a very a.e. christmas

what the fuck happened to the price of eggs?

$2.29?? Wasn't it just 79¢? Maybe I didn't realize what a sweet deal I was getting all these years at the cheap Chinese grocery store (where Yumee swears everything is a black market knockoff, although I know I never bought counterfeit eggs.) But they triple their price? Where are they making these eggs? Iraq?

xmas in the bronx

I gave my sister a plate for Christmas. She got me a set of four plates. Weird sibling symmetry.

in my father's house

From this perspective, it's hard to believe that I am genetically hardwired to winter in Florida someday.

looks like hanukkah harry paid someone a visit!

Why Koreans are superior to Jews: no gifting of socks at holiday time.

Accomplishments of the Jews:

Old Testament

New Testament

Monotheism

The Pyramids

Theory of Relativity

Cure for syphilis

Cure for cholera

Polio vaccine

Psychoanalysis

178 Nobel Prizes

Socialism

Levi’s

Accomplishments of the Koreans:

Glow in the dark cats

The nectarine

SKoreans clone cats that glow in the dark: officials

my landlords can have my lease alright, when they pry it from my cold, dead hands...

Went down to help Johanna pick out her new eyeglass frames (and really had the chance to play the hero, as she was fixing on a pair that would have very much underscored her Jersey Girl roots). On the way back we stopped outside my apartment and Johanna said “I don’t want this to be an opportunity for you to go into total-stubbornness mode, but”—a guarantee, of course, of total stubbornness—before continuing in her “intervention” voice to suggest that I need to move out of my apartment. We argued back and forth, me pointing out that as the leaseholder of a rent-stabilized unit, it will be near impossible to find half as much space as I have now at twice the price, and that would be in Crown Heights. Eventually we realized we were having the same argument, in just about the same geographic spot, that we’d been having for seven years. And now, just to spite her, I’m not going to move out of here for another two decades. Hah!

it's starting to feel a lot like christmas

The noise from the street was pretty unreal Saturday night. Chanting, singing, it sounded like the night before the big bowl game on fraternity row. There were games of “Red Rover” echoing down the block. Finally I went downstairs to look, expecting some massive bachelor party, clusters of guys in curved-bill baseball caps milling about Ludlow. Instead it was Santas. Hundreds and hundreds of Santas.

Thus my first introduction to Santacon.

photo by lugo lounge

i suppose christianity will always be somewhat enigmatic for me

why do the little coincidences make me so happy?

Every year up at the farm, people switch up Evan’s and my name. It’s not that we’re really that similar, outside of both being dark-haired quasi-Jews with gray in our stubble. But everybody does it, calling Evan “Ethan” and me “Evan.” Probably it’s just the mind’s lazy conflation of a two-syllable name that starts with “E.”

Last night I went with Evan to Better Burger, where he goes after the meetings. The cashier knew him and they bantered back and forth. At the end of the order, Evan asked the guy if he remembered his name. The cashier faltered and Evan gave him his name. The guy said, “Oh yeah, that’s right, Evan. But I always think your name is Ethan.”

first snow!

we had real indigenous people over for thanksgiving!

thanks

my cousin's blog entry for tuesday, november 13th

kinda similar to my tuesday, november 13th blog entry, also about my lunch. kinda creeping me out.

Just once I'd like to take the rubberband off of a head of broccoli and not hear Dave Murray's voice calling it "the poor man's cock ring."

first fruit of the wfmu record fair

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when i was 27, how the fuck did i think i was going to live the rest of my life?

the chanting begins about 3 minutes in

radio city music hall in november

Walking down 50th Street this morning,
As the dwarfs converge.

(I love New York.)

It is the morning before the WFMU record fair, the one truly holy day on my calendar. Somewhere inside the Metropolitan Pavilion waits one of my all-time favorite songs, which I have never heard before—scarcely imagined its existence.

