Plenty

My son's latest question that I have trouble answering to his satisfaction, is "What does 'plenty' mean?" When his preschool teacher hands out special treats, she tells them, "One is plenty." I'm glad she is reinforcing a maxim we aspire to. However, lately, with our recent financial troubles, that's been amended to "None is Plenty." In that we don't need anymore stuff. What we have is more than enough. We got some old Casper the Friendly Ghost cartoons out of the library and there's this great episode called "True Boo" in which Casper creates toys out of old household items for an impoverished kid who lives with his single mom and never gets anything for Christmas. The other day I made a very tricky paper airplane using a design I found on the internet. And Little Joe and I had great fun with that for hours. If nothing else, poverty is enhancing our creativity.

Gates and Fences

Just because they're purty...

Food Stamps and Other Badges of Shame

So I'm standing in the Park Slope Food Co-op, having just finished unloading my groceries out of the cart and the woman doing check-out says, "Do you know how to do EBT on the computer? Do I just push 'total'? What do you usually do?"

I shake my head, "Sorry, this is my first time using this card."

She smiles, "This is my first time too." She asks the man behind her, but he seems a little unsure so then she hollers over to the check-out person behind me, "Hey! Do you know how to process food stamps?" Only to me it sounds like "LOOK OVER HERE AT THIS LAYABOUT BITCH WHO'S TOO LAZY TO GET A JOB AND IS USING OUR HARD EARNED TAX DOLLARS TO BUY HER ORGANIC APPLES!!!" The check-out person is nice enough, I'm sure she doesn't mean to call attention to me. But she's not the first that afternoon to advertise my situation across the crowded co-op floor. She's the second. The first was the cashier, when I tried out my card with one item to make sure it worked. The cashier said "Food Stamps? You're paying with food stamps?" Only it sounded more like, "FOOD STAMPS? FUCKING WELFARE MOM." Then a third person, another cashier, also asked more than once, in a loud voice, if I was paying with food stamps. I don't know if this is due to the insensitivity of these three workers, the noise in the co-op, if they were truly judging me, or if this has to do with the co-op's new debit card system, but it sucks.

At this co-op, everyone who shops there is required to work there for three hours every four weeks. So although some people are more professional than others, this isn't their day job by any means. When I used to do check-out, before the new debit card system, I was merely required to ask of every shopper, "Are you paying with cash or EBT?" EBT, which stands for "Electronic Benefit Transfer" didn't sound so demeaning. It just sounded like another way of paying. And actually, Food Stamps are no longer called that. According to the Department of Agriculture, "As of Oct. 1, 2008, Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) is the new name for the federal Food Stamp Program." This afternoon's shopping experience made me want to do my grocery shopping at our local supermarket instead, where the food is more expensive and not nearly as healthy, there when people pull out their EBT cards, no one bats an eyelash.

Without going into detail about our particular situation, all I can say is that Big Joe works very hard, lately seven days a week, and I am looking for a job. I may not be working at a jobby job but I only sleep six hours a night, and only one of the hours that I'm awake is spent idly - reading the newspapers on the internet. Although we've always been frugal, in the past four months we've gone beyond our usual thriftiness. We haven't gone to movies, or bought books, or gone out to dinner. We stopped buying treats like the occasional cookie or scone. We never hire babysitters. We haven't bought new clothes in a very long time. We don't go on vacation, or spend money on alcohol or cigarettes or drugs of any kind. Big Joe rides his bike everywhere so we just spend money on a metrocard for me. We're not working the system. If I could find suitable employment, I would be working. And yet I feel so very ashamed. No, ASHAMED. Capital letters. I mean I've lived here for 15 years, worked, paid taxes. Been an upstanding citizen even when I technically wasn't. But when I Googled "When will I get my EBT card?" after we waited and waited and it failed to arrive in the mail; I found the answer on Yahoo Answers, and below was a comment with many expletives that went something along the lines of, "Why don't you get a job and stop spreading your legs for every man, and popping out babies?"

When I was a teenager I volunteered at a Food Bank in Vancouver, and the people who volunteered with me were upset that I was volunteering there but didn't need a bag of groceries myself. Because they all did. And volunteering there was how they dealt with their feelings of shame. I didn't understand that then, and was mystified by their hostility, but it all became quite clear this afternoon.

I've judged people paying with EBT cards at Food Dimensions. Judging their bottles of soda and chips and boxes of Entenmann's cakes. And when I worked as a check out worker at the co-op I've looked at the person paying with an EBT card and thought, "They don't look like they need food stamps." So now I'm on the other side. And that's good. I'm learning to have even more empathy. Because you just never know what life's going to hand you. One day you're having cocktails, shopping at designer sample sales and taking cabs (not that I've done that in at least ten years) and the next you're collecting food stamps.

