Monday, November 26, 2007
Still Fall
Some pics from a lovely walk across Central Park on Saturday after visiting the Met with Ann, Stona, Amelia, and Claire (Miguel gave us a very nice highlights tour, including the as-spectacular-as-advertised gilded panels from Ghiberti's doors). A very late fall has cheered me up—I was resigned to missing most of it while I was in S. America. Turns out, it's just beginning to lose steam now.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
While I Was Gone
Lots of small changes in just six weeks away from New York. Since most of them are far from improvements, this will likely be another post to justify my blog name.
A hideous new logo for New York taxis has been slapped onto most of the fleet. It's a horrible jumble of typefaces and consumerism, a feeble attempt to brand NY Taxis (as if they needed branding) and make them more consumer-cuddly.
I wouldn't mind so much if the logo were any good, but it's awful too spacey, unhip and unattractive, with type that manages to look out of focus and too severe at the same time. Dozens of designers, from pro to amateur, have submitted designs much, much better than this one, which looks to be a sad result of design-by-committee, in which everyone's input was considered and accounted for, resulting in this ghastly set of compromises that achieve nothing. (Just change a few of the nouns and I could easily be writing about the textbook industry...)
This is, or rather, was Macondo, the last Spanish bookstore around.
Five months ago, there were two Spanish bookstores on 14th Street. Now there are none. Lectorum (owned by Scholastic) closed this summer and now, the smaller Macondo shut it's doors on November 1st. It had been clearly dying for quite a while (apparently they hadn't paid their rent in 10 months), but both stores fell victim to two obvious trends: the delatinization of the neighborhood (which used to be very Spanish, oh, about 20 years ago) and the fact that nobody reads books anymore, regardless of the language. This space will probably be another nail salon or pocket bank by early 2008.
On the not-so-bad-but-was-it-neseccary? shelf we have the new storefront placed onto the local deli where Bobby buys his coffee soda. It's glass and modern and makes the place look sort of like an aquarium. I can't imagine that it's really going to improve the traffic in there (it's already pretty busy), but it's not an eyesore. Though I am sad they got rid of a metal bar that made for a very conventient dog-hitching post.
And yes, some changes are actually for the good. They added an interesting new bike line on 9th avenue. By moving the row of parked cars away from the curb, they created a safe, protected bike line with metal rods separating the parked cars from the bikes.
Instead of regular parking meters, there are these muni-meters, which accept coins (at last, a use for those pesky Sacajewa dollars) and charge cards. It only goes from 23rd St. to 16th, which is about a minute and a half if you don't hit a red light, but still, it's progress.
A hideous new logo for New York taxis has been slapped onto most of the fleet. It's a horrible jumble of typefaces and consumerism, a feeble attempt to brand NY Taxis (as if they needed branding) and make them more consumer-cuddly.
I wouldn't mind so much if the logo were any good, but it's awful too spacey, unhip and unattractive, with type that manages to look out of focus and too severe at the same time. Dozens of designers, from pro to amateur, have submitted designs much, much better than this one, which looks to be a sad result of design-by-committee, in which everyone's input was considered and accounted for, resulting in this ghastly set of compromises that achieve nothing. (Just change a few of the nouns and I could easily be writing about the textbook industry...)
This is, or rather, was Macondo, the last Spanish bookstore around.
Five months ago, there were two Spanish bookstores on 14th Street. Now there are none. Lectorum (owned by Scholastic) closed this summer and now, the smaller Macondo shut it's doors on November 1st. It had been clearly dying for quite a while (apparently they hadn't paid their rent in 10 months), but both stores fell victim to two obvious trends: the delatinization of the neighborhood (which used to be very Spanish, oh, about 20 years ago) and the fact that nobody reads books anymore, regardless of the language. This space will probably be another nail salon or pocket bank by early 2008.
On the not-so-bad-but-was-it-neseccary? shelf we have the new storefront placed onto the local deli where Bobby buys his coffee soda. It's glass and modern and makes the place look sort of like an aquarium. I can't imagine that it's really going to improve the traffic in there (it's already pretty busy), but it's not an eyesore. Though I am sad they got rid of a metal bar that made for a very conventient dog-hitching post.
And yes, some changes are actually for the good. They added an interesting new bike line on 9th avenue. By moving the row of parked cars away from the curb, they created a safe, protected bike line with metal rods separating the parked cars from the bikes.
Instead of regular parking meters, there are these muni-meters, which accept coins (at last, a use for those pesky Sacajewa dollars) and charge cards. It only goes from 23rd St. to 16th, which is about a minute and a half if you don't hit a red light, but still, it's progress.
