“Millions long for immortality who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.”
-Susan Ertz
Lazy sunday, wake up in the hour of 11 snooze. Fry eggs, coffee percolates, Lou Reed transforms. Fingertips stained blue from frozen midnight snacking. Fruit flies settle on dirty dish perches. To wash, or not to wash?
Delta flight number 141, arrives 4:44. "Is she red, is she white?" Today begins the month of August 2010, the last month of Glenville Manor...
or is it glenvile?
The roaches, the rent,
disgusting habits formed finished forgotten, Eugene Finkelstein and
Gateway Realty visits,
think freezing and frying, living and dying, loving and trying
inside the beautiful walls of this shitty apartment.
Inquisitive animals we are, these cats, mice, and men seeking shelter.
Some lodge for nights and weekends, others months and years we stay.
A place to ball home after life; I, one of 9, called it home.
My little box, attached to a box, one of 6 little boxes behind airlock glass doors.
Four windows open me to the world, four curtains cloister my world against yours.
the poetic nostalgia is already setting in. wait, we still have August! right?
but it is inevitably winding down, as summer does every summer. all we can do is listen to say anything, putz, go for a bike ride, cook, read, maybe wash myself or some dishes. the point is that summer will be back around in no time, and in the mean time we have 3 whole seasons to enjoy. I thought you should be warned, or rather reminded.
something to do on a sunday afternoon? how about building a bamboo bike?
going to pick up my father and his sweetie Lois from the airport in a couple of hours. Inchallah they will arrive at 4:44 in the pm, and then will call me from the cell phone lot where I will be waiting, snoozing or reading. I am excited to spend some time with Papa again, as in tonight! They are coming from Conakry, by way of a flight to Dakar, a flight to NYC, and finally a flight to Boston. He has been working and travelling since early June, and Lois joined him in Dakar for the last two weeks of said trip. Here's to safe travels on their final leg.
sometimes all we need are plans for sleeping in on a lazy sunday.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
sunday morning coming down
I have 6 songs in my digital music library with 'sunday' in their titles and 24 with 'god,' plus 5 with 'jesus' in them. Also 12 with 'soul,' 3 with 'brain,' 7 with 'money/cash,' and 9 with 'dog.' But st. valentine takes the cake in this song title battle, with 87 mentions for 'love' and 19 for 'heart.' As they say, "Cash Rules Everything Around Me," but "Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love" (they being Wu Tang Clan and Albert Einstein, respectively).
Thursday, plus wednesday evening, was passed most pleasantly in superior company. It is quite nice to reconnect with a community of Friends, most of whom I have not seen in several years. It has also been too long since I have done any kind of community service. I helped to cook and serve food at a Salvation Army dinner in Newburyport, sponsored by Mommy's Quaker Meeting. It was a kind of short order fast paced service that I have grown very comfortable with over the past two months at both of my jobs.
The food service business is one that I have grown accustomed to. I have worked almost every kind of job, except for fine dining service. Line cook, fry cook, prep cook, delivery driver, short order counter help, retirement home serving and bussing, much dishwashing along the way, catering, ice cream scooping, and customer service up to my ears! The only thing I am missing is the chance to grow the food that I cook and serve, something I hope to do soon. Dream job? Have a self-sufficient or mostly sufficient semi-urban homestead with attached private dining room/small restaurant/bike shop/education center....
Okay its not one job, but I am a man of many hats. I need something to do, I don't do very well with free time. I believe in the optimistic productive potential of my hands, and in turn they like to stay busy. Read a book, cook a meal, carve a spoon, wash dishes, sweep the floor, fix your bike, shower, write, love, bike!
terribly excited about wednesday, big plans are in the works.
Katrina is back from Prague! The glenville manor is once again complete, almost; we are only missing mr. O'Gara.
I have witnessed, on numerous occasions, my cat Artemis fishing pieces of food out of her water dish. I have also seen her, albeit fewer times, scooping food into her water bowl with one flat palm. Be it playful kitty games, an anthropomorphized artemis, or super intelligent cat behavior, I know at least that I have never seen this behavior with any of the (more than 10) cats I have lived with.
I am tired, or as one might say on the streets of the Rabat Medina, "ana mdig-adig." But don't let Farida hear you say that, especially not in front of Riham, because she doesn't like that phrase. I suspect it is some kind of slang, perhaps somewhat profane. Gosh, I should write to my Moroccan host family. I miss them a lot. What I miss the most is when I would take over the kitchen to do homework (on the house's sole table) after Farida and Riham went to bed. When Rachid came home from Best Wishes one of us would heat up some leftovers and set out the bread and beverages. Nothing like breaking bread with your Moroccan host father at 1030pm, talking about anything everything and nothing. What a sight I must have been, tapping away at my silver machine into the night (as I do now).
