoulder and right hip, black-and-white knee-length tweed skirt, short black lace-up boots with black socks, M train [the catcher in the rye, j.d. salinger - MDF spots a twitchy lady]
02 F, late 30s, red polarfleece hat, nordic blonde hair, moss-colored floral scarf, black quilted barn coat, long grey sweater, dark jeans, brown pebbled leather slip-ons with orthopedic soles, black hobo bag with gold zippers, pregnant, B train
03F, 20s, forest green flapper hat with brown leather band pulled low over brow, ivory knitted scarf pulled up over mouth, black and white chevron tweed coat, red right sleeve, crossed legs with royal blue tights, black loafers with white tongues, M train [a moveable feast, ernest hemingway - anon pegs a farewell to awesome]
04 M, late 20s, shaved head, heavy stubble (proto-beard?), blue-gray striped oxford rolled up to the elbows and worn open over a white tee, loose blue boot-cut jeans, extremely clean black hiking boots, B train
05M, late 60s, gray bottlebrush moustache, gold-rimmed readers worn low on nose, khaki baseball cap with "new york" in white embroidered script, metal cane and black messenger bag between knees, dunkin donuts cup at feet, blue plaid shirt, black slacks, brown leather slip-ons, F train [lords of the north, bernard cornwell - MDF's second victim]
06 F, early 20s, long brown hair tucked behind ears, beauty mark under right eye, nails bitten to the quick, grey heather tank, shrunken khaki band jacket, mint and navy blue keds, black skinny jeans, multicolored tote bag at feet, F train
07 F, early 20s, white-blonde hair in high, tight ponytail, grey cocoon cardigan over black tank, marigold-yellow nails, blue skinny jeans, black loafers, cover bent behind book, flipping back and forth between pages, B train
08 F, late 20s, wild streaky ringlets, black button-down with white polka dots, eight multicolored friendship bracelets, happy face with dimple in black marker on back of right hand, pegged patchwork jeans, black platform supergas, mustard-colored jansport on both shoulders, F train
09 F, early 20s, high black folded-over bun, sheer white lace top under small black cardigan, black skinny jeans, louis vuitton damier print tote, black watch plaid wellingtons, D train
10F, early 20s, glossy brown hair in kerchief headband, thin gold chain with small medallion, oversized camo-print jacket over loose white button-down, black skinny jeans, cracked tan leather crossbody bag, black tasseled loafers, coffee in right hand, F train [victoria, knut hamsun - MDF makes the ID]
11 F, late 40s, heavy, square-framed black glasses, wavy hair swept back with wide band, big black cardigan over rumpled blue and white shirt, black slacks with heavy silver zipper across left knee, huge spring-green bag in lap, black airwalk sneakers with tan laces, white plastic shopping bag hooked over left wrist, five silver rings, F train
12 F, 30s, shoulder-length, wavy brown hair, cornflower blue long-sleeved spandex top, dark grey yoga pants, black windbreaker, black-and-white pumas, tall fuchsia umbrella between knees, victoria's secret shopping bag at feet, large black leather purse with silver hardware in lap, coffee in right hand, B train
{the books}
la vérité sur l'affaire harry quebert, joël dicker
waiting to be heard, amanda knox
lords of the north, bernard cornwell
the catcher in the rye, j.d. salinger
victoria, knut hamsun
how the way we talk can change the way we work, kegan lahey
a storm of swords, george r.r. martin
the river why, david james duncan
robopocalypse, daniel h. wilson
en el tiempo de las mariposas, julia alvarez
a light to the gentiles: reflections on the gospel of luke, william c. mills
a moveable feast, ernest hemingway
*tip of the hat, as always, to coverspy.
**i know i ask every year or two. reader, that's how hard it is.
it's been nearly a year and a half since i last asked you to guess what folks on the new york city subway are reading based on what i tell you of their fripperies, and that makes me sad; there are few things i like as well as sweeping generalizations based on clothing and books. the world has changed since some gal on the B train abandoned her paul auster for an oriental trading company catalog and the marriage plot probably disappointed a male backup dancer on a different B train: hilary mantel won the booker prize again, michelle williams announced she was growing out her pixie cut, natasha trethewey became our poet laureate, and visible bras became socially acceptable. it's time to reconsider the mystery train.
who's giving foxy knoxy her day in court? should i, in turn, give one to hemingway?** how would one benefit from a zipper which opened across but not around one's knee? is the male reader going extinct? how does the way we talk change the way we work? book titles are linked to descriptions and cover images, if additional research is your bag. if you correctly pair a book with its reader, i'll update the lists; if you understand the bra thing, that makes one of us. guess early, guess often, and good luck!
