Moonwalk, Revisited

Christmas Glamour

It was a green Christmas this year. Singing songs on 5th Avenue about sleigh rides seemed a bit off, but the passers-by enjoyed it. One woman sang along to Jingle Bells in sign language! Here are some images of the season.

Three NYC socialites...



...with a spectacular Manhattan backdrop...



A patriotic holiday display:



A budding rock star (move over, Bono!):


I managed to stuff all my remaining Christmas gifts into my luggage and then caught an earlier flight out than I'd planned. The festivities were, well, festive. Delicious home-made eggnog flowed. Ancient Christmas records (yes, LPs) were dusted off for the occasion, for the first time in years. And once I broke into the record collection, we feasted on Beethoven symphonies and concertos as well. The local pastor gave a sermon about gift cards on Christmas Day -- I thought at first this was a broad hint to the congregation about what he was hoping to receive in the offering plates, but then it turned out he was just working his way around to talk about the gift [card] of the holy spirit. Oddly, he managed to avoid mentioning the need to "redeem" spiritual gift cards. Well, he certainly did better than some other pastors. At one church, they invited Santa in to talk to the kids, apparently in an effort to embrace materialism as part of the holy day.

Melancholy

It's 4:16 a.m., so writing my blog is about the last thing I need to be doing at the moment. But I can't sleep, and I find myself very worrried about all the things I need to do today (and whether I can really do them). I'm tired and stressed-out, and I very much wish several things: (i) that I didn't need to pack for a long weekend away this weekend, (ii) that I weren't flying a tiny plane that will probably make me check my bag that has fragile (luggage-handler-wreckable) Christmas presents in it, (iii) that I had room for adequate clothes AND gifts in one bag, (iv) that I could just wear sweats and a ski jacket all weekend instead of feeling obliged to bring stupid dress-up clothes, (v) that I didn't have to think through all the pointless so-called "security measures" when planning what I will bring on the plane and how, (vi) that I didn't have an unexpected project with an unexpected deadline blindside me Tuesday and thus have to stay late the last 2 days to deal with it, (vii) that I wasn't obliged to go to a celebratory dinner with my colleagues Tuesday night, (viii) that the laundry machine had been working Monday when I tried to do a long-overdue load of laundry so I wouldn't have had to juggle in a trip to the laundromat, (ix) that I had to skip out on a prior obligation on Sunday that would have boosted my mood, (x) that I hadn't already lost every opportunity to accomplish necessary tasks and chores last weekend due to my whirlwind trip out of town that left me bedraggled and exhausted on Sunday and ill-equipped to deal with my week, (xi) that I hadn't committed to meeting up with some friends Sunday afternoon - friends who, through a series of unfortunate events, were an hour late meeting me, thus throwing off my schedule and making it impossible for me to prepare for the thing I wanted to do Sunday evening, (xii) that we didn't have 2 major projects due this week in a group outside of work, (xiii) that I had time for a pedicure and a haircut, (xiv) that my tailor didn't call me with questions that required me to stop by last night, (xv) that I didn't have a host of other petty personal concerns weighing me down (men, ambition, health of my newest relative, household chores). Oh yes, and that I didn't feel like I've been coming down with something for the past 7 days. And did I mention that the dinner on Tuesday meant that I couldn't attend the Traveler's Christmas Eve service at my church?

So yesterday morning, at work, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. I will re-construct the beginning of the call here for your edification.

Caller: "Z here. Are you happy?"
Me: "Am I happy?"
Slight pause, while I realize that this shockingly personal question from a professional colleague/acquaintance must have the implied qualifier "in your current job".
Me: "Oh, yes. It's good for now. Thanks."
Caller: "I just thought you looked really stressed yesterday. Not that I can do anything about it at the moment. But let me know."

Ironically, Z was part of the issue in item #vi above.

Bear with me, because these two pictures may at first appear to be a frolic and detour (or at least an abrupt changing of the subject). Here is a view from the Torre Guignol this summer, showing the lovely rooftops of Lucca:


I didn't realize right away what was written on one of the rooftops:


Things will get better. I'll plan on picking up my laundry, artwork, and tailoring next week, which is also when I will write my Christmas cards (aka "New Year's cards").