I pray now to the vinyl gods to grace me with wisdom and discretion, that I might better separate the sonic wheat from the kitsch-appeal-only chaff, and stamina, for there are many stacks to rifle before I sleep.

last day of mercury retrograde

Diana was in town last night and we went to the Rubin Museum of Art to check out the Himalayan pieces and to watch La Jetée. La Jetée is a French short from 1962 that inspired Twelve Monkeys. A survivor of a nuclear holocaust is obsessed with the image of a woman standing on a jetty. It’s a childhood memory, of a moment of calm just before a man is murdered, and the man returns to it in his mind over and over. The image is so strong the other survivors draft the man for a time-travel experiment, necessary to save humanity. The man meets the woman, they fall in love. In the end, offered the chance to travel forward to a peaceful, advanced future, he requests that he be sent back to the jetty, to that time before the war. After the screening Thomas Cahill spoke, and he said that as you get older you increasingly recognize this circularity in your own life, things that you thought you’d passed through forever unexpectedly coming back, and it was pretty funny to be sitting there with Diana and reliving it all.

(And what made it doubly funny is that we’d seen Deirdre and Harry in the galleries above—my first glimpse of Deirdre since Fire Island—although they slipped out before I had the chance to make my awkward hello.)

jenny's last day in new york

It was in the summertime in Virginia. Katy and I were building a house in the woods on the Thornton River in Culpepper County. We’d work all day in the hot summer weather and in the evenings we’d drive into the town of Culpepper and have dinner at Pizza King or Jerry’s Diner or the Dixie Pig. After supper we’d go to the 7-11 where I’d park my bus and sitting in those warm, humid evenings we’d drink a couple of beers and listen to the Orioles baseball game on the radio while we watched people go in and come out. Young long-haired rednecks wearing baseball caps advertising farm products and young women with beauty parlor hairdos and beefy men in overalls climbing in and out of their old cars and pick-up trucks. And we’d speculate about these people, about who they were and what they did and what kinds of relationships they had and who they were married to. Then, finally, we’d drive back in the cool evening air with the windows open, the baseball game still going. We had each other and there was nothing more we wanted, and I felt blessed.

Katy had lovely green eyes, a wide, pink mouth, and a musical laugh. She was open, guileless, and what I finally found unbearable was how much she loved me. I began working on a construction job, building a house in Cleveland Park, and thinking about another woman who worked at the site. And Katy would drive down to the job in the middle of the day to bring me food, while I was scheming about this other female, wishing Katy hadn’t shown up.

And even now, when I think of it, it makes me want to cry.

-- Joe Frank

return to the cabin

I stayed in the little room and it rained again and the sound on the tin roof brought it all back, but it wasn't as painful as I might have expected. More wistful. The foosball table was out, too, and the Tesla album lay near the stereo.

Dave didn't mention a thing.

as always, dealing graciously with a compliment

After dinner last night, walking with mom on Orchard, shopkeeper jumps out of his shop:

SHOPKEEPER: Ethan, I thought that was you! I just wanted to thank you so much for the review last week.

ETHAN: Oh, of course, my pleasure. See, mom, he liked the review. She hated it.

SHOPKEEPER: Oh yes, I showed it to my sister, my mom, they were so proud!

ETHAN: See that, mom, he has a supportive family.

MOM to SHOPKEEPER: When you were a child, did your mother let you win at Candyland?

SHOPKEEPER: Well, my mother wasn’t really into games. But if we’d played them, yes, she would have let us win.

ETHAN: See. That’s why he’s well-adjusted.

Now I can see the regret freezing on the shopkeeper’s face, regret that he’s come out onto the street to give a personal and thoughtful thank-you, only to be sucked in to some ancient family conversation that exists only to make others feel awkward and uncomfortable.

art installation, delancey street

Don't you like how I'm a college student and I can just tell you these things?