Will there be a new student to replace me come September? Likely, yes, but I like to think that I made some kind of lasting impression on the El Bounti family. They are probably waiting for a wedding invitation (Jill and I were engaged in their eyes, ha. why else would she fly thousands of miles to visit me for 2 weeks?) No, I am kidding. But hopefully they are waiting for a letter. Maybe they are used to foreigners coming and going, brief flashes of family invaded, stranger incorporated, routine developed, void created (or annoyance removed). But I could have been different, or at least it is comforting to think that. I know that I will fast fade from Riham's memory, but maybe the pictures I left will keep her reminded of my brief presence in her early life. Why is it so comforting to think about our posterity as something that endures, and being forgotten as something to fear? sometimes it is good to forget, and forgive. But I admit that I love the idea that people beyond my immediate circle will remember me after I am gone. Think about what kind of impression you make upon the world around you, and whether or not it is a lasting one. Not everyone will make a famous lasting impression in this world, but we can all take part in a daily effort to mold the impression we make into a positive one. What is the point of recycling one can or bottle...Why should I vote, I am only one person...why should I care??? you should care because the cumulative impact of our actions as a society and a species wields great power for good and evil. Together we all share a power that the governments cannot suppress, that the natural world can't hardly handle, and it is up to each individual to decide what to do with such awesome responsibility.
goodnight, good luck, and love.
Thursday, plus wednesday evening, was passed most pleasantly in superior company. It is quite nice to reconnect with a community of Friends, most of whom I have not seen in several years. It has also been too long since I have done any kind of community service. I helped to cook and serve food at a Salvation Army dinner in Newburyport, sponsored by Mommy's Quaker Meeting. It was a kind of short order fast paced service that I have grown very comfortable with over the past two months at both of my jobs.
The food service business is one that I have grown accustomed to. I have worked almost every kind of job, except for fine dining service. Line cook, fry cook, prep cook, delivery driver, short order counter help, retirement home serving and bussing, much dishwashing along the way, catering, ice cream scooping, and customer service up to my ears! The only thing I am missing is the chance to grow the food that I cook and serve, something I hope to do soon. Dream job? Have a self-sufficient or mostly sufficient semi-urban homestead with attached private dining room/small restaurant/bike shop/education center....
Okay its not one job, but I am a man of many hats. I need something to do, I don't do very well with free time. I believe in the optimistic productive potential of my hands, and in turn they like to stay busy. Read a book, cook a meal, carve a spoon, wash dishes, sweep the floor, fix your bike, shower, write, love, bike!
terribly excited about wednesday, big plans are in the works.
Katrina is back from Prague! The glenville manor is once again complete, almost; we are only missing mr. O'Gara.
I have witnessed, on numerous occasions, my cat Artemis fishing pieces of food out of her water dish. I have also seen her, albeit fewer times, scooping food into her water bowl with one flat palm. Be it playful kitty games, an anthropomorphized artemis, or super intelligent cat behavior, I know at least that I have never seen this behavior with any of the (more than 10) cats I have lived with.
I am tired, or as one might say on the streets of the Rabat Medina, "ana mdig-adig." But don't let Farida hear you say that, especially not in front of Riham, because she doesn't like that phrase. I suspect it is some kind of slang, perhaps somewhat profane. Gosh, I should write to my Moroccan host family. I miss them a lot. What I miss the most is when I would take over the kitchen to do homework (on the house's sole table) after Farida and Riham went to bed. When Rachid came home from Best Wishes one of us would heat up some leftovers and set out the bread and beverages. Nothing like breaking bread with your Moroccan host father at 1030pm, talking about anything everything and nothing. What a sight I must have been, tapping away at my silver machine into the night (as I do now).
Will there be a new student to replace me come September? Likely, yes, but I like to think that I made some kind of lasting impression on the El Bounti family. They are probably waiting for a wedding invitation (Jill and I were engaged in their eyes, ha. why else would she fly thousands of miles to visit me for 2 weeks?) No, I am kidding. But hopefully they are waiting for a letter. Maybe they are used to foreigners coming and going, brief flashes of family invaded, stranger incorporated, routine developed, void created (or annoyance removed). But I could have been different, or at least it is comforting to think that. I know that I will fast fade from Riham's memory, but maybe the pictures I left will keep her reminded of my brief presence in her early life. Why is it so comforting to think about our posterity as something that endures, and being forgotten as something to fear? sometimes it is good to forget, and forgive. But I admit that I love the idea that people beyond my immediate circle will remember me after I am gone. Think about what kind of impression you make upon the world around you, and whether or not it is a lasting one. Not everyone will make a famous lasting impression in this world, but we can all take part in a daily effort to mold the impression we make into a positive one. What is the point of recycling one can or bottle...Why should I vote, I am only one person...why should I care??? you should care because the cumulative impact of our actions as a society and a species wields great power for good and evil. Together we all share a power that the governments cannot suppress, that the natural world can't hardly handle, and it is up to each individual to decide what to do with such awesome responsibility.
goodnight, good luck, and love.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
the end of the week
sunday night thoughts need to be recorded:
-ice cream is really tasty.
-I have trouble formulating into words all the things that I know in my head to be true.
-sometimes I have trouble going to bed because I feel like I need to do more in order to make the night 'productive' or worthy in some respect. But at the same time I know that sometimes the most productive thing I can do is go to bed.
-I worked for approximately 23 hours in a 48 hour span, between friday at 5:30pm until sunday at 5pm. next weekend is looking to be much of the same...
-Thursday is going to be spent with my dear Mommy
-in 10 days I will have spent 3 years with one person as my romantic companion.
-I have not read, watched, or listened to the news in almost a week. there is just no time
-'Chaz Vest' is a real person, as is 'Sean McCool'
-a nice lady gave me a coffee mug full of arnie today after I delivered her a pita.
-Living alone would be a good thing for me because I could keep everything exactly as I wanted to. Sometimes people fail to meet my expectations through no fault of their own. Sometimes I tell people what to do when it is not my place to do so, both at work and in everyday social situations. Call me bossy if you will, but sometimes I can't hold back my opinion.