{the peeps}
01
02 F, late 30s, red polarfleece hat, nordic blonde hair, moss-colored floral scarf, black quilted barn coat, long grey sweater, dark jeans, brown pebbled leather slip-ons with orthopedic soles, black hobo bag with gold zippers, pregnant, B train
03
04 M, late 20s, shaved head, heavy stubble (proto-beard?), blue-gray striped oxford rolled up to the elbows and worn open over a white tee, loose blue boot-cut jeans, extremely clean black hiking boots, B train
05
06 F, early 20s, long brown hair tucked behind ears, beauty mark under right eye, nails bitten to the quick, grey heather tank, shrunken khaki band jacket, mint and navy blue keds, black skinny jeans, multicolored tote bag at feet, F train
07 F, early 20s, white-blonde hair in high, tight ponytail, grey cocoon cardigan over black tank, marigold-yellow nails, blue skinny jeans, black loafers, cover bent behind book, flipping back and forth between pages, B train
08 F, late 20s, wild streaky ringlets, black button-down with white polka dots, eight multicolored friendship bracelets, happy face with dimple in black marker on back of right hand, pegged patchwork jeans, black platform supergas, mustard-colored jansport on both shoulders, F train
09 F, early 20s, high black folded-over bun, sheer white lace top under small black cardigan, black skinny jeans, louis vuitton damier print tote, black watch plaid wellingtons, D train
10
11 F, late 40s, heavy, square-framed black glasses, wavy hair swept back with wide band, big black cardigan over rumpled blue and white shirt, black slacks with heavy silver zipper across left knee, huge spring-green bag in lap, black airwalk sneakers with tan laces, white plastic shopping bag hooked over left wrist, five silver rings, F train
12 F, 30s, shoulder-length, wavy brown hair, cornflower blue long-sleeved spandex top, dark grey yoga pants, black windbreaker, black-and-white pumas, tall fuchsia umbrella between knees, victoria's secret shopping bag at feet, large black leather purse with silver hardware in lap, coffee in right hand, B train
{the books}
la vérité sur l'affaire harry quebert, joël dicker
waiting to be heard, amanda knox
how the way we talk can change the way we work, kegan lahey
a storm of swords, george r.r. martin
the river why, david james duncan
robopocalypse, daniel h. wilson
en el tiempo de las mariposas, julia alvarez
a light to the gentiles: reflections on the gospel of luke, william c. mills
*tip of the hat, as always, to coverspy.
**i know i ask every year or two. reader, that's how hard it is.
05.30.13
Oddly, given Bang's stated aims, she's happy to court obscurity. She says that the she-wolf that detains the pilgrim outside the wood has a "bitch-kitty" face; Virgil tells the pilgrim to climb the "meringue-pie mountain" that lies ahead. "Bitch-kitty" gets an explanatory footnote: Bang says it's something she found in the Dictionary of American Slang. My edition of that book says "bitch kitty" was a phrase of the nineteen-thirties and forties. (Roughly, it meant a "humdinger.") Did Bang expect today's readers to know it? Not really, it seems. She says that she wants these oddities to be fleeting pleasures for us. To me, they're not pleasures, but just oddities, something like finding a Tootsie Roll in the meat loaf.customers who bought this item also bought: bible stories in cockney rhyming slang
(joan acocella, from "what the hell," on new translations of dante's divine comedy, new yorker 05.27.13)
05.29.13
my sisters and i joined the line for moma's rain room (a temporary installation in which fancy tech creates the experience of walking through a downpour without getting wet; it's dazzling, and it's been wildly popular) at something like half past noon this past friday. it was (old-fashioned) raining (on the outdoor line) at the time, and a staffer with an umbrella and an impeccably-cut mackintosh approached me. "just so you know," he said, "the wait is about three hours right now." i grimaced. "no, you don't understand," he whispered. "that's the best it's been for a week." we ended up waiting a bit less than that, in fact, and it was...quite nice, all things considered? as kidchamp dot net is obviously above all things a destination for practical data, allow me to share some strategic information. if you intend to rain-room,
bring pals, three if you can; that way two of you can peel off to explore the rest of the museum (or forage for provisions, or use the bathroom) while the other two perform feats of strength for each other, or play cards, or argue about the new daft punk album* in line. the line must include one member of your group at all times, but beyond that you're free to come and go as you please, provided that you hang on to your ticket.