Simplicity and Inner Peace

This DIY birdbath/altar reminds me of this quote from the Dalai Lama:

"If one's life is simple, contentment has to come. Simplicity is extremely important for happiness. Having few desires, feeling satisfied with what you have, is very vital: satisfaction with just enough food, clothing, and shelter to protect yourself from the elements. And finally, there is an intense delight in abandoning faulty states of mind and in cultivating helpful ones in meditation."

Day of Rest

Ahh, Sundays. Waking up late. Blueberry banana pancakes, scrambled eggs and cappuccinos. Building marble runs with our son. Napping in the sunshine. Card games and art projects. Stuffing ourselves with a late lunch of pasta and salad. Watching a Harry Potter film for the umpteenth time. Reading stories in bed. Lights out. Enjoying and feeling so very grateful for our toasty warm house as we hit yet another cold spell this winter. But when the weather warms up, we'll be looking for an outdoor bench to rest our weary bones. Here's a local selection ranging from DIY to elegant.

Creative and soft, but the trash bag cover leaves something to be desired.

This variation on the milk crate bench does the job.

My personal favourite, once the temperature rises. This one begs for ice cold freshly squeezed lemonade and a good novel.

The ultimate in elegance, complete with co-ordinating lampost.

Books on the J,M,Z - 5

A Frolic of His Own - William Gaddis - Read by a tall white guy. From the NY Times book review:

the idea behind "A Frolic of His Own" is idea theft, an increasingly common phenomenon in Hollywood that gained national attention in 1990, when Art Buchwald won a court victory against Paramount Pictures, contending that the idea for the 1988 Eddie Murphy film "Coming to America" had been stolen from a film treatment he had written in 1983. A similar lawsuit lies at the heart of "A Frolic of His Own," a lawsuit that will snowball, like the interminable lawsuit in "Bleak House," into mayhem and madness for nearly everyone connected with the case, a lawsuit that will leave the reader with a darkly comic vision of a litigious society run perilously amok.

Most of Michiko Kakuktani's review makes this book sound worth reading despite the questionable title. Until you get to the end where the reviewer calls it "laborious reading." I think I'll pass. I was exhausted just reading this review.

Missing - Jasmine Cresswell - This book is a first novel in the 'Ravens Trilogy.' From Publisher's Weekly:

Grabbing readers from the get-go, Cresswell's book is fraught with sex, secrets and double-crosses, and her cast of characters—especially the charismatic leads—are sharply developed. Full and satisfying, Cresswell's twisty series kickoff is sure to please.

Possibly good bathroom reading.

No Fair Exchange - Alfred Adams Jr. - Read by a Mexican or possibly East Indian girl with incredibly thick black hair tied back in one of those impossibly smooth tight high ponytails that Latina girls usually sport. Everytime I tie my hair back that tight I get a raging headache. This author is another ex-convict success story. From his press release:

After 12 1/2 years of incarceration, Alfred Adams, Jr. beat the odds and became a true success story prior to his release from prison. All while incarcerated, he went on to write 10 novels, and in less than a year since his release, he's sold over 25,000 copies of, "My Brother's Keeper." Now, in addition to promoting his latest release, "Till Death Do Us Part," he also spends time with troubled youths to inspire through his testimony that anything and everything is possible. As a matter of fact, proceeds from his book sales are donated to The Boys & Girls Club.

Playing for Pizza - John Grisham - Read by a Latina girl in a fur trimmed coat. Not only is this book by a mainstream author I have no interest in, but the subject matter is a football player. Yawn. Grisham doesn't need my support, he has plenty of fans.

The God Delusion - Richard Dawkins - As a recovering Catholic, as soon as I see a bookcover with 'God' in the title, I automatically assume that it's trying to sell me on religion, and my eyes glaze over. But apparently this author has the opposite intention. From the author's website: "A preeminent scientist – and the world's most prominent atheist – asserts the irrationality of belief in God and the grievous harm religion has inflicted on society, from the Crusades to 9/11."

The Medici Effect - Frans Johansson - Read by a tiny girl with blond hair that flipped up at the ends, carrying an enormous shiny handbag. From the author's website:

Frans Johansson takes us on a fascinating journey to the Intersection: a place where ideas from different industries and cultures meet and collide, ultimately igniting an explosion of extraordinary new innovations.

Johansson calls this proliferation of new ideas “the Medici effect”—referring to the remarkable burst of creativity enabled by the Medici banking family in Renaissance Italy. In this fascinating book, he reveals how we can find intersections in our own lives and turn the ideas we find there into pathbreaking innovations. Johansson explains that three driving forces—the movement of people, the convergence of scientific disciplines, and the leap in computational power—are increasing the number and types of intersections we can access.

Interestingly, the author was raised in Sweden by his African-American and Cherokee mother and his Swedish father. This book sounds the most intriguing. I think I'll reserve a copy from the library this week.