-between thought and expression there lies a lifetime
-ice cream is really tasty.
-I have trouble formulating into words all the things that I know in my head to be true.
-sometimes I have trouble going to bed because I feel like I need to do more in order to make the night 'productive' or worthy in some respect. But at the same time I know that sometimes the most productive thing I can do is go to bed.
-I worked for approximately 23 hours in a 48 hour span, between friday at 5:30pm until sunday at 5pm. next weekend is looking to be much of the same...
-Thursday is going to be spent with my dear Mommy
-in 10 days I will have spent 3 years with one person as my romantic companion.
-I have not read, watched, or listened to the news in almost a week. there is just no time
-'Chaz Vest' is a real person, as is 'Sean McCool'
-a nice lady gave me a coffee mug full of arnie today after I delivered her a pita.
-Living alone would be a good thing for me because I could keep everything exactly as I wanted to. Sometimes people fail to meet my expectations through no fault of their own. Sometimes I tell people what to do when it is not my place to do so, both at work and in everyday social situations. Call me bossy if you will, but sometimes I can't hold back my opinion.
-between thought and expression there lies a lifetime
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
mewzingzawnmeyeleyef.
Just stop talkin' trash
or whatever they say
Just stop talking trash, or whatever they say
Vomv zee moose-ick Indus treeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Got a lot of shit in my head. you know we got to pull together cuz it’s not gonna stop till we’re dead.
You know we got to pull it together. No its not gonna stop, not gonna stop, never, ever, gonna stop.
Semi-permanent Temporary solutions to problems abound.
Sometimes they are the best and most welcome kinds of solutions though, because they provide immediate cool instant gratification. Like the ole ice pack to a head-ACHE.
Plans for bike.
I made a to do list of long term bike projects and ideas, dreamgasms, etc. A bell, squeaky dog toy, or whistle (perhaps attached to one of my gloves that I don’t use) for alerting aggressive and crazy people of all kinds in all vehicle types…mud flaps or fenders..front or back rack/basket (ideally front basket, perhaps removeable for shopping, plus back rack for strapping down town china town)…..fix some parts and tighten stuff…replace screw too who you have lost…?? Also handlebars right side could be rewrapped/patched.structural change of some kind for handlebar being contemplated in order to facilitate a more comfortable and powerful biking ability and stroke. I will make a drawing, and then I think one can bend a pole to any shape, being of course of the properest of widths, or certainly one can pay someone else to do that for them. Some custom handlebars would be cool! With black shiny leather grips/wrap mm so sweet and tasty.
Btmi the show was tonight [Sunday night] and it was absolutely fabulous! We boogied with the punks hipsters show rats old friends brothers and sisters from all around, from precisely 11pm until approximately 12:10 am (is that a real time?). the setlist was almost everything that I wanted, certainly everything I needed to hear besides the major omission of Future 86. Allan chauffeureddd me over to central square, we scoped out the place, I realized I forgot my money for the show (though remembered 5 for a beer, of course)
I was disappointed, especially because I make a good amount of cash tips these days. But the tips tend to disappear even as I spend a small amount of money on essential items, mostly all I buy is food these days. And gas, some times. I brought Hugh’s truck back home practically on E….and that was after Jill and I had contemplated whether or not I should buy him gas. I also need to pay Allan for my ticket, for he was a good dear Brother and covered me. It was cash only, 10, first ever all ages night show at Middle East Upstairs I do believe.
It was a great night overall…I saw two people from Camp Rotary, two random old friendly faces, both looking very different from how I rememberpicture them. Jon Gingham (not real name), who I remember from several years ago (when he was a more experienced senior boy camper and I a lowly CIT or greenhorn junior counselor) as a thoughtful, very intelligent, camp kid who truly loved and loves the place to this day (says the guy who rocks rotary meshorts almost everyday, and was that night) and who was not well liked or respected by all of the other kids and maybe not well liked by all of the staff either. Generally not everyone gets along with everyone else, especially not when one is crammed into a camp for a week or more with same-ish people for the hole summer. It is like being in a ball pit or a science experiment bouncing atom ray guns off the walls, endlessly ricocheting off of the same select group of particles you are a member of. Each indivifual ball is its own size, shape, color, etc. like people. And you get these things bouncing around, you throw in some super fun singing and traditions and games and sugary foods, a few field trips, ipods a nd game boys, some priviledged kids etc, you get the point. It’s a strange brew, and I call it Camp Rotary. the point is that not everyone gets along, but almost everybody respects everyone else. At least they are supposed to. its a place where someone can truly be their own individual self.
“Oh hey hey look that guy with the green hair is a punk rocker, he’s even telling everybody. Fuckin’ hippie…”
"Xaviers mom was a real hippie. You can tell a real hippie because they always tell the truth."
Camp is great, for a lot of reasons, and that was a long and overwrought metaphor about it/for it. Its not conformity it looks like infirmity, why should anyone believe in a community? Got a lot of shit in my head….a lot. I write in about 4-6 locations, sometimes several a day, notebooks and computer notes, etc. Sometimes I feel my brain is frazzled and running too fast a mile a linute a peanut and I end up overthinking stuff. I have come to realize I always want to be a writer in some capacity, and that I am a more detailed person than I thought. Very meticulouse when I need to be. I am the guy whose manager tells him to sweep less thoroughly.