Friday, November 23, 2007
El Día de Accion de Gracias
The Spanish translation of Thanksgiving cracks me up. It seems so focused on the physical: "The Day of the Act of Thanking" But also, because I never really think about the literal meaning of the word Thanksgiving. Just a word.
Nonetheless, it was a very nice night, with good food and good friends. Here's how the apartment looked before we were ten. (Bobby and me; Ann, Stona, Amelia, and Claire; Miguel and Carter; Gary and Stephen) (Eleven counting the barky barky dog who also managed to break a glass with her tail, though happily, not a very nice one.)
The brined turkey turned out well. I hacked it apart using the Times butchering method, to mixed results. Basically, you cut everything off the bones first, then slice it. The idea being that you get more meat and slicing against the grain is better. It was easy and fun to do, but to slice across the grain, you have to cut quite thick slices, or they'll fall apart. I sort of miss the traditional, thinner turkey slices. It was great for the dark meat, though, so maybe next time I'll hack off the thighs, and then do the rest conventionally.
Pumpkin pie and apple tart by me, pecan pie by Stephen with the assistance of the pastry chef at the restaurant (Veritas) where he words. She had extra filling. Very tasty. (He also scored some appetizers--salmon tartar and an extraordinarily tasty pate with duck breast, foie gras, pork belly, and some other stuff.)
I have a long history of forgetting to put out at least one dish. This year it was the cranberry sauce that sat in the fridge, waiting patiently. Ah well. Not as tragic as the year I made three kinds of cookies as well as fudge for the holidays and then left them all in a box in the kitchen while Bobby, the dog, and I drove to Cleveland. I realized about two hours into the journey and seriously considered turning around...
I don't like taking photos during events, and I don't do it well. Anyway, here's one shot Ann took of Bobby, Claire, and me later in the evening. Amelia's legs featured in the lower right.
Nonetheless, it was a very nice night, with good food and good friends. Here's how the apartment looked before we were ten. (Bobby and me; Ann, Stona, Amelia, and Claire; Miguel and Carter; Gary and Stephen) (Eleven counting the barky barky dog who also managed to break a glass with her tail, though happily, not a very nice one.)
The brined turkey turned out well. I hacked it apart using the Times butchering method, to mixed results. Basically, you cut everything off the bones first, then slice it. The idea being that you get more meat and slicing against the grain is better. It was easy and fun to do, but to slice across the grain, you have to cut quite thick slices, or they'll fall apart. I sort of miss the traditional, thinner turkey slices. It was great for the dark meat, though, so maybe next time I'll hack off the thighs, and then do the rest conventionally.
Pumpkin pie and apple tart by me, pecan pie by Stephen with the assistance of the pastry chef at the restaurant (Veritas) where he words. She had extra filling. Very tasty. (He also scored some appetizers--salmon tartar and an extraordinarily tasty pate with duck breast, foie gras, pork belly, and some other stuff.)
I have a long history of forgetting to put out at least one dish. This year it was the cranberry sauce that sat in the fridge, waiting patiently. Ah well. Not as tragic as the year I made three kinds of cookies as well as fudge for the holidays and then left them all in a box in the kitchen while Bobby, the dog, and I drove to Cleveland. I realized about two hours into the journey and seriously considered turning around...
I don't like taking photos during events, and I don't do it well. Anyway, here's one shot Ann took of Bobby, Claire, and me later in the evening. Amelia's legs featured in the lower right.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
From Casa to Home
Smooth trip back to NY. One final communication failure with my driver on the way to the airport, just to keep me from feeling too cocky about my Spanish comprehension (about which I was feeling fairly good this time 'round). When we pulled into the airport, he asked me something, so I replied "American." He looked confused and asked again. I repeated "American," trying to enunciate more clearly. Well and good if he'd been asking me what airline I was flying, but less helpful when he was actually asking if I'd like to pay...
Here's one corner of my Buenos Aires garden as I left it.
And here's a spiky plant I bought this on impulse from stall on Corrientes.
And here's the surprise that greeted me in our garden in NY.
Our Japanese maple has been thriving for the last couple of years, since we repotted it, but it's never had a very impressive fall display. The color is usually a sort of yellowy tan that might not be out of place on a tasteful woman's suit, but is a bit dreary for a garden. Well, this year, it's putting on quite a spectacular show.
Here's another view of the garden, which is surprisingly greenish for November.
It's nice to be home, tho I miss Bs As, too. My bifurcated life requires regular readjusting, but I think that's for the best, actually. Keeps the brain humming. Or at least annoyed, which is nearly as good.
Here's one corner of my Buenos Aires garden as I left it.
And here's a spiky plant I bought this on impulse from stall on Corrientes.
And here's the surprise that greeted me in our garden in NY.