The Glass Castle - Jeannette Winterson - Read by a black girl wearing stiletto knee-high quilted boots. I read and loved this unsentimental and fascinating memoir of a childhood with parents so neglectful, they children had bring to essentially bring themselves up. From the publisher's notes:

What is so astonishing about Jeannette Walls is not just that she had the guts and tenacity and intelligence to get out, but that she describes her parents with such deep affection and generosity. Hers is a story of triumph against all odds, but also a tender, moving tale of unconditional love in a family that despite its profound flaws gave her the fiery determination to carve out a successful life on her own terms.

The Hiram Key - Christopher Knight and Robert Lomas - read by a tall beefy white guy wearing a black leather baseball cap. From the authors' website:

When Christopher Knight and Robert Lomas, both Masons, set out to find the origins of freemasonry they had no idea they would find themselves unravelling the true story of Jesus Christ and the original Jerusalem Church. As a radically new picture of Jesus and his ultra-Jewish sect started to emerge, the authors came to the controversial conclusion that the key rituals of modern Freemasonry were practiced by the sect as a means of initiation into their community.

Although 230 reviewers on Amazon give this book an average rating of 3 1/2 stars, one masonry website describes the book as "wishful thinking and pre-determined conclusions replace facts in the presentation of opinion masquarading as theory." While another says about this book that "the theories and postulations are nothing but fantasy and speculation."

The Answer

This vehicle owner claims to have The Answer.

I am so relieved I found this van, because the past couple of weeks Little Joe has been asking me questions for which I do not have the answer. And I'm feeling really dumb. I mean, he's four. I'm forty. I'm a college graduate. I read constantly, and not just Vice Magazine either. And yet each day he comes at me with a barrage of questions that leave me floundering. Here's a sample:

How do you make metal?
How do clouds hold rain and snow?
How do you make rubber?
How do they make plastic?
How do the tiles stick on the bathroom wall?
What's the moon made of?
How do you make keys?

Fortunately we have encyclopedias and the internet for this kind of specific and scientific information. However he doesn't ask me these questions when we're in a library or at home. Usually he thinks of them while we're on the subway or walking down the street. And the thing is, I have a general idea of how things work, but there's a lot I learned in school that I've forgotten. And then trying to explain this stuff in terms a four year old can understand, well that's a whole other conundrum. Fortunately, I was able to answer where chocolate comes from. As that was right up my alley. Food. Ask me a food question and I've got plenty of answers. I also am fairly knowledgeable about art, or fashion, or literature. As for the rest...

So this morning he asks me, "How do you make skin?"
"Well, skin is made from cells. And cells are..." I started to answer, stopped, looked confused and began giving him my stock answer, when he interrupted saying, "It's okay, just add it to your 'tricky questions' list."

On further inspection, it seems The Answer has something to do with floor sanding. Who knew?

Art or Science?

What the hell is this thing? It's both hideous and fascinating. At first I thought it was some sort of bizarre art installation. But on further inspection I wonder if perhaps it's some sort of DIY humming bird feeder with a sugar solution in that upside down bottle. Any ideas? Anyone?

Ma and Pa Snowman, and Junior, Too.

This recent bout of sub zero temperatures over the last few weeks has been hampering our neighbourhood walks, so I'm low on material and have to resort to happenings closer to home. Like in our backyard. Little Joe was so excited over the first fluffy snow of the season that we could actually have fun with, as opposed to just wading through a dirty slushy mess, or slipping and falling on solid ice. We started off with Mr. Snowman, whom my son thought looked lonely and needed a friend, a lady friend. Then once we made Mrs. Snowman, he asked, "But where's her baby?" So we did a snowkid. In trying to liven up our snow family, I think I gave the parents a little too much expression. They look kinda angry. Or maybe they're just worried about their finances and it's making them grumpy with each other. Not that I'm projecting or anything.

Change Has Arrived

Photo: Getty Images

Big Joe and I watched the inauguration online (not having a t.v.) and ran back and forth between the computer in my studio and the radio in his, when the live streaming became overloaded (how many millions of people were watching?), shut down, and the screen went black. We both cried, watching this historic, nothing short of miraculous, moment. And I wondered, does Obama feel like he's dreaming? Am I dreaming? Is this really happening? I loved watching Michelle (now the First Lady) beaming at her husband, and the footage of the joyous tearful faces lining the Washington Mall.

Being a Canadian, I never in my wildest dreams thought I'd ever have cause to say this, but I Am Proud to Be An American. I became a citizen too late to join in on the voting process this time around but I am so very glad to be a citizen in a country where democracy actually works.* I had doubts when Bush stole the previous election, when Big Joe, who's a registered democrat, sent in his absentee ballot to New Mexico and it was 'lost' and when hundreds of black voters in Florida had their votes dismissed. But just look at this picture. PROOF.

And I loved Reverend Lowery's benediction, particularly the end:

Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around -- when yellow will be mellow -- when the red man can get ahead, man -- and when white will embrace what is right.

Let all those who do justice and love mercy say amen.

The entirety of this benediction can be found at the Chicago Sun Times.

As for Obama's speech, that's when our internet video died and we had to listen old-style with just the radio. But I need to hear it again, this time watching our President's face as he speaks.