Walking east on Houston St., 1am, young couple ahead of me, the guy enthusing about DirectTV.
The girl is mocking, "Imagine the possibilities! Pamela Anderson with her boobs hanging out! The characters, the drama, 24-7!"
She turns and looks at me "Hey, what's this guy think?"
I smile and ignore her.
She's about five feet tall, in a white t-shirt, drinking Heineken from a bottle. "What's this guy have to say about it?" she asks more insistently.
"Not to mention the possibilities for narrative form," I say.
"Ooh, look at this guy, thinks he's a writer. Let me guess. You're working on some short stories right now and it's not really going all that well, and you're thinking about a novel, but then there's all the problems of publishers and how do I get an agent, so you don't really know what to do and you're thinking about maybe giving the whole thing up."
I nod. Not much to argue with there. She looks very pleased with herself.
"Don't you like how I'm a college student and I can just tell you these things?"

my sexual ideal hasn't changed since childhood

I tell things to my blog that I can't even tell to myself.

a walk in the woods, melrose, mass.

There's a drought, and they're really into penises.

sullivan county

cover of my as-yet-unwritten alt.country album

traces of a defunct six-month relationship

Films (big screen)

King of Scotland
Demon Seed
Performance
Decasia
In a Year of Thirteen Moons
The Cats of Mirikitani
Desire of the Gods
ABC Africa
The Bowery
Color Me Kubrick
Into Great Silence
The Long Goodbye
Away From Her
Barry Lyndon
Burden of Dreams
Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe
Spend It All
A Well Spent Life

Bands

Gob Iron
Jonathan Richman
Brooklyn Qawwali Pary
Las Rubias Del Norte
Lucinda Williams
Razer Light
The Rivals
Piñataland
Lucero

Restaurants (NYC)

Kampuchea Noodle Bar
Cho Dang Gol
Good World
La Nacional
Odessa
Two Boots
Cento Vino
Boyd Thai
Dinosaur BBQ
Freemans
Odeon
Bonita
Ashkara
Press 192
Kori
The Queen’s Hideaway
Doo Zo
Tulcingo Del Valle
Palo Santo
Chez Lola
Foccaceria
Bonnie’s
Arté
Ten Pell
Market Café
Hurapan Kitchen
Chennai Garden
Chiles & Chocolate
Beast
Harvard Club
Sip Sak
Noodle Bar
‘inoteca
Centro
12 Chairs
Pongsri
Rosa Mexicana
Zenon
Sharaku
Grand Sichuan
Pukk
Peperoncino
Old Town Bar
Móle
Stone Park
Kepà
Salute!
El Paso Taqueria
Brooklyn Fish Camp
Lavagna

on fifth

They exited the club and he stood in the rain under a tree that had just begun to blossom. The leaves were nascent yet and didn’t provide the shelter he would have liked, but he was too tired to move. And anyways he thought there was something cool about just standing in the rain while others unfurled umbrellas and pulled leather jackets over their heads and crowded beneath the wide awning of a dry cleaners. Everyone was smoking and they looked very rock ‘n’ roll in their fifty dollar t shirts and angular haircuts and futuristic sneakers. A thin young woman in a housedress walked toward him, and then past, on her way to hail a cab, or more likely a black car, it being so far out and this hour. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a housedress, and then immediately he could. R. had bought one, of gray and pink checks with a zipper right up the middle. In the house in Maine. An erotic garment, he’d believed, though until the passage of the girl it had disappeared entirely from his memory. It had been the time when the blueberries were in season and they were practically giving them away in the farmers market on the commons. When he felt he could enjoy the sensuality of a blueberry as something pure, requiring neither adornment nor distraction on the back steps, with the yard finally coming back to life. It seemed impossible to him that he could have been with a girl in a housedress, probably the same age as this girl still standing with imploring raised hand on the wet street. R. with an apron over her housedress when she worked at the Yellow Cup and he’d wait at the picnic table outside, wait to buy vanilla ice cream for the blueberries and then home to count her tips on the kitchen table. The memory of awaiting a waitress was as improbable as the housedress, though it had come back to him many times before and he’d even written of it. In this fashion all that was strange and good in his past had been spoiled.

