Better than Farm to Table

Farm at table. In New York City from August 26-30.


(Photo not mine.)

Within A Square Block

Poem Interlude (Draft)

The Voice on WNYC Says

“I find that extremely moving.

Julie Andrews and Ben Kingsley,
‘Shall We Dance?’”
                            It’s amazing
they find their way through space
at all, the radio waves, dodging
raindrops today, not to mention
a flowerpot on the windowsill,
a bowl of apples, me –
                                  all to sing
from the white box on top of
the refrigerator. They’re there
all the time, of course, waiting
for the moment when we call
them,
         like applying an iron

to a love letter written in milk.

Happiness Just Before (More) Rain

Where does it come from? I realized tonight, in my attic/roof, looking out over North Brooklyn into glittering Manhattan, that I love living here. I've always lived near and been drawn to rivers: the Mississippi, the Liffey, the de la Plata of Buenos Aires, Glasgow's Clyde, Montgomery's Tallapoosa. In my eight years in this city, I've overlooked the Hudson's George Washington and the Harlem River Ship Canal, followed freight trains bound from Long Island as they streaked across Hell Gate, and now found the East again, her Manhattan Bridge strung along the twilight. The luckiness of here, though, is that I can turn my head and also see the distinct green of the road, in the I278 sign over the BQE, linking me to all the waterless rivers of the country.

Rain, Rain, Come and Stay

I love this weather. Two summers ago, the rainy days in Dublin held for most of the summer, and even there, where people are accustomed to the gray, last-minute holidays were being planned to Malta and the like, anywhere with sun.

I biked to pick up vegetables (arugula, sweet Japanese turnips, rainbow chard, napa cabbage, lettuce...)


(Drawing by talented high schooler.)

The McCarren market then called, as I haven't had Ronnybrook milk for a while. And rhubarb caught my eye, which then evolved as follows:











And what says happiness as much as impossibly curly scapes?


(Note the cat paw in the bottom left corner.)

Or as much as the cat himself, radio waves, coffee, and the rain, still.

What Will They Think Up Next

Just when you thought the likes of Wonder Showzen would never be seen again, along comes Food Party. Thanks, G.

"Food Party is a mind-bending, non-reality cooking show with Thu Tran as your hostess, a cast of unruly puppets as culinary aides, and a cavalcade of fictitious celebrities as surprise dinner guests. Shot on location in a technicolor cardboard kitchen as well as other foreign and exotic cardboard locations, each episode will or will not instruct you on how to prepare wild gourmet multi-course meals with ingredients you probably have on hand in your kitchen already, such as pretzel rods, eggs, narwhal lungs, bizarre plot twists, secret ingredients, and pizza. After all, you never know who might show up for dinner."

But Wonder Showzen, I still miss you.

Menagerie

We're going to hear The Dodos this afternoon, part of the today-concluding Northside Festival. North Brooklyn has as many festivals as mimes have unanswered calls.

"And the stance that we take isn't much to bear
Yeah, we leave things to change on their time."

And speaking of animals, here are some from places that can seem nearly extinct amidst these streets and buildings and furtive stares.


Buffalo near Sioux Falls, South Dakota.


Squirrel in Deadwood, South Dakota.


Geese near East Glacier, Montana.


Cat in Missoula, Montana.


Elk in Packwood, Washington.


Human in Alberta.

Report from BiFF

Tonight, at the Brooklyn International Film Festival (and almost everyone around me was speaking other languages, which makes it very different from the Quad City International Airport), I saw a short animated film called Backwards, directed by American Aaron Hughes, and feature Borderline, by Canadian Lyne Charlebois. The film is described as combining the novels Borderline and Labrèche, both by Marie-Sissi Labrèche, to create a visual story of Kiki. "With her mother institutionalized, she takes refuge in school [and her lit prof lover]. Sex and alcohol are her only outlets. But at 30, Kiki faces the hardest challenge of all:" learning to ride her bike in the snow. No, but seriously: there's a lot of bicycling through snow in this movie, which looks picturesque and nearly impossible. There's also a lot of wine flowing over flesh at the film's opening, which seemed a little sappy to me. But I liked the way Kiki appeared around corners as younger and older versions of herself, and I liked the idea of imperfect (and bescarved) reclamation.

And now, the slam summary:
Wine words pain child craziness dog solace skin
Craziness winter loved running hurting wanting dog peace
Bottles spinning addiction skin confession writing mothers pain
Paint birthdays forgotten wine cake child loved slow
Kindness friend pages running death mourning waiting release
Goodbye release winter river child opening arms

BiFF

Not just your long-lost bully cousin, BiFF is also quite worldly, home, in fact, to 110 countries! That's right: the Brooklyn International Film Festival is playing in our backyard (Brooklyn Heights to be exact). There, through this Sunday, and thanks to the sundry likes of Stella, Stevia, and the insurer to all those able to submit to this festival, you can still see, among hundreds of options:

*an encounter between a a white boy and an African girl in a night train.
*two teenagers' lives brought together through internet webcams.
*the search for the writer of a mysterious diary.
*cash, a car, a mobile phone...and fish.
and
*the invasion of creatures that steal what you have inside!