Our Japanese maple has been thriving for the last couple of years, since we repotted it, but it's never had a very impressive fall display. The color is usually a sort of yellowy tan that might not be out of place on a tasteful woman's suit, but is a bit dreary for a garden. Well, this year, it's putting on quite a spectacular show.
Here's another view of the garden, which is surprisingly greenish for November.
It's nice to be home, tho I miss Bs As, too. My bifurcated life requires regular readjusting, but I think that's for the best, actually. Keeps the brain humming. Or at least annoyed, which is nearly as good.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Chau, Baires
Back to NY this evening. Here's the place I'm saying goodbye to, for now, for those of you who haven't see it. Our door is the one on the left.
Had an excellent week of goodbye dinners and lunches with my porteño pals. Victoria's forgiven me for my crush on Alejandra, and Martha and Micky and Martha's niece (Aldana?) and I actually cracked the Clarin crossword puzzle, which was quite an accomplishment. (More on Spanish puzzle solving to come in a later post.)
Diego and Alejandra were talking about me (she remembers me!) and by way of a compliment, he told me that they both agreed I'm not nearly as stupid as I sound. That is, when I speak Spanish with my terrible accent, one's inclined to think I'm a dolt, but if you can get past the excruciating sounds, you'll find only a semi-dolt underneath. I'm pretty sure that's the word he used, terrible. I might need to work on that. But I'll focus on the compliment side, for now, and not think about the rest.
And I'm now officially in contact with Gabo Ferro. Wrote to him via his website and he wrote back right away. He'll be in California next February/March. So my new sideline as a booking agent is off and running. If anyone reading this has any contacts at Joe's Pub, let me know.
(Actually, my sister might already have a semi-connection for me to follow-up on. Thanks, Ann!)
Next post from NY. See ya there.
Had an excellent week of goodbye dinners and lunches with my porteño pals. Victoria's forgiven me for my crush on Alejandra, and Martha and Micky and Martha's niece (Aldana?) and I actually cracked the Clarin crossword puzzle, which was quite an accomplishment. (More on Spanish puzzle solving to come in a later post.)
Diego and Alejandra were talking about me (she remembers me!) and by way of a compliment, he told me that they both agreed I'm not nearly as stupid as I sound. That is, when I speak Spanish with my terrible accent, one's inclined to think I'm a dolt, but if you can get past the excruciating sounds, you'll find only a semi-dolt underneath. I'm pretty sure that's the word he used, terrible. I might need to work on that. But I'll focus on the compliment side, for now, and not think about the rest.
And I'm now officially in contact with Gabo Ferro. Wrote to him via his website and he wrote back right away. He'll be in California next February/March. So my new sideline as a booking agent is off and running. If anyone reading this has any contacts at Joe's Pub, let me know.
(Actually, my sister might already have a semi-connection for me to follow-up on. Thanks, Ann!)
Next post from NY. See ya there.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Leaving Town
I've been awfully gabby lately, so just some pics today. I leave tomorrow. Don't know what will happen to this blog when I'm back in old New York.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Overlaps
It's a big city, but a small world. Lots of overlaps and synchronicities this week.
I figure I know about 50 of the 2.7 million people here in Buenos Aires, so it was a surprise to run into Diego and Jesus on the street three corners from home. But then, I've read that statistically speaking, it's extremely probable that some extremely improbable things will happen—you just can't predict which ones. So I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that even within my very tiny circle, some of the separations turn out to be much fewer than six degrees. It turns out I'm in trouble with one of my regular blog readers, of whom I estimate there are five. Remember my crush on Alejandra, the actress? Well, it turns out that she's an ex-girlfriend of the ex-husband of my good friend Victoria. Oh dear. (Hi, Victoria. Love ya lots!)
(My actresses post seems to have caused friction in various circles near and far. My sister subtly suggested--well, said-- that she didn't care to hear (or read) anything at all about me having crushes on exotic foreign actresses. Meanwhile back here in the Southern Hemisphere, Alejandra's husband apparently wanted some reassuring that this yanqui plays for the other team...)
Surprising coincidences aren't restricted to the physical world--they can happen in the brain, too. At that Oliverio Girondo symposium I went to on Monday, they did some poetry reading. I could follow enough to get some of the imagery, but let's face it, it's hard to keep paying attention to poetry even when you speak the language. So after a poem or two, my mind was wandering. But I get points for the fact that it was staying on topic. I was working on a concrete poem I have in mind that is much more fun to think about than it would be to read. It's nothing more than a list of Spanish words I like. Of course, refunfuñar makes the cut. So do desafortunadamente, mamotreto, paracaídas, nunca, ronronear, latido, chupapijas, tragaluz, esmalte, and pulular. (Only one of those is dirty, though I suspect that if you don't know Spanish, several of them sound a bit saucy.) But at this moment, I was reconsidering the position of felpudo. And just as I was thinking "Now that's a great word, it should be up at the top of the list, maybe even the title" I tune back into the poetry reading and what do I hear? The reader actually says felpudo! I'm not making this up. And it's not like it has some common, general meaning that would occasion its use in lots of poetry—like, say, because, sunset, or feeling. It means doormat!