President Obama, Hurray!
President Obama, Yippee!
President Obama, Halleluiah!

*Democracy works in Canada too, fortunately. In fact Kim Campbell was sworn in as the first woman Prime Minister of Canada in 1993, which was the year I moved to New York with the intention of staying forever. However she was only Prime Minister of Canada for four months, for some reason that I don't understand. Although I grew up in Canada, having left Canada before reaching voting age, I'm afraid the Canadian political process is rather beyond me. And surprisingly, I managed to reach age 40 never having voted in any country. I'm a voting virgin. How bizarre.

Sunday Thoughts

GOD'S GIFT
OUR LIFE IS GOD GIFT TO US AND WHAT WE MAKE OF OUR LIFE IS OUR GIFT TO HIM

LOVEST THOU ME?
YEA, LORD

This is America

Immigrants arriving at Ellis Island

Got up way before dawn and dragged my boys out in sub zero temperatures on the M train to downtown Brooklyn. Took Little Joe out of school today so he could witness and celebrate me being sworn in as a bonafide American Citizen. My naturalization ceremony took place at a brand new Federal court building on Cadman Plaza. While Big and Little Joe waited patiently in the third floor cafeteria (eating breaded french fries with lots of ketchup and running up and down the marble stairs to look at the amazing views from the enormous circular windows), I and roughly 300 other people from every corner of the globe waited impatiently in the hot stuffy courtroom under the gaze of painted and photographed portraits of previous judges. Each person took turns going up to the front, relinquishing their greencard (this act actually made me break out in a cold sweat despite my six layers of clothing), checking that the info on their citizenship certificate was correct and discussing any changes (ie. traveling outside the U.S., engaging in polygamy, becoming a habitual drunkard) that may have occurred since their citizenship interview. Amazingly, this Brooklyn court process a full room of 300 or so four days a week. That's 1200 people becoming American citizens a week. And that's just Brooklyn. It boggles my mind to think how many people become American citizens all across the country every day.

There was a wide range of people awaiting citizenship, here are a few that I noticed in particular: two grizzled heavyset white men with white hair, wearing grey pinstriped suits who talked throughout in low voices with their heads bent together looking like the judges in the Muppets; three dark-skinned women of various ages in colorful saris and headscarves, who were not together, one wearing sandals (in this weather?!); a young hip looking east indian man with a faux hawk dressed in black; a pale British woman with overplucked eyebrows, bleached blond hair in a severe razor cut wearing a thick white angora sweater, a waistlength fox jacket and a fox hat; a young Hassidic Jewish woman in a skirt suit and a pillbox hat with fur pom poms; an Asian woman in her sixties, her salt and pepper hair cut in a short mannish style and sporting a burgundy corduroy vest; a large Frenchman who looked like Marlon Brando in the Godfather; a trim black woman in a fitted beige jacket with a huge blond and black afro; a middle-aged Asian woman with purple hair cut in an asymmetrical bob; a black man who looked like a short OJ Simpson who kept leering at me; a Mexican woman with cascading brown hair with blond streaks that fell to her waist; and a middle aged East Indian man wearing khakis and a long sweater with short hair and a long rattail that came midway down his back. And I thought, This is America. I used to think that New York with its mix of cultures and races was so very un-American but after living here fifteen years I've come to realize that in actuality, this couldn't be more American. And if not for the persistent racism in Hollywood, the 'all-American' man or woman next door could look like any of these people.

Although the white balding guy who swaggered in that lawyerly way with one hand deep in his pants pocket, the other around a king size cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee, told us the whole process would likely take two hours, it took four. At which point I was sweating bullets over being an hour late for work at a job I desperately need, and not having access to my cellphone (having had to hand it in before coming upstairs) in order to call in. A white judge came in and *spoke to us about his great grandfather who came from a very poor family in Europe arrived and by boat at Ellis Island in 1903 as a three year old. He was immediately turned away after the medical examination for having a contagious stye in his eye. He and his uncle then returned to Europe and did the arduous three month boat trip again, eight years later. The judge wanted to let us know that although he couldn't promise us success, that as citizens we had a wealth of opportunity at our feet, and we or our children could be standing at the front of this room wearing judges' robes, or simply become anyone we wanted to be.

We also received 'A Message From the President of the United States,' (who unfortunately, for the next three days is still that old white guy named after women's pubic hair), a comic strip on pink and yellow paper about how to fight discrimination in the workplace, and we filled out and handed in our voter registration cards. Then all of a sudden it was over. We rose, raised our right hands, said the Oath and Pledge of Allegiance to our new country and flag, lined up one last time to hand in our appointment letters in exchange for our new Certificates of Naturalization, gathered up our many winter garments, and left.

I'm still processing it all, it was exciting, stressful, and exhausting. And now that my citizenship is a fait accompli, I'll be back with the story of my citizenship interview. Stay tuned...