For $25, you can watch four film programs, many of which are collections of shorts. And speaking of invasions, the 12th annual festival's theme is Open Source, of which Festival Director Marco Ursino says, "Our 'friends' and 'followers' are becoming more interactive by the day and we truly welcome the invasion."

As long as my friends and followers are not 1) locusts, 2) pastel figurines, or 3) spam messages that talk, I, too, welcome whatever is to come.

Graceful and Green

Dear BQE,

I don't know if I'm staying or going or what either means. But from the roof, dusk turned the spire of Empire State green as a new flower, and the sun went down fiery behind the bridge.

Walk Hard

L Magazine and Neighbors Allied for Good Growth have partnered this year to organize the 2009 Williamsburg Walks. Come all ye clowns, suits, merchants, and merry-makers, and festoon the streets (Bedford between North 4th and North 9th, noon to sunset) with the dazzling daisy-chain that is us! Oh, and how will Bedford look different than it always does on a Saturday afternoon? Cars will be required to dress up as people for admission.

Going Ga-Ga for the G

Ride the train!

Railroad Rentals and Factory Ghosts

The Times in Greenpoint.

Bing and Signifying Nothing

Thank heavens it's passed, but the BQE found me feeling what can only be described as malazy yesterday, current pet neologism that perhaps succeeds more than Microsoft's latest futile run on Google. Says Peter Sealey, former marketer to the gods of Coke, "Bing has no equity; it signals nothing. It is going to be an enormous expense to create an image for this thing called Bing.” This thing called Bing. What would Don Draper do? Perhaps he'd climb to the top of a building and watch a movie!

Poem Interlude (Draft)

Not Forgetting Cedar, White, Little Missouri, Milk, Raccoon, and Middle

You’ve learned to give
when the giving comes
back. The rivers showed
how the giving comes
back, the glaciers to
the river to your eyes,
your eyes to the trees,
trees’ breath to the sky,
the sky to the rain to
the river, and the rivers,
their waters changing as
their names, showed
how the need for home
is eternal in a way that
home does not need
to be, how home has
flowed through the
Mississippi but also
the Iowa, through
Big Sioux, James,
Missouri, it’s fed
orchards along
Columbia and brush
on the Snake’s
liquid twist, it’s
called down the
clouds from Malad
to Wind to Powder,
and knows Cheyenne
as well as North Platte,
and loves Yellowstone,
Marias, Bighorn,
Niobara, and Skunk
as much as the taste
of the iron in its own
homeless veins. You’ve
learned to give when
the giving comes back,
and you’ve finally
found that even the
East flows in every
direction, inward
too, as in the park
a bagpiper’s mournful
triumph unwraps dusk.

Send in the Clowns

While Ringling Brothers seeks new talent, Brooklyn's 33rd District continues our own search for a City Council member who can listen to the crazy-quilt community's needs and effectively advocate on our behalf at City Hall.

Tuesday found 100 or so people, including J and I, at a New Kings Democrats candidates' debate ("laugh about it, shout about it..."), listening to the seven candidates discuss their stances on topics ranging from the fate of the Broadway Triangle and ways to plug the City's $5B+ budget gap, to favorite restaurants and current reading material. All told, Aaron Short and Sabrina Gates of NKD did a great job of moderating, and we had a taste, if not of how these folks would actually effect change in office, then of how their personalities might hinder or aid them along the way.

Since the essence (and partial transcript) of the debate has been well captured, I'll do a more poetic encapsulation, with a couple of pieces of baseball card-like information on each of the players. My real goal on Tuesday was to collect all seven.

Isaac Abraham: Has served the district for 35 years in one capacity or another, including once-upon-a-time as paramedic. Enjoys Peter Luger. Kindly wrote down some of the questions for the hard-of-hearing Ken Baer.

Ken Baer: Could not seem to hear a single question, and might have had cartoon butterflies flitting about his head. Longtime contributor to the Sierra Club's efforts. Vegetarian.

Doug Biviano: A free-thinker who believes in the city-state. He's sailed across the ocean in a 27-foot boat. A civil engineer (and "engineers build civilizations").

Ken Diamandstone: Endorsed by Norman Siegel, and therefore automatically associated with key social justice issues. Can speak loudly without a microphone. Suggested that a funding stream be created so that tenants can have the right of first refusal when commercial space is for sale.

Steve Levin: Cat-owner. Looks a little mouse-like. Didn't make much eye contact with the crowd. Reading Howard Zinn. Most articulate/practiced of the bunch. Lives in Greenpoint.

Jo Anne Simon: Endorsed by many state and local politicians. Articulate.