I love seeing to everything. The details are everything in life. I love setting up something, from the plan to the execution just do everything myself, delegating tasks if I need to, helping everyone move to a better place if possible. I thing I could be a good caterer. Does you guys ever contemplate a job and think about how good you might in such a position. Like Larry David in Curb Your Enthusiasm (creator of Seinfeld's newer show, starring himself), who thought he would be a great car salesman until he failed the second day of his tryouts of sorts.
Buy some flowers for the women in your life every now and then, and I am speaking to everyone here.
Don’t allow basement apartments on a street where the storm drain capacity sucks. Good thing we are on the first floor and all my windows were closed during the weekend’s monsoon. Others nearby were not so lucky. No danger of bodily harm, just shitty property damage that is being gradually cleaned up.
Listen to more bomb the music industry! albums start to finish. Ride and love Maeve and clean her check her top to bottom…You all should go to the google sitesearch type btmi discography free download...They post all their albums on the website for free so you are encouraged to spread their music, love their music, pass it along on a flash drive during classs maybe….very shareable heartfelt merlinodic DIY punk rock emo ska horns band music genre defense word quack.
and heres my little rant about "the system," something that you frequently hear in BtMI!'s music:
New York City or Tokyo would vastly shrink in size very soon if all the trucks and planes stopped bringing in everything they need to survive. because all/most people there and elsewhere in the world live on imported resources and food their actual impact in terms of the physical footprint of the resources, land, water, what is consumed by what they consume and on down the line, etc.
there is also a much smaller percentage of people who are producing food than before 1950, for example. (there is an even smaller number who are doing it well, Nature's Harmony Farm (google them!) and my Mother being prime examples of my definition of 'well'). furthermore, the advances that allowed us to concentrate that many people in cities, with so few on farms, are the same ones that are slowly steadily depleting our resources, land and water, souls, etc. these advances in agricultural productivity, factory farming, hybrid and GM breeds/seeds, etc. are what we have come to rely on in our current system, and they are what allows a place like McDonald's to consistently serve up your quarter pounder (same patty, wonder bread bun, cardboard tomatoes, "lettuce," y'all know the drill) at 3am, or a place like Pita Pit (where I work) where every chicken breast (they arrive frozen, precooked) looks exactly the same!
that said, there are a lot of people growing food in places like NYC and Toyku, and there are a lot more that could be. there is always land to be found (rural, peri-urban, and urban) and always more work to do. A system requires energy to maintain itself, and it requires people to stick to a certain straight and narrow. but think about how people used to live in different ways, more connected and in tune with nature and where their food came from....they had their system and we have ours. I guess what I am getting at is that systems can always change, and sometimes they should! so lets hear it for those who have started to go about changing things, and those who will in the future. dont be afraid to push boundaries and stray from the beaten path, or to figure out where your food comes from. you might be surprised...
or whatever they say
Just stop talking trash, or whatever they say
Vomv zee moose-ick Indus treeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Got a lot of shit in my head. you know we got to pull together cuz it’s not gonna stop till we’re dead.
You know we got to pull it together. No its not gonna stop, not gonna stop, never, ever, gonna stop.
Semi-permanent Temporary solutions to problems abound.
Sometimes they are the best and most welcome kinds of solutions though, because they provide immediate cool instant gratification. Like the ole ice pack to a head-ACHE.
Plans for bike.
I made a to do list of long term bike projects and ideas, dreamgasms, etc. A bell, squeaky dog toy, or whistle (perhaps attached to one of my gloves that I don’t use) for alerting aggressive and crazy people of all kinds in all vehicle types…mud flaps or fenders..front or back rack/basket (ideally front basket, perhaps removeable for shopping, plus back rack for strapping down town china town)…..fix some parts and tighten stuff…replace screw too who you have lost…?? Also handlebars right side could be rewrapped/patched.structural change of some kind for handlebar being contemplated in order to facilitate a more comfortable and powerful biking ability and stroke. I will make a drawing, and then I think one can bend a pole to any shape, being of course of the properest of widths, or certainly one can pay someone else to do that for them. Some custom handlebars would be cool! With black shiny leather grips/wrap mm so sweet and tasty.
Btmi the show was tonight [Sunday night] and it was absolutely fabulous! We boogied with the punks hipsters show rats old friends brothers and sisters from all around, from precisely 11pm until approximately 12:10 am (is that a real time?). the setlist was almost everything that I wanted, certainly everything I needed to hear besides the major omission of Future 86. Allan chauffeureddd me over to central square, we scoped out the place, I realized I forgot my money for the show (though remembered 5 for a beer, of course)
I was disappointed, especially because I make a good amount of cash tips these days. But the tips tend to disappear even as I spend a small amount of money on essential items, mostly all I buy is food these days. And gas, some times. I brought Hugh’s truck back home practically on E….and that was after Jill and I had contemplated whether or not I should buy him gas. I also need to pay Allan for my ticket, for he was a good dear Brother and covered me. It was cash only, 10, first ever all ages night show at Middle East Upstairs I do believe.