bring layers. i wore a short-sleeved silk shirt and suffered. misty, late-spring rain gets into your bones when you're standing in it for a long time, even if you've got an umbrella.
bring booze. i'm not saying you should whip a bottle of wild turkey out of your purse, but if, say, you jog up to the columbus circle american apparel in search of a cheap cardigan and pass both a liquor store and a starbucks on the way back, you should bring your sisters fortified coffee.
bring a real camera. it's pretty dark in the rain room, and most cameraphones aren't fast enough to take decent photos. unless you're deft with baggies or a wild kingdom-style photographer's tent, moreover, you've probably never shot in the rain with good equipment; do it now. speaking of,
bring a crossword puzzle, or some origami projects, or the sunday times book review. dancers in the rain are nice and all, but they can get wet; it rains in every dance movie ever made. if you just want to be cinematic, like, recite roy batty's speech from the end of blade runner. i say use the special circumstances to make something new.
*meh.
05.27.13
101 in 1001 {III}: 036 enter a cooking or baking contest [completed 05.18.13]
while competing in a cooking or baking contest isn't especially difficult, finding a suitable one to enter is kind of rough. how does that even work outside of, like, county fairs and food television? i felt like the universe was tugging on my shirtsleeve when i got an email about a neighborhood cupcake-off in williamsburg last weekend: it seemed comparatively mellow, last-minute entrants were fine, and proceeds went to charity. also, let's be honest, my dark and stormy cupcakes are the shit. my friend lesley had at least two at her bachelorette party and i think she's paleo.
so: cupcaking. the event was held in a notorious den of foodies* and i figured i didn't have much of a shot at straight-up winning; presentation, on the other hand, i could do. i thought broken umbrellas were a win, but the little paper cocktail versions i had were awfully tropical and, when artfully mangled, said "hurricane" rather more loudly than "the shitty umbrellas you buy from some guy on the subway when you're caught in a storm on the way to the office and end up busting and throwing away two weeks later." luckily my sister (hooray sister!) noted that the shiny wrappers i'd found in the cupcake section at sur la table** made the cupcakes themselves look like little garbage cans. with that i felt we were in the clear.
see how not-all-that-wobbly my penmanship is? one would never guess that the gal at the ticket counter encouraging me to get friendly with the crowd and talk up my goods had just caused my hands to shake so badly i had to delegate cupcake-quartering*** to my sister! i was fine five minutes later, it's - i like to feed people, but i'm deeply shy, and more of a lobsterman than a hostess. i thought i would just set up my stuff, motor off, and then come back later to haul up the traps. this crowd had petitions, and bow ties, and one lady was wearing a baby, and i don't want to look at people while they're eating or to have them look at me, and i was wearing a sort-of see-through shirt (they are a theme this spring, apparently). i spent most of the cupcake caucus skulking around in the store outside the event, is what i'm saying, and i am okay with that.
as hinted in my last post, i contemplated voting for myself for the people's choice award. i did in fact like my cupcake best, but i felt it would be unsporting to put a ticket in my own mason jar (yes, one votes for one's favorite cupcake in a mason jar; shut up, esb). sadly, my actual vote was even more ungentlemanly: i was going to go for an entrant who had pleased me by using salt, but she had an early lead and i still kind of wanted to win, so i went third-party. cupcaking pipes integrity from you like so much buttercream frosting.
the presentation award went to a gal who arranged little spikes of bacon on top of her cupcakes like the skeksi palace in the dark crystal (quite cool). innovation went to a baker of tamarind cupcakes who fell ill and left before the winners were announced(!), the judges gave top honors to an elvis cupcake (bacon/peanut butter/banana, i assume; i skipped the baconful entries), and the early leader (a professional cupcaker!) won people's choice. there was a respectable handful of tickets in my jar at the end of the night; though i won't enjoy free berries for the summer,**** i feel like the cakes were appreciated. when asked to introduce myself and my baking to the crowd, i said in a steady voice that i like bad weather.
imaginary reading group discussion questions
01 have you ever entered a cooking or baking contest? what happened?
