Yin and yang

I took these two shots in Tribeca, on different streets but just minutes apart. It's funny how perfectly balanced they are: white graffiti with black Vespa, black graffiti with white Vespa. Cosmic!

Infamy

I always associate May 8 with rain. On May 8, 1979, when I was 12 years old, we got an outrageous amount of rain in Tampa. It remains Tampa’s single wettest day, with close to 12 inches of rain. Our yard turned into a lake, and the lake advanced on our house menacingly. Broad, extravagant puddles remained for weeks.

We had a septic tank because we lived in the country, and when it rained like that, we had to stop using water because the septic system couldn’t accommodate it. No clothes washing, no dish washing, no showering. Even flushing the toilet was risky -- but obviously, that’s a risk we had to take. I don’t remember specifically how we managed after May 8, 1979, but I’m sure all these precautions were involved.

Interesting how a single event can define a day forever: Dec. 7, Sept. 11 and, for me, May 8!

(Photo: Tribeca, April 2008)

Quirks

I was asked by Barbara to list “six unspectacular quirks” about myself. So here goes:

1. When I was a kid, I used to be able to touch my elbows behind my back. Needless to say, not anymore.

2. I really dislike sand and being out in the sun, so I am not a big beach person. (Ironic for a Floridian.) My idea of a good day at the beach is walking on the shore early in the morning, inside by 10 a.m. or buzzing around town for lunch and exploring, and back out on the beach in the early evening. I avoid the beach at 1 p.m. at all costs.

3. As I write my blog entries in the morning, there is almost always a cat lying on my stomach. (The same cat.) That in itself may not be a personal quirk, but I guess it’s a quirk that I can type with a cat between me and the keyboard!

4. I can speak Berber, specifically a dialect called Tashelhait, native to southern Morocco. It is not a useful skill.

5. I always pick up pennies when I find them on the street, and unlike some people, I don’t keep them in a jar at home. I carry all my change every day and spend it regularly to keep the volume down.

6. I dislike clutter and go to great lengths to avoid it. I spend a lot of time throwing things away and organizing. It’s therapeutic for me.

I’m supposed to tag others, now, with this meme. But I normally let people opt in rather than asking them to participate. So if you feel like it, consider yourself tagged, and go for it!

Here are the rules:

1. Tell about six unspectacular quirks of yours.
2. Link the person who tagged you.
3. Mention the rules in your Blog.
4. Tag six following Bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged Blogger’s Blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

(Photo: East 29th Street, April 2008)

Spider

Bob and I went to see “Iron Man” last night. I must admit it didn’t blow me away, but I think that has more to do with me than the movie. Super-hero movies are just not my thing. I can never suspend reality enough to buy into them, and this one seemed particularly absurd. (The hero builds an entire metal flying suit out of available scrap while a seriously wounded prisoner in a cave in Afghanistan. And that’s just the beginning.)

I guess this is why I was never into comic books.

I’m settling back into my routines pretty well after my DC trip. My boss took me to lunch yesterday as a thanks for my small role in a project that won her a substantial company award -- that was nice. (I really didn’t do much for the project, so lunch was appropriate compensation.)

Oh, and apparently I was bitten by a spider sometime over the weekend. I had a little red welt on my leg Saturday night and didn’t think much of it, having never seen the offending creature -- my friend Liz identified it as a spider bite. By last night it had turned into a bright red itchy blotch, but I’m hoping that actually means it’s getting better. (Itchy seems good, as opposed to painful.)

(Photo: Tribeca, April 2008)

Maypole

I’m back from my trip to DC, having wallowed in absurd amounts of tree pollen and dodged tent caterpillars falling like fat, leggy raindrops from the tree in my friend Liz’s front yard. Spring may have come to New York, but DC puts New York to shame. Our nation’s capital is overflowing with seasonal fertility, and I don’t mean the government. (I don’t think.)

I went to DC to meet with a group of fellow bloggers. Reya and Barbara brought a group of us together for a barbecue and a celebratory springtime dance around an actual maypole, occasioned by the visit of Lettuce from England. I don’t think I’d ever seen a real maypole before Saturday, but now I can say that I have experienced the weaving, ribbony silliness of a maypole dance.


Before we started, Reya instructed us to grasp our particular ribbon and imagine something that we want for ourselves, and then to grasp the pole and fill it with sexual energy (!). Then we wove around each other until we’d braided all the ribbons in a perfectly imperfect pattern, and tied them off with a bouquet.


That interwoven braid is a perfect metaphor for the entire weekend. Not only did I get to mingle with my fellow bloggers, but I rode in Gary's cute new Volkswagen, spent time with my friend Liz in Greenbelt, and visited with my high school friend Kevin and my Peace Corps friends Doreen and Hakim, and their kids Ramzy and Tarek. Many individual strands came together to weave this weekend’s DC experience.

I also ran five miles this morning, which felt great after a day of barbecue and wine and dessert! And I went to a plant nursery -- an exotic errand for a Manhattanite with a studio apartment -- and helped Liz collect pepper plants and an odd assortment of flowers for her yard. Afterwards, sitting on Liz’s porch, the aforementioned caterpillars creeping around me, I could actually see the pollen swirling down through the sunlight. What a world! What a season!

Rapids

This week has been madness. Literally every waking moment I’ve been somewhere, doing something. Some of it’s been fun, some of it’s been work -- I had a couple of professional events, a documentary I watched and critiqued for a friend, a Broadway play, a few evenings with Bob. I was at the Zendo almost all day last Sunday, for services and a committee meeting. And now I’m off to D.C. for the weekend!

My cat barely knows who I am at this point.

It’s always challenging when things get this busy, but, well, that’s just the way it goes. Sometimes the river is a slow, placid one, and sometimes you’re whooshing down whitewater rapids.

Last night, I went to see “Cry Baby” on Broadway with my friend Jay. It’s a fun show, with some exceptional song-and-dance numbers. But plotwise, it’s pretty thin -- basically “Grease” all over again. Because I had an earlier work commitment, we had to rush to get to the show in time, and we ate literally on the run. As I elbowed my way through crowds on 44th Street, wolfing down a turkey wrap from D’Agostino’s, I told Jay, “Let it never be said that I am not a classy theater-goer!”

Anyway, I won’t be posting for the next few days. I’ll be back Monday. Have a great weekend!

(Photo: Chelsea, April 2008)

Free

If you're a Joni Mitchell fan, you probably know her song "For Free," about a street musician and the contrast between the music "he played real good, on his clarinet, for free" and her own music, which people paid to hear.

Like that street singer, there are so many artists in New York who simply give away their work. Here's an example: I found this book tucked into a window grate in Chelsea. The cover is by a couple of artists -- Infinity and Royce Bannon -- from the so-called Endless Love Crew. Inside, it was a published comic book or graphic novel.


I was sorely tempted to take it. But I didn't, in the spirit of making art available "For Free."