*I actually missed this whole story except for the first and last sentences because I had the extraordinarily bad idea of holding my son on my lap for the best part of this long morning while he complained about being too hot in his six layers of clothing, and that he was 'dying of thirst,' whined for his water bottle which was in the stroller outside the courtroom, and thought it would be great fun to try to pull my hand down during the Oath of Allegiance. Oh but did I mention the many hugs and kisses he gave me? It was worth missing the judge's speech for those. Besides thanks to Big Joe, I got to hear the jist of it anyway.

Curiouser and Curiouser

This plethora of signs is interesting on several levels. First of all, this person appears to have a dog and yet they're asking others to 'curb' their dogs. And then, although several signs point to a '24 hour active driveway,' the mass of debris behind the gate says something else altogether. I think though, what I love best is the drawing of the dog's head smack dab in the middle of all these warnings without any words at all.

Fighting for Peace

A 66-year-old woman practices boxing in a training session in Haiguangsi community in Tianjin, northern China.
From the Beijing Olympics 2008

Sometimes I feel like entering the blogging world has been akin to stepping into a boxing ring, and I was ill-prepared for the fight. At first I thought no one except my family members and close friends would ever read anything I had to say. My brother still doesn't read it although my partner's brother does (thanks A.). And that was fine. Then came other readers. Then came the fear that no one would continue reading. Then the fear that they would.

I'd heard the term 'snark' before but these past twelve months have burned it into my consciousness. It seems that if you want to swim with the big blogging fishes and survive, 'snark' is a term you need to become extremely familiar with, and make your own. Sensitive hides do not fare well out here. Sometimes I am able to rise to the occasion with a bitchy smartass remark or two, but it doesn't feel good and leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. A bit like rancid peanut butter.

Those who've followed my blog from its inception have been aware of my own personal battles with certain internet haters (I loved, loved, loved this clip of Tina Fey addressing her haters at the Golden Globes - every geek's fantasy). Who have given me many sleepless nights and an ulcer or two, and made me consider shutting down the blog altogether more than once. Because let's face it, I just don't think I can cut it in this snark eat snark world. I can however, invite a hater to coffee. Which I did. Sister Toldja, a young black female Bed-Stuy newbie who writes a blog named Me, Myself An Eye, recently took issue with my blog and me, and wrote a couple of extended posts on her blog giving a multitude of reasons why I was her nemesis.

Anyway, she graciously accepted my invitation and early this morning we braved the winter chill to meet at Tiny Cup and discuss our differences in person. This newish cafe's presence in this neighbourhood has not been without controversy either, as evident in the many comments on a review of this business on Bed-Stuy Blog. Sister Toldja showed up in full make-up complete with false eyelashes, wearing colorful girly layers while I arrived in my dirty hiking boots, snowboarding pants, and an ancient parka. She sipped coffee. I gulped down herbal tea. And we talked. And listened. And exchanged views and ideas. It was lovely. And so humane. As opposed to comment wars on one another's blogs.

She expressed her concern that me photographing this mostly black neighbourhood, and not being black myself was bit like National Geographic going into uncharted lands to document the natives (my comparison, not hers). Although this was not and is not my intention in the least, I could see why a black person might find my photos to be colonialist. I especially could empathize with her disgust when she likened it to sinophiles who adore all things Asian. I asked her what I could do to help alleviate this problem, and she suggested I write more, expand on why I like something instead of just posting a photo without an explanation. But in the end we just agreed that you simply cannot please everyone and no matter who you are or what you do there's always going to be someone who thinks you stink and won't hesitate to let you know that in no uncertain terms.

I also wasn't aware that much of the writing on her blog is satire. However, I wanted her to know that her words have power, and not to underestimate that power. Words can move people to action. And if you promote hate, there's no telling what may come out of it. But in many ways this goes for anyone who blogs. It's so easy to write something flippant and then hit the publish button. I've been guilty of that myself.

I can't say I enjoyed reading her irate posts about me, which she admitted were not completely satire, that she was legitimately angry. But I am glad that it brought us together this morning so we could have this conversation. We agreed that it would be helpful for Bed-Stuy's community to have a bigger and more inclusive conversation between gentrifiers and long time residents of any colour. I hope to arrange an evening at a local cafe in the spring sometime, where we can do just that.

Feel the Hate

KILL HIPSTERS

Reader, ElectricGreek, emailed me a tip about this sidewalk graffiti. Note the ominous splash of red paint on the side. However, it begs the question, is this truly a hipster hater? Or is this just a hipster being ironic?

Private Clubs

Could this club have something to do with boxing? Or am I just revealing my weakness for Barbra Streisand films from the seventies?

I'm moving up to old-timer status, only having failed gym class in high school after skipping one too many classes, the sports part is not exactly up my alley. Besides I've a feeling they don't encourage women to join.

Don't know if this a members only club, but I like the sign.

This one, with a make-shift door way to a vacant lot, is the most intriguing. You must be 30 and over and possibly know 'Uncle.'