02 have you ever voted for a third-party candidate?
03 speaking of baking, i now have a tumblr featuring birthday cakes for animals. how about that?
04 are you a cupcake enthusiast?
*i've been trying to register for one of their weekend knife-skills classes for at least four thousand years and five deep flesh wounds; jumping on that calendar is harder than getting reservations at pdt.
**holy shit, cupcake section at sur la table.
***even after the quartering, anyone who tried all of the entries would have ended up eating the equivalent of at least...four whole cupcakes? the judges looked a little shaky by the time we wrapped up.
****heading out to brooklyn each week for a CSA share would have been a pain in the ass, but damn, that was a good prize.
while competing in a cooking or baking contest isn't especially difficult, finding a suitable one to enter is kind of rough. how does that even work outside of, like, county fairs and food television? i felt like the universe was tugging on my shirtsleeve when i got an email about a neighborhood cupcake-off in williamsburg last weekend: it seemed comparatively mellow, last-minute entrants were fine, and proceeds went to charity. also, let's be honest, my dark and stormy cupcakes are the shit. my friend lesley had at least two at her bachelorette party and i think she's paleo.
so: cupcaking. the event was held in a notorious den of foodies* and i figured i didn't have much of a shot at straight-up winning; presentation, on the other hand, i could do. i thought broken umbrellas were a win, but the little paper cocktail versions i had were awfully tropical and, when artfully mangled, said "hurricane" rather more loudly than "the shitty umbrellas you buy from some guy on the subway when you're caught in a storm on the way to the office and end up busting and throwing away two weeks later." luckily my sister (hooray sister!) noted that the shiny wrappers i'd found in the cupcake section at sur la table** made the cupcakes themselves look like little garbage cans. with that i felt we were in the clear.
see how not-all-that-wobbly my penmanship is? one would never guess that the gal at the ticket counter encouraging me to get friendly with the crowd and talk up my goods had just caused my hands to shake so badly i had to delegate cupcake-quartering*** to my sister! i was fine five minutes later, it's - i like to feed people, but i'm deeply shy, and more of a lobsterman than a hostess. i thought i would just set up my stuff, motor off, and then come back later to haul up the traps. this crowd had petitions, and bow ties, and one lady was wearing a baby, and i don't want to look at people while they're eating or to have them look at me, and i was wearing a sort-of see-through shirt (they are a theme this spring, apparently). i spent most of the cupcake caucus skulking around in the store outside the event, is what i'm saying, and i am okay with that.
as hinted in my last post, i contemplated voting for myself for the people's choice award. i did in fact like my cupcake best, but i felt it would be unsporting to put a ticket in my own mason jar (yes, one votes for one's favorite cupcake in a mason jar; shut up, esb). sadly, my actual vote was even more ungentlemanly: i was going to go for an entrant who had pleased me by using salt, but she had an early lead and i still kind of wanted to win, so i went third-party. cupcaking pipes integrity from you like so much buttercream frosting.
the presentation award went to a gal who arranged little spikes of bacon on top of her cupcakes like the skeksi palace in the dark crystal (quite cool). innovation went to a baker of tamarind cupcakes who fell ill and left before the winners were announced(!), the judges gave top honors to an elvis cupcake (bacon/peanut butter/banana, i assume; i skipped the baconful entries), and the early leader (a professional cupcaker!) won people's choice. there was a respectable handful of tickets in my jar at the end of the night; though i won't enjoy free berries for the summer,**** i feel like the cakes were appreciated. when asked to introduce myself and my baking to the crowd, i said in a steady voice that i like bad weather.
imaginary reading group discussion questions
01 have you ever entered a cooking or baking contest? what happened?
02 have you ever voted for a third-party candidate?