Only through an accidental trigger could he snatch some joy of his past, some midlife surprise like the housedress and the time she’d let him unbutton it and press her down with her head against the futon, the gray and pink ebbing against the contours of her flesh, an image he knew he would now replay for days. In its first moment, with its startle still fresh, he was heartened. He had thought all those particular bones were long picked clean.

He turned and walked into the street, subconsciously flashing the gold band on his finger as he waved to the girl.

summertime still reminds me of virginia

I do remember the humid nights, he thinks, those nights and all the other nights of his inheritance layered now onto this one. The air perfumed with wisteria, the opportunistic vines that flourish along the north acres, purple blossoms above the smokehouses and the curing huts with their omnipresent scent of tobacco that seems its own animate force, a presence as inescapable as the sounds of the darkie drums that rumble incessantly on those summer full moon nights with the land all covered in the unearthly white glow and the eternal drum beating its binding blood and sweat tattoo upon the mortal flesh. And they shiver in warm silk, lying up in the manor house, a distant spice rolling through the screens. Tremors in the lady’s face, flickering nerves in her cheeks and jaw. Whether it is the actual sound of the drum or its primordial intimation, the lady cannot say. She knows only that this nightmare menace, the elevation of that unnamed and unspoken dark netherworld to her realm, leaves her unsettled for weeks. The energy of those drums cannot be restrained forever. An axe snatched from the smith, scarlet blood staining the pristine white silks, portended stains that will not wash clean. The failures of the house servants, scrubbing endlessly on the metal washboards, skin silently grated off fingertips, rooms filled with the smell of bleach and sour electric fear.

prose I have had the privilege of editing

Is there anything more rewarding than nurturing young talent, helping to craft insights into publishable form? When the raw material is so laden with potential?

In an age where people are connected globally through technology and sensitized by the images portrayed to us in the media, it’s become seemingly difficult to define taboo. Historically speaking, similar to most words, taboo has taken on many definitions and meanings since its inception.

One weekend per year, a little known town in Tennessee increases by nearly 125%; from 8,000 to 108,000.

The National Museum of American History chronicles US history with different exhibits...

The Adelaide Festival of the Art is an enormous arts festival...

It’s hard to refute that the Bonnaroo lineup is one of, if not the best around.

In the mood for fine Italian dining without jumping over the pond and making an appearance in the country?

What better way to honor history by taking a tour of the local legends and folklore surrounding many of these pubs and then stopping in for a drink.

Is your dog secretly wishing she was a biker?

Witch History Museum. A great place to start! If you are in need of some background on Salem’s Witch hysteria of 1692 then this is the place to see first. The Witch History Museum is one of Salem’s most popular museums. Learn not only about Salem’s witch trials, but about the hysteria that occurred throughout New England.

Qdoba Mexican Grill. Best burritos in town. This is certainly the spot to go if you want a quick snack while on the run. This has become a popular place for locals who are in a hurry and need a quick bite to eat. I recommend one of the signature burritos or the taco salad.

Nobody really knows who wrote the nursery rhyme but regardless, the Borden murders remain one of the largest unsolved mysteries of the 19th century.

David Copperfield was certainly a master magician but don’t allow yourself to disappear from Boston without checking into a night at Copperfield’s Bar.

If you are an animal lover you’ll “barely” want to miss the attractions at Clark’s Trading Post.

For lighthouse fanatics, this is something you will not want to miss.

"My Country Breakdown"

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A wintry mix

The Winter Storm Warning is now in effect from 8 am this morning
to 8 am EDT Saturday.

Light snow and sleet is expected early this morning. Some light
snow accumulations are possible early this morning... so driving
could be quite difficult. A moderate to occasionally heavy snow is
expected to develop this afternoon. This snow will likely mix with
sleet and freezing rain late today and tonight. Total
accumulations of snow and sleet will range from 4 to 8 inches
before the accumulating snow ends later tonight. Nassau and
northwest Suffolk counties could see slightly lesser amounts.

A Winter Storm Warning means significant amounts of snow...
sleet... and ice are expected or occurring. Strong winds are also
possible. This will make travel very hazardous or impossible.