NO ANIMAL FEEDING

I've often wanted to put up a 'no dumping' sign on our block, preferably one that looks like the city put it up with a several hundred dollar fine attached. But 'no animal feeding?' What animals are they referring to? Rats? Or perhaps the animals below?

Although seemingly bulky in belly circumference, this bear's insides are rather empty.

This seahorse, meanwhile, is kept on a tight leash. Could be dangerous to feed him.

Too late for this one, I'm afraid.

Aha! I think we've found the animals in question. Plus they appear to have been breeding.

Books on the J,M,Z - 4 (Part 2)

Now where was I...

The Appeal -John Grisham - Read by a tall pretty Latina wearing oversize sunglasses and a beige short belted trenchcoat. She was so engrossed in this book she nearly fell off the subway platform. From the NY Times review:

“The Appeal” is John Grisham’s handy primer on a timely subject: how to rig an election. Blow by blow, this not-very-fictitious-sounding novel depicts the tactics by which political candidates either can be propelled or ambushed and their campaigns can be subverted. Since so much of what happens here involves legal maneuvering in Mississippi, as have many of his other books, Mr. Grisham knows just how these games are played. He has sadly little trouble making such dirty tricks sound real.

Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespeare - read by an Asian high school girl. Most likely, for school.

Far From the Tree - Virginia Deberry and Donna Grant- Read by a black woman with the longest fingernails I've ever seen. They must have two, maybe three inches long and painted gold with diamond glitter. - From the authors' website:

Far From The Tree is a novel that asks the questions: can the past ever truly remain hidden? Can mothers and daughters put aside their usual roles long enough to get to really know each other? Long enough to see they each have felt the love, loss, heartache and joy that they share as women. And can two strangers realize that they are, and always will be, sisters?

But what's more interesting is that this African American writing team met while competing for the same jobs in New York as plus size models. They became friends, launched a fashion magazine for plus size women, and have written five novels together.

The Rum Diary - Hunter S. Thompson - Read by a white hipster boy with pants so tight in front they looked extremely uncomfortable. From a review in Salon.com:

the story of "The Rum Diary" is close to Thompson's own early experience in journalism's ink-stained and liquor-soaked trenches. Paul Kemp, a writer who's grown tired of New York, decides on a lark to take a job with the San Juan Daily News....Slowly, Kemp starts peeling layers off of the sunny, rum-laden myth of his new habitat and discovers what his colleague meant: The government is corrupt, the locals are violently opposed to the yanqui interlopers and the paper itself is rapidly collapsing. The novel catalogs numerous scuffles with the law and bitter editors, but the heart of its story is Kemp's collision with himself.

I've never been able to get into Hunter Thompson's books. But this looks kind of interesting, especially the part about the 'yanqui interlopers.' Apparently Johnny Depp is to star in the movie version this year. And whatever happened to that Shantaram film he was supposed to be in. Now THAT was a great book.

Diary - Chuck Palahniuk - read by a white boy wearing camouflage, and full Roy Orbison type mutton chops. Read this. Used to be a huge CP fan. But I don't know if his writing changed or I changed but I couldn't get into his last few books.

The Visual Poetry of Trashcans

Books on the J,M,Z - 4 (Part 1)

Porn for Women

Chicken Soup for the Working Mom's Soul - Jack Canfield - read by a middle-aged black woman who looked so tired, I actually misread the title at first to read the 'hardworking mom's soul.' The 'chicken soup for the soul' series are well known, and Mark Victor Hansen and Jack Canfield now have hundreds of titles under the inspirational and motivational Chicken Soup umbrella. They've gotten so huge, that this company has co-branded with Coke and NASCAR, is now worth billions and counts greeting cards and pet food as part of their product line. Inspirational and motivational pet food and race cars??? Thinking way beyond the box is why some people are stinking rich and the rest of us, are not.

God's Armor Bearer: How to Serve God's Leaders - Terry Nance - This is a motivational book for Christians, particularly those called to the ministry.

Eclipse - Stephenie Meyer - Fourth in the teenage vampire romance series, also known as the 'Twilight Saga.' Big Joe overheard two beefy guys in the East Village one evening moaning about how their girlfriends had dragged them to the Twilight movie, under the guise of it being a horror flick. Funny, I've never had any urge to drag Big Joe or any previous boyfriend to a chick flick. In fact I'm deeply embarrassed by my penchant for the chick flick genre. It's so cheap, so non-intellectual, so junk food, so enjoyable. Romance movies are porn for women. Not all women mind you, but a large number. Just give us a hot troubled guy with killer cheekbones and soulful eyes, who's had many women but none who've been able to help him, change him, love him the way the heroine (whom we identify with) in the film does. And he sees her (us) and loves her like he's never loved anyone else before. And then off they ride into the sunset on his motorbike. Disgusting, right? Kind of like the 'money shot' in men's porn. Ah well. This is why women and men are different. Excepting gay men who can appreciate both cheesy romance and explicit pornographic films. I'm not sure what does it for lesbians, filmwise, having lost touch with my lesbian friends of my youth. Any dykes out there who care to weigh in on this?