03 speaking of baking, i now have a tumblr featuring birthday cakes for animals. how about that?
04 are you a cupcake enthusiast?
*i've been trying to register for one of their weekend knife-skills classes for at least four thousand years and five deep flesh wounds; jumping on that calendar is harder than getting reservations at pdt.
**holy shit, cupcake section at sur la table.
***even after the quartering, anyone who tried all of the entries would have ended up eating the equivalent of at least...four whole cupcakes? the judges looked a little shaky by the time we wrapped up.
****heading out to brooklyn each week for a CSA share would have been a pain in the ass, but damn, that was a good prize.
05.21.13
a girl without her blog ('s comments) is a bit like a boy without his dog. it's more difficult to know when she's fallen down an old well, for example, and in the absence of interlocutors she eddies into creepy soliloquy. i've always had fairly strong feelings about what i want to say here; over these months and months of comment-less growing pains,* i've also developed a pretty intense appreciation for how very much you, friends and thoughtful strangers, share with me. i have missed you terribly. i am so glad to be able to ask you over again.
imaginary reading group discussion questions
01 if you were to make, say, a pot of chile verde, would you roast your own greenies, buy them canned, order the crazy express-shipped frozen kind, or what?
02 how do you feel about this sweater?
03 savages: derivative? interesting? both, or neither?
04 might it be reasonable to buy another little helium tank so that i can refill steve's mylar balloon instead of buying him a new one every few months? (little helium tanks are recyclable; mylar balloons from the local ninety-nine-cent store are not.)
05 is it poor form to vote for yourself in a baking contest?
*it's exciting to have been using blogger since 2001, perhaps, but it is grueling to play matchmaker between one's dinosite and the internets of 2012/13; both of my tech sherpas have been heroic.
05.17.13
1: Yo, Miss Thing!
2: Yo Merisa, what's up?
1: You heard what happened at the Donut Hill the other night? - Yo I was there and those De La kids was fighting, yo they was wildin'.
2: Word man?
1: Word, the whole thing happened in front of my face, yo, they was on the dance floor, right, some kid stepped up to them and said something about hippies, then punks, and the chubby one, Plug Three?
2: Yeah. Plug Three, yeah I know him.
1: All right, Plug Three, all right, he walked up to this kid, hit him real quick, think he didn't when he did, and then them other kids the Jungle Brothers and Quest and, um, what's the other ones, the other ones?
2: The Violators.
1: The Violators, right, right, throwing chairs, and they didn't care who they was hitting, you think they wasn't?
2: Yeah. I know, I thought it was supposed to be about peace signs, things like that, you know...
05.15.13
@evencleveland On my way home last night: a mini dachshund in an argyle sweater and rhinestone collar who answered to the name "Diamond."
@kidchamp @evencleveland would bowie be pleased? i like to think so.
@evencleveland Now I have a happy thought for the day: David and Iman, reading, suavely relaxed, surrounded by dachshunds in diamond collars.
@kidchamp @evencleveland would bowie be pleased? i like to think so.
@evencleveland Now I have a happy thought for the day: David and Iman, reading, suavely relaxed, surrounded by dachshunds in diamond collars.
05.06.13
the cocktail of the summer, in case you were wondering, is the aviation (our version is 2 oz. nolet's silver dry gin, 3/4 oz. lemon juice, 1/2 oz. luxardo maraschino originale, and 1/4 oz. rothman & winter crème de violette; shake with ice and strain into a chilled coupe). it is one of those beverages for which you must purchase liqueurs you're sure you'll never use again (any old gin will likely work and who doesn't have that, but the maraschino and the crème de violette cannot be approximated with other things), but an aviation makes you feel as though you're on a zeppelin in a spangled cocktail dress, and if that isn't your idea of an incomparable friday-night situation we probably wouldn't get along. they say it's called an aviation because it looks like the evening sky. joe downloaded a flight-tracking app a few weeks ago, so as we sit on the balcony with our drinks he tells me who's causing each vapour trail in the eastern air.
05.01.13
joe and the cats and i began our lives in new york city ten years ago today. i remember thinking as i was falling asleep a few nights ago that i'm the only californian left in our apartment, but that's not true. it hasn't been true for a long time.
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