Pressure falling, mild conditions

51 °F / 11 °C

Mostly Cloudy

Humidity: 46%

Dew Point: 31 °F / -1 °C

Wind: Calm

Pressure: 30.17 in / 1022 hPa (Falling)

Visibility: 10.0 miles / 16.1 kilometers

UV: 2 out of 16

Time change and a warming trend

44 °F / 7 °C
Humidity: 43%

Dew Point: 23 °F / -5 °C

Wind: 4 mph / 6 km/h / 1.5 m/s from the WNW

Pressure: 30.32 in / 1027 hPa (Falling)

Windchill: 42 °F / 6 °C

Visibility: 10.0 miles / 16.1 kilometers

UV: 4 out of 16

Artic blast persists

25 °F / -4 °C

Clear Humidity: 30%

Dew Point: -3 °F / -19 °C

Wind: Calm

Pressure: 30.55 in / 1034 hPa

Visibility: 10.0 miles / 16.1 kilometers

UV: 5 out of 16

Wet but warm, shades of spring

54 °F / 12 °C

Humidity: 94%

Dew Point: 52 °F / 11 °C

Wind: 5 mph / 7 km/h / 2.1 m/s from the SSE

Pressure: 29.39 in / 995 hPa

Visibility: 1.8 miles / 2.8 kilometers

UV: 1 out of 16

Overcast, pressure falling

Humidity: 42%

Dew Point: 16 °F / -9 °C

Wind: Calm

Pressure: 30.18 in / 1022 hPa (Falling)

Visibility: 10.0 miles / 16.1 kilometers

UV: 1 out of 16

Sunny & pleasant

Humidity: 57%

Dew Point: 24 °F / -4 °C

Wind: 4 mph / 6 km/h / 1.5 m/s variable

Pressure: 30.09 in / 1019 hPa (Rising)

Windchill: 36 °F / 2 °C

Visibility: 10.0 miles / 16.1 kilometers

Warmer but moist, chance of rain

Humidity: 76%

Dew Point: 31 °F / -1 °C

Wind: 4 mph / 6 km/h / 1.5 m/s from the West

Pressure: 29.93 in / 1013 hPa (Rising)

Windchill: 36 °F / 2 °C

Visibility: 6.0 miles / 9.7 kilometers

UV: 1 out of 16

Clouds: Overcast 4900 ft / 1493 m

Damp with some snowcover

Humidity: 89%

Dew Point: 30 °F / -1 °C

Wind: 5 mph / 7 km/h / 2.1 m/s from the NNE

Pressure: 29.78 in / 1008 hPa

Windchill: 29 °F / -2 °C

Visibility: 7.0 miles / 11.3 kilometers

Closing In

I can feel the noose tightening. Dave drops little hints, though it’s impossible to determine how much he already knows. God, how I loathe his paranoia. If only there was one single person on my side. Deirdre hides behind workplace obligation. Nathan and James cite obscure high-school-era pacts. As does Johanna, which really doesn’t seem fair. How I lost my sister and brother-in-law I will never know, but on our last visit uptown Anna and Dave secreted themselves in the kitchen for what seemed like hours. I sent my niece on a reconnaissance mission.

“What are mommy and Uncle Dave discussing?”

“Your blog, uncle, your blog.”

“Thank you, Kelly.”

If only I could trust her not to sink a dagger into my back the next moment I turn it. Even A.E., seemingly a nice and trustworthy person, is all but confirmedly readying to expose all. I now wait fatalistically by the phone for his pretend-casual querying: “Hey, do you have Dave’s phone number? I just wanted to alert him to something.” Thanks, A.E. Thanks for destroying my friendship with Dave by revealing Eye on the Prize.

Thank you. Thank you all.

once I saw the petrified wood house I knew that nothing in the feasible world would satisfy me

at night I was haunted by their torsos

the spanish incriptions on the rock beneath the village date back to 1605

paint by numbers jesus

keep me from the snare which they have laid for me, from the traps of the workers of iniquity

do contemporary children communicate with stringless cans?