Fasting - Jentezen Franklin - Oh boy. Yet another minister author. Although interestingly, this one is about biblical fasting. Forget the South Beach Diet, or Atkins. Try God.

There Are No Children Here: The Story of Two Boys Growing Up in The Other America - Alex Kotlowitz - Despite the fact that this book was named by the New York Public Library as one of the 150 most important books of the century and was made into a film with Oprah Winfrey, I've never heard of it until now. The book "chronicles two years in the lives of two boys, Lafeyette and Pharoah, struggling to survive in Chicago’s Henry Horner Homes, a public housing complex disfigured by crime and neglect." Sounds heavy, but worth picking up a copy.

The Secret of Chinese Pulse Diagnosis - Bob Flaws - read by a white hipster girl. In 1982, Bob and his wife Honora, founded Blue Poppy Press in Boulder, Colorado, in order to publish Bob's first book on Chinese medicine, Path to Pregnancy. Aside from attending Shanghai College of Chinese Medicine, teaching himself to read and write Chinese and being a founder and president of a number of acupuncture associations, Bob is also an avid motorcycle rider. Being a fan and practitioner of herbal medicine and homeopathy, I'm inclined to pick this book up. However although I have a thirst for knowledge and have started learning many things, due to time constraints and a short attention span, I have left many projects unfinished. So my guitar collects dust in the corner, the scarf I was knitting is still only a square of yarn, my perl and cgi tutorial books are now outdated, and Little Joe's baby book is still just a bunch of unorganized photos in labeled envelopes. So this one's going to have to remain on the back burner for the moment.

The Almost Moon - Alice Sebold - I read this author's first novel, The Lovely Bones, but unlike many others, I was not terribly moved nor impressed. Which makes me not too interested in her second. This book, about "a professional art-class model named Helen Knightly, the divorced mother of two grown children — (who) murder(s) her mother in graphic fashion, .... also describes her father’s bloody suicide, relates the story of the hit-and-run killing of a young boy and eerily alludes to the time her mother dropped Helen’s infant grandson on his head," was trashed in the NY Times and various other reviews, while Amazon.com readers give it 2 and half stars. Not terribly promising.

The Camino - Shirley Maclaine - read by a Latina office lady. According to an interview with Ms.Maclaine in the holistic magazine, Share Guide, "The Camino, is about a famous pilgrimage that has been taken by people for centuries called the Santiago de Compostela Camino across northern Spain. It is done with the intent to find one's deepest spiritual meaning and resolutions regarding conflicts in Self." Ms.Maclaine has written several autobiographical books about spirituality, but for me I just love her best as the hopeless romantic taxi dancer, Charity Hope Valentine, in the Bob Fosse film from the sixties, Sweet Charity.

A Hopeless Romantic - Harriet Evans - read by a pasty white girl in one of those shapeless knitted hats that look like a shower cap. Speaking of hopeless romantics, I wonder what this women's porn book is about. And I wonder at the bravery of the woman who unabashedly was reading this trash on the train. I would only read something like this this in the bathroom with the door locked.

As I've left this book section for so long due to Little Joe's Christmas break, I've still got six more books to review. Part two, tomorrow. I think I'll go reread Bridget Jones Diary on the toilet before going to bed. Good night all.

Poochie: Now a Bed-Stuy Resident

As of 2003, Poochie has made her mark on our neighbourhood's streets. But which Poochie etched her name on this sidewalk?

Poochie from the Simpsons? Naw, he first appeared in 1997 and according to Wikipedia, "Poochie was near-universally despised, and was killed off in his second appearance."

Or Poochie, the little blonde girl from Peanuts? She made a one time appearance in 1973, if she was five years old then, that would make her 40 years old today, peroxiding out the grey, and possibly buying her first brownstone. Although who knows what happened to her after not making it big in the world of comics. I doubt she could afford to buy, even at today's market prices. If it's her she's definitely renting.

photo: halloweve1977
Fluffy pink Mattel Poochie? Created in the early eighties, she became popular in the U.S. and the U.K. and had many more years of fame in Italy. And today she appears to have a minor cult following with vintage toy enthusiasts. Providing she hasn't squandered her wealth away, she might have found refuge from her fans on this quiet tree-lined residential street in the heart of Brooklyn.

Hipster Art Strikes Again

Big Joe and I had a disagreement as to whether this truly could be defined as 'hipster' art. He says he'd just call it 'street' art, because it uses traditional graffiti lettering, only instead of doing it quickly on a wall like regular graffiti, it was carefully done in a studio then bolted to this street sign. Also that it's not ironic. He said that calling it 'hipster' art is derogatory, saying that it's just some poseur who calls him/herself an artist and is trying too hard. Whereas I see it as a sign of new people moving into the neighbourhood. I doubt this was done by a long time Bed-Stuy resident. And that this new person is most likely young, white, art school educated, middle-class, and yes, a hipster. Then Big Joe redefined it, as 'street art pretending to be graffiti.' But c'mon. If that's not ironic, what is?