It was a great night overall…I saw two people from Camp Rotary, two random old friendly faces, both looking very different from how I rememberpicture them. Jon Gingham (not real name), who I remember from several years ago (when he was a more experienced senior boy camper and I a lowly CIT or greenhorn junior counselor) as a thoughtful, very intelligent, camp kid who truly loved and loves the place to this day (says the guy who rocks rotary meshorts almost everyday, and was that night) and who was not well liked or respected by all of the other kids and maybe not well liked by all of the staff either. Generally not everyone gets along with everyone else, especially not when one is crammed into a camp for a week or more with same-ish people for the hole summer. It is like being in a ball pit or a science experiment bouncing atom ray guns off the walls, endlessly ricocheting off of the same select group of particles you are a member of. Each indivifual ball is its own size, shape, color, etc. like people. And you get these things bouncing around, you throw in some super fun singing and traditions and games and sugary foods, a few field trips, ipods a nd game boys, some priviledged kids etc, you get the point. It’s a strange brew, and I call it Camp Rotary. the point is that not everyone gets along, but almost everybody respects everyone else. At least they are supposed to. its a place where someone can truly be their own individual self.
“Oh hey hey look that guy with the green hair is a punk rocker, he’s even telling everybody. Fuckin’ hippie…”
"Xaviers mom was a real hippie. You can tell a real hippie because they always tell the truth."
Camp is great, for a lot of reasons, and that was a long and overwrought metaphor about it/for it. Its not conformity it looks like infirmity, why should anyone believe in a community? Got a lot of shit in my head….a lot. I write in about 4-6 locations, sometimes several a day, notebooks and computer notes, etc. Sometimes I feel my brain is frazzled and running too fast a mile a linute a peanut and I end up overthinking stuff. I have come to realize I always want to be a writer in some capacity, and that I am a more detailed person than I thought. Very meticulouse when I need to be. I am the guy whose manager tells him to sweep less thoroughly.
I love seeing to everything. The details are everything in life. I love setting up something, from the plan to the execution just do everything myself, delegating tasks if I need to, helping everyone move to a better place if possible. I thing I could be a good caterer. Does you guys ever contemplate a job and think about how good you might in such a position. Like Larry David in Curb Your Enthusiasm (creator of Seinfeld's newer show, starring himself), who thought he would be a great car salesman until he failed the second day of his tryouts of sorts.
Buy some flowers for the women in your life every now and then, and I am speaking to everyone here.
Don’t allow basement apartments on a street where the storm drain capacity sucks. Good thing we are on the first floor and all my windows were closed during the weekend’s monsoon. Others nearby were not so lucky. No danger of bodily harm, just shitty property damage that is being gradually cleaned up.
Listen to more bomb the music industry! albums start to finish. Ride and love Maeve and clean her check her top to bottom…You all should go to the google sitesearch type btmi discography free download...They post all their albums on the website for free so you are encouraged to spread their music, love their music, pass it along on a flash drive during classs maybe….very shareable heartfelt merlinodic DIY punk rock emo ska horns band music genre defense word quack.
and heres my little rant about "the system," something that you frequently hear in BtMI!'s music:
New York City or Tokyo would vastly shrink in size very soon if all the trucks and planes stopped bringing in everything they need to survive. because all/most people there and elsewhere in the world live on imported resources and food their actual impact in terms of the physical footprint of the resources, land, water, what is consumed by what they consume and on down the line, etc.
there is also a much smaller percentage of people who are producing food than before 1950, for example. (there is an even smaller number who are doing it well, Nature's Harmony Farm (google them!) and my Mother being prime examples of my definition of 'well'). furthermore, the advances that allowed us to concentrate that many people in cities, with so few on farms, are the same ones that are slowly steadily depleting our resources, land and water, souls, etc. these advances in agricultural productivity, factory farming, hybrid and GM breeds/seeds, etc. are what we have come to rely on in our current system, and they are what allows a place like McDonald's to consistently serve up your quarter pounder (same patty, wonder bread bun, cardboard tomatoes, "lettuce," y'all know the drill) at 3am, or a place like Pita Pit (where I work) where every chicken breast (they arrive frozen, precooked) looks exactly the same!
that said, there are a lot of people growing food in places like NYC and Toyku, and there are a lot more that could be. there is always land to be found (rural, peri-urban, and urban) and always more work to do. A system requires energy to maintain itself, and it requires people to stick to a certain straight and narrow. but think about how people used to live in different ways, more connected and in tune with nature and where their food came from....they had their system and we have ours. I guess what I am getting at is that systems can always change, and sometimes they should! so lets hear it for those who have started to go about changing things, and those who will in the future. dont be afraid to push boundaries and stray from the beaten path, or to figure out where your food comes from. you might be surprised...
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
(Antichrist Television Blues)
"I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
no I don't wanna work in a building downtown
I don't know what I'm gonna do,
'cause the planes keep crashing,
always two by two.
I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
No I don't wanna see when the planes hit the ground.
I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
Parking their cars in the underground,
Their voices when they scream, they make no sound.
I wanna see the cities rust
and the trouble makers riding on the back of the bus..."
Lyrics and song title courtesy of the The Arcade Fire.
Ps for the previous entry-
In my haste to recount the tale of the free yuppie party, I forgot to detail the morning of June 15th, 2010, which was in fact the very same day. It was one of the most pleasant sublime mornings I have enjoyed in a long time. Like when Jill pushes me to get to the movie before the previews start, taking the early train home for my dermatologist appointment early that afternoon was a very good idea.