Evan Thies: Sits on boards of Newtown Creek Alliance and NAG. Lives in Williamsburg. Believes in mandatory inclusionary zoning (as opposed to Yassky's belief in voluntary). Believes schools should offer ROTC. Quietly earnest.

Open for Debate

Come out tomorrow night, 7:00-8:30 p.m., to hear all the contenders for David Yassky's 33rd District (that's us!) seat talk about what they would do if elected to our splendid little City Council.

The candidates are...drum roll please...Isaac Abraham, Ken Baer, Doug Biviano, Ken Diamondstone, Steve Levin, Jo Anne Simon, and Evan Thies.

They'll be duking it out at Harry Van Arsdale High School's auditorium, at North 6th and Roebling.

People are, of course, talking about the competition (and have been for a while), and we'll just have to wait to know the certain outcome until it's cold again and Brooklyn craving pumpkin pie.

Carrying One Away

“Night was a wonderful time in Brooklyn in the 1930s. Air conditioning was unknown except in movie houses, and so was television. There was nothing to keep one in the house. Furthermore, few people owned automobiles, so there was nothing to carry one away. That left the streets and the stoops. The very fullness served as an inhibition to crime.” So says Isaac Asimov, one of the science fiction greats. Brooklyn itself was alien to my eyes on Thursday night, when I docked again on Withers Street after sailing a westward sea of tumbleweeds, rockpowder blued lakes, towering granite, heartbreakingly green trees, pheasants, sloping desert, pronghorn antelope, and a million other sights that set my eyes roaring for 10 days, six new states, and 5,600 miles.

Last night, wending homeward after a John Prine concert (opened by the lanky and talented Justin Townes Earle, who looked like he stepped out of the radio Appalachia of O Brother, Where Art Thou?), Williamsburg was a carnival of laughter, jibes, drunken posturing, and other martian exhibits. If Tony in Glasgow, Montana, thinks Missoula is the big city, Brooklyn is certainly an intergalactic stop. You can't hear the Macks' Deadwood, South Dakota, windchimes. You can't hear the wingbeats of geese following Route 12 through Packwood, Washington. But...there's the newly leafed tree feathering the expressway, there's the good Settepani coffee, there's the man on the bicycle with a cat on his shoulder...yes...home, circus, and universe at once.

The amazing thing is that we don't live toward the future, as Asimov might have thought. We bend toward the past, seeing its light in stars today and burning its variously hard and liquid black life to fuel our lives. The former sparked the quiet canopy over Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, and rushed overhead as I wound through the Cascades toward Sisters, Oregon. The latter manifested itself as I ran among pick-ups rigged for the oil fields surrounding Williston, North Dakota, and raced a fully loaded coal train between Lusk and Van Tassel, Wyoming, hauling its sooty cargo out of the Powder River Basin to light up the East.* Journeylong, glaciered crevasses and crests reminded me of what was and what is to come, with humankind an impressionistic fleck on a fathomless canvass.

So. There are a lot of ways to measure a trip: miles, rivers, pie, native reservations, highways, mountain ranges. Mostly, though, there's the way you live when you come back.

*In a brilliant 2005 article, the New Yorker's John McPhee describes the coal industry's inexorable erosion of Wyoming, and revels in the particulars of the rails: "Run a coal train out of the Powder River Basin and down to Kansas and Arkansas and across the South into Georgia. The steepest grade you encounter is 1.5 percent, on track that to the eye seems close to level. You can discern that it is going up or down, but it will not remind you of Crested Butte. It will seem less steep than the East Pacific Rise. Yet a loaded coal train running wide open in Notch 8 can attack a 1.5-percent grade and soon be beaten down under ten miles an hour."

Stories from Union Pool

Aileen had to go home to edit tape from the Pen World Voices Festival, while Jess was thrilled that her random date with Jess had gone well. Brian and Corrina said they were moving once Brian returned from Thailand. In the yard, Daniel stood in a circle with his friends, but it didn't stop Katie from trying to hawk CDs by the talented Rebecca Schiffman. ("She looks like Natalie Portman," Tiffany said to someone, just as Gowri said to Tiffany, "She looks like Natalie Portman.") Back inside, Gregor and the storyteller (sad about the lack of cherry in the whiskey sour) listened to Keith introduce the North Brooklyn Story Project and then watched the crowd go nuts for The Blue Album Group, playing songs from Weezer's The Blue Album. Outside again, Tammy defended eating burritos and ramen for breakfast, while Shannon recounted rinsing the rotten milk from her cereal, and Garrett said that cultural Christians might indeed exist. Janos and gang were going strong in a back corner, making friends with an adjacent table through Maia's urban games. Someone was getting sick on the street. Someone was buying an avocado. Elsewhere in the city, people were going to sleep, waking up, and thinking of each other.

Onlooking

A local artist, Brandon Fonville, recently sent me a series of photographs he took of a car/tractor-trailer accident Under the BQE, near Broadway and South 9th.

"She had never imagined that curiosity is one of the many masks of love." - Gabriel García Márquez