And in a less impressive but more personally-satisfying synchronicity, I met Gabo Ferro! It was at an appealing event called Confesionario (Confessional), in which two guests and one musician are casually interviewed about their private lives. I love the idea, although the confessor, Cecilia Szperling, wasn't nearly as probing as I'd have liked. She was quite content sticking with amusing anecdotes, as opposed to actually digging for private sins and public embarrassments, which is what the concept really begs for. Anyway, Gabo chatted and sang a half dozen songs or so. It was in a tiny venue, about 70 seats, so it was easy to just go up and chat with him after. I've been thinking lately about how much I want to hear him sing in New York, specifically at Joe's Pub, which would be the ideal place for him. So I say Hi, love your work, want you to sing in NY, and the first thing he says is that's he's been trying to get into Joe's Pub! OK, it's not crazy amazing, but he kissed me twice (greeting and parting), which is much more important.
Needless to say, at the Carlos Fuentes reading I attended last night, I neither spoke with the reader afterwards nor received two kisses from him. Some wildly improbable events are just that and nothing more.
I figure I know about 50 of the 2.7 million people here in Buenos Aires, so it was a surprise to run into Diego and Jesus on the street three corners from home. But then, I've read that statistically speaking, it's extremely probable that some extremely improbable things will happen—you just can't predict which ones. So I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that even within my very tiny circle, some of the separations turn out to be much fewer than six degrees. It turns out I'm in trouble with one of my regular blog readers, of whom I estimate there are five. Remember my crush on Alejandra, the actress? Well, it turns out that she's an ex-girlfriend of the ex-husband of my good friend Victoria. Oh dear. (Hi, Victoria. Love ya lots!)
(My actresses post seems to have caused friction in various circles near and far. My sister subtly suggested--well, said-- that she didn't care to hear (or read) anything at all about me having crushes on exotic foreign actresses. Meanwhile back here in the Southern Hemisphere, Alejandra's husband apparently wanted some reassuring that this yanqui plays for the other team...)
Surprising coincidences aren't restricted to the physical world--they can happen in the brain, too. At that Oliverio Girondo symposium I went to on Monday, they did some poetry reading. I could follow enough to get some of the imagery, but let's face it, it's hard to keep paying attention to poetry even when you speak the language. So after a poem or two, my mind was wandering. But I get points for the fact that it was staying on topic. I was working on a concrete poem I have in mind that is much more fun to think about than it would be to read. It's nothing more than a list of Spanish words I like. Of course, refunfuñar makes the cut. So do desafortunadamente, mamotreto, paracaídas, nunca, ronronear, latido, chupapijas, tragaluz, esmalte, and pulular. (Only one of those is dirty, though I suspect that if you don't know Spanish, several of them sound a bit saucy.) But at this moment, I was reconsidering the position of felpudo. And just as I was thinking "Now that's a great word, it should be up at the top of the list, maybe even the title" I tune back into the poetry reading and what do I hear? The reader actually says felpudo! I'm not making this up. And it's not like it has some common, general meaning that would occasion its use in lots of poetry—like, say, because, sunset, or feeling. It means doormat!
And in a less impressive but more personally-satisfying synchronicity, I met Gabo Ferro! It was at an appealing event called Confesionario (Confessional), in which two guests and one musician are casually interviewed about their private lives. I love the idea, although the confessor, Cecilia Szperling, wasn't nearly as probing as I'd have liked. She was quite content sticking with amusing anecdotes, as opposed to actually digging for private sins and public embarrassments, which is what the concept really begs for. Anyway, Gabo chatted and sang a half dozen songs or so. It was in a tiny venue, about 70 seats, so it was easy to just go up and chat with him after. I've been thinking lately about how much I want to hear him sing in New York, specifically at Joe's Pub, which would be the ideal place for him. So I say Hi, love your work, want you to sing in NY, and the first thing he says is that's he's been trying to get into Joe's Pub! OK, it's not crazy amazing, but he kissed me twice (greeting and parting), which is much more important.
Needless to say, at the Carlos Fuentes reading I attended last night, I neither spoke with the reader afterwards nor received two kisses from him. Some wildly improbable events are just that and nothing more.
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