After starting a load of laundry (I have yet to pay for doing laundry this summer, besides in love and affection to my parents) and hanging out to dry on the line a load that was already washed, I spent several minutes inspecting the compost heap that was cooking away in the delicate warmth of the morning. I greeted the worms and the bugs and thanked them for all the work they do. I sifted the dark decomposing dankness of the mix through my fingers, noting each component as it fell back into the pile. Besides being such a useful and productive substance, compost is richly symbolic for what it represents. The idea of harnessing and directing the power of nature to work for us in order to make a rich soil replenishing darkness, basically food for the soil (in one sense food for our food) is an efficient and ethical mindset that can be applied to all pursuits and walks of life. Compost is also spiritually appealing and nourishing for me, probably a result of my upbringing and personal philosophy and values.
Then I planted beans! Two rows of pole beans have now (observed yesterday, a week after planting) sprouted their dual green leaves, pushing a few inches above the soil, the next stage in the life cycle of these guys, the entire contents of one 18 gram paper package. Kentuckey Wonder pole peans, or Habichuelas Fagioli to be exact. It was a very easy process, this planting event, lasting not more than 10 or 15 minutes, but it is a brief period of time that I cherish as my symbolic inauguration into the world of gardening. I have planted seeds before, some literal and some figurative, but never before with such intent, focus, and interest. I know it's a lot of symbolism for one day, but I mean it. Symbols and ideas are important, often times more important than we acknowledge or like to admit.
That morning I also took a small harvest from my Mom's backyard plot consisting of garlic scapes, rosemary, mint, oregano, and a bit of sage. It wasn't much, but this little bounty has been contributing color and bursts of flavor to my cooking for the past week and more; rosemary went in to the red bean chili I made this afternoon and evening.
The morning at 15 Summer Street was nourished with a tasty omlette and potato-and- scape fryup and polished off with a quality beer, what some would say is "the best beer in the world." Then it was off to West Newbury to check on 511 Main Street in my Papa's absence. He is in West Africa for the next month and a half, doing work in several different countries collecting the work of and interviews with different authors, writers, poets, musicians maybe, I think anyone who might be interested.
I was so heavy-eyed when I arrived (the only downside of taking the early train) that I took a 20 minute nap in the front seat of Mommy's Prius. It was exactly what I needed. I went to the dermatologist’s office feeling refreshed and ready for anything, including the discomfort of having a small scoop of my flesh removed. Dr. Goldberg is notorious for taking samples here and there for biopsy. To my delight, no such work needed to be done! I have retained all of my skin, at least for the time being.
After my appointment I headed back to West Newbury, for I had a date with a pile of wood. Stacking wood for about an hour provided me with more than just physical exercise; it was a mentally relaxing time when I could focus intently even as I let my mind wander to everything and nothing. When I returned to Ipswich I felt downright great! Also, driving back into Boston with Allan in Rhonda is a good time, always good conversation and music. Like yesterday after the beach, and after dropping off Jill, Allan and I dissected and discussed the lyrics and meaning of ‘Banned from the Back Porch,’ by Saves the Day, all the way to route 93. What more can I ask for, really? Here's to transcendent mornings and holy dusky evenings.
no I don't wanna work in a building downtown
I don't know what I'm gonna do,
'cause the planes keep crashing,
always two by two.
I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
No I don't wanna see when the planes hit the ground.
I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
I don't wanna work in a building downtown,
Parking their cars in the underground,
Their voices when they scream, they make no sound.
I wanna see the cities rust
and the trouble makers riding on the back of the bus..."
Lyrics and song title courtesy of the The Arcade Fire.
Ps for the previous entry-
In my haste to recount the tale of the free yuppie party, I forgot to detail the morning of June 15th, 2010, which was in fact the very same day. It was one of the most pleasant sublime mornings I have enjoyed in a long time. Like when Jill pushes me to get to the movie before the previews start, taking the early train home for my dermatologist appointment early that afternoon was a very good idea.
After starting a load of laundry (I have yet to pay for doing laundry this summer, besides in love and affection to my parents) and hanging out to dry on the line a load that was already washed, I spent several minutes inspecting the compost heap that was cooking away in the delicate warmth of the morning. I greeted the worms and the bugs and thanked them for all the work they do. I sifted the dark decomposing dankness of the mix through my fingers, noting each component as it fell back into the pile. Besides being such a useful and productive substance, compost is richly symbolic for what it represents. The idea of harnessing and directing the power of nature to work for us in order to make a rich soil replenishing darkness, basically food for the soil (in one sense food for our food) is an efficient and ethical mindset that can be applied to all pursuits and walks of life. Compost is also spiritually appealing and nourishing for me, probably a result of my upbringing and personal philosophy and values.
Then I planted beans! Two rows of pole beans have now (observed yesterday, a week after planting) sprouted their dual green leaves, pushing a few inches above the soil, the next stage in the life cycle of these guys, the entire contents of one 18 gram paper package. Kentuckey Wonder pole peans, or Habichuelas Fagioli to be exact. It was a very easy process, this planting event, lasting not more than 10 or 15 minutes, but it is a brief period of time that I cherish as my symbolic inauguration into the world of gardening. I have planted seeds before, some literal and some figurative, but never before with such intent, focus, and interest. I know it's a lot of symbolism for one day, but I mean it. Symbols and ideas are important, often times more important than we acknowledge or like to admit.
That morning I also took a small harvest from my Mom's backyard plot consisting of garlic scapes, rosemary, mint, oregano, and a bit of sage. It wasn't much, but this little bounty has been contributing color and bursts of flavor to my cooking for the past week and more; rosemary went in to the red bean chili I made this afternoon and evening.