Squatters Not Welcome

PRIVATE PROPERTY
NO TRESPASSING
Who are you and Who gave you Any Authority to Change the locks on this door you will be investigated and if necessary prosecuted to the full extent of the law!
We will be checking daily for ________
Call attorney E.S. _______ at the phone number before you do anything illegel ______
This has been reported to the 81st Precinct for further Action.

Missing - Julian "Julianna" Carrozza

A MySpace page has been created by Julianna's family which states that although this notice was posted in Bed-Stuy, she's actually from Park Slope. Also she may have run away from home and the reward money on this page for her return is significantly higher:

Julian "Julianna" Carrozza left home on Friday night, Nov. 14, @ about 5:45 pm. Last seen entering dark car/car service. Julian is Caucasian, 5'8" 125 lbs, Brown Hair, Brown Eyes, Braces on teeth. (See photos.) Grandparents frantic!! JULIAN IS KNOWN TO LIE ABOUT HER AGE!! $35,000.00 REWARD for safe return!! Call Missing Persons at 212-694-7781 or The 72nd precinct at 718-965-6311 Possable locations include: Park Slope, Widnsor Terrace, Bay Ridge, Bed Stuy, Red Hook, and Coney Island (But really she could be anywhere)

Her mother sends out a special plea:

Julian, I am not sure if you read your page but if you are this is mommy. I love you more than anything in the world. Please call your grandparents or me. It is dangerous out there you could get hurt or even a disease. You will not be in trouble, we all just want you home safe, Me, your grandparents, your sisters, we are all worried about you. You need to take your medicine for your bipolar disorder. Again I will tell you I love soooo much. I miss you, I miss talking to you everyday. This has been so sad there was no celebrating Christmas without you or your 13th birthday. Please call home Julian. I am not sure how you are getting what you need or eating what you like or if your warm, I just want to hug and kiss you and tell you how much I love you, we need you and you need us, please somehow let us know you are alright. You know my cell number and your grandparents number call collect if you want just dial zero from any phone. WE ALL LOVE YOU JULIAN! I hope you are alright, you are on my mind every second of everyday. Again I love you!!!!

Interestingly, on the NYPD webpage, there is a racial and economic breakdown for the 72nd precinct:

The 72nd Precinct is mostly residential consisting of private homes and small apartment buildings. There are no housing projects within the confines of this command. The Sunset Park Community, which accounts for approximately half of the population, is predominantly Hispanic. The Windsor Terrace Community is predominantly White, middle class, and accounts for almost the other half of the population. There is a growing Asian community residing in the southeast end of the precinct and accounts for approximately 10% of the population.

While the descriptions for the 79th and 81st precincts which serve my section of Bed-Stuy only give street locations and a description of the buildings:

The 79th Precinct is located in northern Brooklyn in the Bedford Stuyvesant section. It is primarily a residential area with some light factories, warehouses and five City Housing developments.

The 81st Precinct is located in the north central area of the borough of Brooklyn. This neighborhood is known as "Bedford Stuyvesant." A small section along the southern border is referred to Stuyvesant Heights. The area is both residential and commercial consisting of mostly three story brownstone homes. There are four commercial strips in the command, Broadway between Saratoga Ave. and Marcus Garvey Blvd., Malcolm X Blvd. between Fulton St. and Monroe St., Ralph Ave. between Fulton St. and Broadway, and Fulton St. Between Ralph Ave. and Utica Ave.

I find this especially odd as race is and has been a major topic whenever anyone ever mentions Bed-Stuy. Or perhaps it's because of this that it is pointedly not mentioned.

So anyway, back to the missing 12 year old. It's worth checking out Julianna's MySpace page for the letter from her grandfather in which he begs her to come home so she won't end up in jail like her dad. Oh boy. You know this girl is having a hard time. I feel for her. Keep a look out. And maybe say a little prayer or two if you're into that kind of thing. Can't hurt.

*Update 1/15/09 on Websleuths:

They found her today in an apartment complex

Someone turned her in after seeing the flyer with a substantial reward ammnt the whole family has been so very worried for exactly eight weeks

I don't know too much as of now but I've been following along this forum and wanted to update everyone juliannas mother is flying to NYC in the morning
As I right now she's is not willing to talk to officers or her grandparents she also does not seem to wan to contact her mother

When the police picked her up she was very bruised up and "druuged up"
With the state taking custody of her

*Update 2/6/09 - According to a recent comment (below) by someone who claims to be Julianna, none of the above stuff is true. She says her grandfather abused and molested her. So there you go, the power of the internet to offer both fact and fiction and spread both around as the truth. I have no idea what the truth is in this case, as I can't verify anyone's identity and the MySpace page and police report have both been deleted.