Literary Luminaries

Tonight is the eighth and final night of Chanukah.

As an uncle said, we remember "the re-dedication of the alter which was defiled by the Syrian Greeks for 2 years. After this we could once again bring korbanot (offerings to Hashem)." And also, "the miracle of the cruse of pure oil that they found which was supposed to be only for one day and lasted 8."

Miracles I've had in my own past eight days: Holiday Bonus, Extra Balance on my Phone Bill, Extra Balance on my Gas Bill, and a little extra in the coffer after paying rent, thanks to a good Holiday so far at work.

Yesterday, the store sold its first E-Book. Unfortunately, if you have a kindle, you won't be able to read anything we sell, because that is how Amazon does business.

Anyways, it is perhaps miraculous that histories can be passed along these days through the digital world. It does require quite a bit of energy to move around these bits of information, but Caesar had to die so that Rome could live, amirite? Am I right?

In honor of Cleopatra: A Life, I am spending the latter half of my day off to watch the 4 hour epic.
And it feels right for the day. For how many histories have been written and rewritten through the centuries? Isn't it something how long human beings have been running around reading, righting and rythmaticking?

So as we prepare all 9 lights in our Chanukiot ce soir, let's take a moment to reflect on history, so that we may consider the future.

And also, maybe someone would like to get me this as a present. (LOL, j/K)

But seriously folks. In the fine tradtion of legends (after all, this is the anniversary of John Lennon's tragic murder), lets all take a moment for The Cleopatra of Soul, Aretha Franklin had a bummer diagnosis. May she live it up mightily in these days, with fine china and royal processions all over the place.
Here she is in her natural divinity.

Word Economy

I think it's hysterical that the National Deficit is 1.3 trillion dollars.

That's 12 zeros. Isn't it remarkable? I mean, I think if you're going to get to spending that many zeros, you ought to be able to multiply numbers with that many decimal places without a calculator, or at least, recite that many digits of pi from memory.

Pi is a tasty number and I sure missed sharing it with my family this past week.

Thanksgiving is a big one for us Weinkles. Living all over the continental U.S. puts a burden on regular visits, so we put our energy into bringing 30 people together on a windy beach. It's miraculous and beautiful. Messy in a good pit barbeque kind of way. Fun fact: BBQ comes from the description of the rooster we used to run through the spit, beard to tail. Barbe a Queue.

Here is what I cooked:
Lemon-Glazed Sweet Potatoes with Curry Sour Cream garnish.
Ginger Garlic Kale

PB Krispy Bars


...one turkey carcass later I made a sweet and savory broth with what loads of kale and sweet potatoes I had left.

The surviving sweet potato, was tossed to the cuisinart. sliced some onion, salted, peppered, curried, double egged and mashed potato mixed (in lieu of plain ol' flour.)
Sweet Potato latkes. boom.

Compound Construction

Another early morning in the late season.
I can see people waiting for the Messiah and the bus. Twenty new souls on the street chilled in a purple shade. They watch the sun warm a growing strip of asphalt. Its brightness is burned through by the shadow of a woman made up with clumpy mascara and cheap red lipstick flapping a watercolor likeness of the lord in a tongue of lazy enunciation.
The flock thins around the plump bellied prophet. Eyes dart around her, not sure if she is prepared to break into Oration.

Bits of dust settle

I spent the first half of my day off waiting for the man to come to fill the rat holes. Fret not, dear reader, we are not co-habitating with rodents. Two and half hours after the time we scheduled with the management company--not answering phones today-- Romanian Bruce Springsteen arrived with caulk, silicone and plaster. Please do not let your imagination wander, dear reader, there is still the kitchen light, the toilet seat and some electrical issues to address.

It was rather uninspiring before the sun burned off the clammy cold, and now, our windows are open to the last couple hours of day. Is it wrong that I should want to spend them laying down with a dead physicist instead of a computer screen?

There's a new biography on Richard Feynman. It's an unfortunate cover, but I have it under my pillow so I can kiss his face in the morning. It's rather good so far.

Also from W.W. Norton, Townie, also unfortunately covered and not yet published. I hope they print it soon, so it can hurry up and be a big deal already. Dubus the Younger wrote a phenomenal portrait of turbulent humanity.