The morning at 15 Summer Street was nourished with a tasty omlette and potato-and- scape fryup and polished off with a quality beer, what some would say is "the best beer in the world." Then it was off to West Newbury to check on 511 Main Street in my Papa's absence. He is in West Africa for the next month and a half, doing work in several different countries collecting the work of and interviews with different authors, writers, poets, musicians maybe, I think anyone who might be interested.
I was so heavy-eyed when I arrived (the only downside of taking the early train) that I took a 20 minute nap in the front seat of Mommy's Prius. It was exactly what I needed. I went to the dermatologist’s office feeling refreshed and ready for anything, including the discomfort of having a small scoop of my flesh removed. Dr. Goldberg is notorious for taking samples here and there for biopsy. To my delight, no such work needed to be done! I have retained all of my skin, at least for the time being.
After my appointment I headed back to West Newbury, for I had a date with a pile of wood. Stacking wood for about an hour provided me with more than just physical exercise; it was a mentally relaxing time when I could focus intently even as I let my mind wander to everything and nothing. When I returned to Ipswich I felt downright great! Also, driving back into Boston with Allan in Rhonda is a good time, always good conversation and music. Like yesterday after the beach, and after dropping off Jill, Allan and I dissected and discussed the lyrics and meaning of ‘Banned from the Back Porch,’ by Saves the Day, all the way to route 93. What more can I ask for, really? Here's to transcendent mornings and holy dusky evenings.
Jesuschrist was an only child
"I know now what I knew then, but I didn't know then what I know now." This is a line from the Modest Mouse song whose title I borrowed for this entry. Think about all that you know at this moment in time; did you know it all last year? Unless you are taking a class or studying a language, odds are you haven't learned much (in the formal sense of the word). There are of course many types of learning, and in this crazy world we are all teachers and students together.
So what have you learned in the past year? What have I learned? I am talking about all kinds of learning, both a personal type of selfknowing as well as the formal kind of study. A year is a long time, and I think with a bit of effort I could come up with a large list of things I did not know on June 23rd, 2009.
For example, I know that I am not someone who feels fully comfortable at parties like the one I went to last week. It was a free event for Stuff Magazine's food issue sponsored by DonQ rum. The yuppies were flopping and smiling all around; I saw perhaps a handful of people that I might enjoy talking to. I won't pretend I had much fun or that I was there for any reason other than to get free food and drink (as you can see from the picture below, courtesy of stuff's website).
The rum drinks were fruity, strong, and not very good, though they did have some tasty cheeses and good appetizers. Short ribs and mashed potatoes in a savory ice cream cone, tasty but trying a bit too hard with the presentation. Little cheese and olive flatbread pizza-ish bites, with dressed greens on top, were also good.
It just seemed like a party where people pretend to have fun so that other people who are also pretending to have fun can see them doing the same. Maybe some people were having fun, and maybe I am being a bit harsh. But I know that it was not my scene, and I don't know if it ever will be. On a similar note, the VIP tent at concerts, at least at the Bank of America Pavillion, is over rated and kind of lame. The best part of the vip access that Jill and I enjoyed at the State Radio/John Butler Trio concert, besides the amazing 6th row seats, was the vip bathrooms. Seriously, no free stuff, no meeting of the bands, and the bartender at the vip bar wouldnt even give me a cup to get water from the bathroom with. but it's all good, because the reason that most people came, not the vip tent or the drinking, but the music, kicked some serious arse.
So, besides that fact that I don't want to be a yuppie, what else have I learned in the past year? I learned how to read, write, and most importantly speak some Arabic. I know that walking on the beach with two women I love makes time slow down. I learned how to change a tube on my bike and how to prolong a torn bike tire's life (put a dollar bill on the inside of the tear, between the tire wall and the tube). I learned how to appreciate the smell, its clean earthy aromas, of my Mommy's compost, and how much that differs from the stinky and chemically smelling mulch that was spread in front of the buildings the length of my block. The difference? The source, of course.
That mulch came from a big company that mass produces a uniform finished product. The only company that made my Mommy's compost was that of the worms, bugs, and other critters in her back yard. Small and local is the way to go. It is the same thing with food.
After almost three years of living in Boston, in September I hope to finally find my niche as a member of the Verndale cooperative. The idea? Low impact, low cost, friendly communal living with like-minded folks. A compost bin is in the works too, with approval from the landlord secured. Things are looking up. They always should be, really, because there is always something good to look forward to. It is waiting for you, just around the bend and over the brook. It could be a potluck dinner party, a bike ride in the cool of a summer's dusk, a good boook waiting on your bedside table, a cold beer to refresh the body after a long day of hard work, or a beach picnic of local strawberries, cold curried rice salad, and cheese humus and tomato sandwiches. Whatever it is, remember to take pleasure in the simple things in life and don't cry over spilled milk. Or spoiled milk.
So what have you learned in the past year? What have I learned? I am talking about all kinds of learning, both a personal type of selfknowing as well as the formal kind of study. A year is a long time, and I think with a bit of effort I could come up with a large list of things I did not know on June 23rd, 2009.
