Calm before

New Yorkers have no sense of calm before the storm. Perhaps it is just Saturday morning grocery traffic, but there is an anxiety as the lines grow longer.

The feeder bands began to spatter a light rain, and despite the winds which are clearly picking up, the air is warm with humidity.

x= blue

In algebra, I always had a ball unfolding equations.
So many mathematical possibilities for a tiny letter, it could be flourished or utilitarian.
Oh, to have understood de Saussure at a sweet sixteen.
--

I bounced through a Russian revolution to the French front. Romantics smashed empty wine bottles to the ground, thrashed by the harmony of colors and surprising new forms of art.


One sketch held together with a pin, of Picasso; influential. A nod to Dada, perhaps:
a square scrap parallel to charcoal bars.
Tacked by faux-bois and held back in the cradle of
Journal, small victories day and night.

Holes in pockets betrayed by elbows, and dancers stretched across mattresses flecked with paint to catch a glint off the hip of the guitar as we took a deep breath before the chorus.

Some dry coughs sprinkle blood on their kerchiefs, some wine splashes onto the hems of garments.

Reading against the grain

For the moment, New York is unblanketed. I have cracked my window open the past two nights, although April has been showering, it's been pleasant enough to fold down the comforter.

Right. Blogging. Write. Blogging.

Tomorrow is April Fool's Day, and hopefully New York will finally release its furious grasp on winter and let us all in on the joke.

On one hand, Spring is pushing the bulbs up, the buds out, and the grass around; under dull skies spitting rain, ice, and even now snow, on the other. This has been one noisy lamb, friends.

To make it through the lack of lovely days, I get out and about, perusing the thrifty vintage racks and stomping around Brooklyn in a good pair of shoes so my mind won't worry about barking dogs. It's not wanderlust so much as an interest in the curio nestled in all the lefts and rights of way. I like to see things happen.

There's plenty to mention.
The store...
My local...
Changes changing... chaos in the details I spose. And that's probably why I haven't blogged since the eighth night of Chanukah, 2010.

So. I will simply start fresh and tell you, dear reader, that yesterday I went to my most favorite museum in New York to catch up with a friend visiting from San Francisco. It was my first time through the meteors and minerals, and my second tour of the dinosaurs. There are millions of stories one could tell along so many different kinds of tours through the American Museum of Natural History--and Smithsonian memories came cantering--but I think the gem I'll drop pays homage to our 26th president.

Back when I was teaching in Miami, I asked the seventh period AP U.S. History class what came to mind when they thought of Theodore Roosevelt. I think I was expecting "Rough Rider," "burly fellow," and other unimaginative responses but right away the brightest student's hand shot up as she blurted, "National Parks!"

So, as I sit on my couch while the changing climate squats in what is supposed to be a lovely spring, I slap hands with conservation.

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.