I have a dinner in Onion Square tonight, for a children's writer whose book I have yet to see. I can speculate, but I hope they give us a copy so I can test my hypothesis. Very scientific, this book selling business.

Corps! Dormez vous!

I think my body is taking this extra hour and choosing to write.

A half hour ago I woke to the usual sounds of the city, and I haven't been able to go back to sleep. How does one just add an hour of life?

After not blogging for three months, I could probably suck that hour right out of Dear Reader. Perhaps the hour is already devoted to something else.

Suffice it to say, I will gesture and begin to write plus que ça change...I will end up trailing off because I want to write about how I noticed the other day that Raquel Welch has absolutely no dialogue in 1966's "Fantastic Voyage" until nineteen minutes have passed.

So you see, what is an hour? When in some forty years, there are still so many of us fighting the good fight.

I voted, barely. I should have registered in New York but I floated on the blue blood of this town. I'm interested to see what will happen in the two years of a political body that has evolved into something of a Hydra, but what a beautiful beast she is.

Here is my current literary sound-track:
Scott Pilgrim, A+ for Awesome in the skateboard sense.
Witches on the Road Tonight, V for very good and very hard to sell.
Graveyard Book, G++ for Good Golly Gaiman.
and the marvelous Nina Simone.

comme c'est chaud!

It's nearin' ninety today, and that ain't nothin' to sniff at. Where some of the weaker souls have a hard time with the temperature, I revel in the fact that l'humidité n'est pas là.
Things could always be worse, eh mon ami?
For example, Paris Hilton, another line on your rap sheet is better than say, falling out a window.

You can blame whomever you like but stories like these are horrendous.

I'm of the camp that finds the tragedy in everything leading up to the conclusion. How totally preventable these stories can be.
LiLo is quick to point her finger to her daddy issues and poor role-models, and if that's the case, she has a long road to recovery. Undoubtedly, Michael Lohan and Dina Lohan have concocted the exact opposite of a healthy, nurturing environment for their children. However, after a certain period of time, patterns become apparent.
To wit: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H...shall I continue?

It's tragic that LiLo thinks she can recover by blaming everyone else in her life, because it means she doesn't recognize that the real problem.

On the other hand, the late Nicole John must have seemed normal and well-adjusted to her otherwise normal parents, if they were watching at all. It's harder to see where the tragedy lies when the only part of the story we have is the ending.

My thoughts go to people who suffer this tragedy, but then I wonder what kind of tragedy it is.

Last night, we had an event with local author, Ghita Schwarz, a civil rights litigator specializing in immigrants' rights. Her new book, Displaced Persons is a story of an unusual family that searches for some sense of normality after Liberation. It brings attention to the Holocaust as a commodity, but also an experience, shocking and traumatic that "Displaced" close to 25,000 different people.

So, then young girls who were ripped from their children, mothers, brothers. Young men who may have killed or sacrificed other lives in order to make it another day in prison, in mud and shit. Is that tragic enough?

And how to prevent tragedy like THAT again? {Ahem, Yann Martel, not your smarmy experience--recall your Adorno}

So as the media frenzy for the Muslim Community Center at the bottom of Manhattan wanes, and media coverage centralizes over other celebrated issues, how to keep in mind the tragedy of humanity?

In my opinion, it is best to dance, laugh, and live.

(lots o links!)

Sensitive issues

Summer was about to slip quietly off the stage, here in NYC. But then the media pigeons spotted a story.

The Story.

There are plenty of words being flung about like steaks in a dog fight. (I think Jon Stewart has the choicest cuts, thankyew Gawker.tv) Is this an issue of religious freedom or of sensitivity to the victims of September 11?
I thought we were all the victims of September 11th's attack.
Granted this country was founded in the name of Puritanical freedom to burn witches and lofty business speculations--but c'mon now, after all these wars I think the general consensus is that might does not always equal right.

Whatever you believe, you'll have the right to believe it. But justice for all means justice for all, and that includes dissenting opinions.

In my opinion, those taking time to protest the "Ground Zero" Mosque---have you walked those city blocks? They are LONG!
might find that their time is better spent in local politics, local infrastructure and local education. At the VERY LEAST, their local movie theaters, watching
THIS MOVIE!!!

Oh. And in other amendment news:

Happy 90th anniversary of the 19th amendment.

Shoulder to shoulder into the fray!!