For example, I know that I am not someone who feels fully comfortable at parties like the one I went to last week. It was a free event for Stuff Magazine's food issue sponsored by DonQ rum. The yuppies were flopping and smiling all around; I saw perhaps a handful of people that I might enjoy talking to. I won't pretend I had much fun or that I was there for any reason other than to get free food and drink (as you can see from the picture below, courtesy of stuff's website).
The rum drinks were fruity, strong, and not very good, though they did have some tasty cheeses and good appetizers. Short ribs and mashed potatoes in a savory ice cream cone, tasty but trying a bit too hard with the presentation. Little cheese and olive flatbread pizza-ish bites, with dressed greens on top, were also good.
It just seemed like a party where people pretend to have fun so that other people who are also pretending to have fun can see them doing the same. Maybe some people were having fun, and maybe I am being a bit harsh. But I know that it was not my scene, and I don't know if it ever will be. On a similar note, the VIP tent at concerts, at least at the Bank of America Pavillion, is over rated and kind of lame. The best part of the vip access that Jill and I enjoyed at the State Radio/John Butler Trio concert, besides the amazing 6th row seats, was the vip bathrooms. Seriously, no free stuff, no meeting of the bands, and the bartender at the vip bar wouldnt even give me a cup to get water from the bathroom with. but it's all good, because the reason that most people came, not the vip tent or the drinking, but the music, kicked some serious arse.
So, besides that fact that I don't want to be a yuppie, what else have I learned in the past year? I learned how to read, write, and most importantly speak some Arabic. I know that walking on the beach with two women I love makes time slow down. I learned how to change a tube on my bike and how to prolong a torn bike tire's life (put a dollar bill on the inside of the tear, between the tire wall and the tube). I learned how to appreciate the smell, its clean earthy aromas, of my Mommy's compost, and how much that differs from the stinky and chemically smelling mulch that was spread in front of the buildings the length of my block. The difference? The source, of course.
That mulch came from a big company that mass produces a uniform finished product. The only company that made my Mommy's compost was that of the worms, bugs, and other critters in her back yard. Small and local is the way to go. It is the same thing with food.
After almost three years of living in Boston, in September I hope to finally find my niche as a member of the Verndale cooperative. The idea? Low impact, low cost, friendly communal living with like-minded folks. A compost bin is in the works too, with approval from the landlord secured. Things are looking up. They always should be, really, because there is always something good to look forward to. It is waiting for you, just around the bend and over the brook. It could be a potluck dinner party, a bike ride in the cool of a summer's dusk, a good boook waiting on your bedside table, a cold beer to refresh the body after a long day of hard work, or a beach picnic of local strawberries, cold curried rice salad, and cheese humus and tomato sandwiches. Whatever it is, remember to take pleasure in the simple things in life and don't cry over spilled milk. Or spoiled milk.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Baby, We're Scramblin'
Friday afternoon is quickly coming to a close. When does the afternoon end? This is still a subject of debate for some, but we can all agree that 6:30pm is settled comfortably in the evening. It's been a good day so far, and things are only looking up from here. Jill is settled into her new dorm room at Simmons, the apartment is getting into shape for tonight's shindig, and my tummy is rumbling.
Weekend promises to be busy, but that's fine because there is always more to do. Work tomorrow will probably be a bit rough, but Allan's birthday celebration in Ipswich is sure to smooth things out. After a night in my blessed Ipswich bed it's back to Boston early on Sunday for more Pita pit on call and then a night closing at JP licks. gadzooks! I would complain except that I need to keep making them dollars. I don't really enjoy being on call at Pita Pit, which is unfortunate because it seems like I will be 'on call' a lot. There is something about being ready for work, mentally preparing and planning your day and all, and then waiting around for a call and not receiving one that is quite annoying.
work is work, jobs schmobz, let's live life! I'm not going to let shit get me down, because some stuff is not worth losing sweat over. all right, now its pushing 7pm, my tummy is still rumbling, and bw is pulling up outside. here's to a good friday night.
"The city subway stations never glisten.
The gates rise up like they belong in prison.
And my balance is low. I better pick a good place, I got one ride to go.
Your fucking cocaine party fucking freaks me out.
When did Scott Weiland show up? How long’s he stickin’ around?
I guess this new fare hike means that I’ll ride my bike,
play video games and do other stuff that I like."
-Stuff that I like, by Bomb the Music Industry!
Weekend promises to be busy, but that's fine because there is always more to do. Work tomorrow will probably be a bit rough, but Allan's birthday celebration in Ipswich is sure to smooth things out. After a night in my blessed Ipswich bed it's back to Boston early on Sunday for more Pita pit on call and then a night closing at JP licks. gadzooks! I would complain except that I need to keep making them dollars. I don't really enjoy being on call at Pita Pit, which is unfortunate because it seems like I will be 'on call' a lot. There is something about being ready for work, mentally preparing and planning your day and all, and then waiting around for a call and not receiving one that is quite annoying.
work is work, jobs schmobz, let's live life! I'm not going to let shit get me down, because some stuff is not worth losing sweat over. all right, now its pushing 7pm, my tummy is still rumbling, and bw is pulling up outside. here's to a good friday night.
"The city subway stations never glisten.
The gates rise up like they belong in prison.
And my balance is low. I better pick a good place, I got one ride to go.
Your fucking cocaine party fucking freaks me out.
When did Scott Weiland show up? How long’s he stickin’ around?
I guess this new fare hike means that I’ll ride my bike,
play video games and do other stuff that I like."
-Stuff that I like, by Bomb the Music Industry!
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