Good night & merry Christmas to all.

Holiday Lights 2006

This year it is artificial lights.


For more natural beauty, check out Holiday Lights 2005.

Life is good

Soccer game last night, volleyball game this night. The soccer was actually more exhilarating - I was running up and down the court, which got my blood pumping. Just what my body was craving, and I didn't even know it. Or rather, I sensed it, but kept coming up with excuses why I couldn't go push myself to anywhere near the limit. We lost by 2 points - and the referee made more than 2 bad calls. He really seemed to have it in for us. The other team kept basically throwing themselves down at our feet, and when we would offer sympathy or a helping hand, the ref assumed we'd tripped them up. Which we didn't - I was watching each time.

The volleyball game tonight we won, so we got 4 more points and have made it into the playoffs. My serves were a bit unreliable tonight, which is galling - there's no reason to do anything less than get 'em over the net each time. Oh well.

The American Pilot

The off-Broadway production, "The American Pilot" centers on -- you guessed it -- a Swedish architect, er, I mean an American pilot who crash-lands in rebel-occupied territory (a remote village in a nation where the U.S. has been supporting the government). We meet four villagers (the farmer who finds the pilot, his wife, and their 16-year-old daughter; plus a member of the village council), the Captain of the rebel forces, and the Captain's translator. They need to decide what to do with the American, who is handicapped by a broken leg and by total ignorance of the local language. The pilot tries everything he can think of to save himself; he shows pictures of his wife and kids and alternately promises rewards for those who help and vengeance from his men if anyone hurts him. (Only the threats get translated; the translator is not totally fluent in English.) The daughter has a messianic streak, and takes a shine to the American. Her father and mother feel compassion for the American, but want to stay out of trouble (and find a husband for the daughter). The Captain is washed up and ready to quit rebelling. The translator thinks it would make him feel better to kill the American (his financee was killed by an American missile. The councilman is looking for a profit. Meanwhile, the Captain wants to set up the sweet, messainic daughter with his boorish and pornography-obsessed translator; and the mother is willing to pressure her daughter into this repulsive match in order to save one of her sons from having to join the rebel forces.

The play was well done and engaging, and I didn't predict the end.

However, once you see the way things work out, there's not much to reflect on - no provocative themes or characters to deconstruct for hours afterward. In fact, in a way, the end (although plausible) is a bit of a cop-out.

Sweet, except for the long-distance charges

> Toddler Y made a few "calls" on the toy phone in the doll
> house. She called Z, and had some brief [pretend]
> conversations. Later, she brought up the subject,
> and said, looking at the fingers on one hand, " I
> called Aunt Z four times."

Just wait until she is a teenager.

New Niece

My niece was born today, after 25 hours of labor. She appears to be big and strong, despite an initial scare. (She is actually 9 lbs, so there is a lot of her to love!) Mom and Dad are tired but holding up well.

Bad News for Buffalo Bills Fans?

Surely rumors of the Bills' death are greatly exaggerated.

The Long Ski Journey

It was a full-day journey to Denver from New York, but at least we encountered plenty of entertainment en route.

Here is a sample of the unusual carry-on luggage at JFK airport, which I saw just after the X-ray machine. I think the owner was allowed to carry her dog through with her and just put the empty bag through the machine by itself. The dog was very cute and surprisingly well behaved.


We took a "direct" flight from JFK to Denver ... which stopped for an hour in Las Vegas. Why? Who knows. All I know is we didn't get mileage credit for the gigantic detour. But now I have been to Las Vegas. The airport was very exciting, with palm trees, slot machines, obnoxious bartenders, and the slowest fast food this side of Texas (at Chilli's, we were told it would be 55 minutes to get our meal). They made up for it, to some extent, with views of Egypt. (I guess my prescription lenses are stronger than I thought!) But seriously, there's a lot to love about this picture. Not only do we get a pyramid, sphinx and obelisk with a mighty mountain range backdrop and planes parked in the foreground, but there is also a helicopter hovering at the upper right corner of the hotel.

The pilot did eventually take us to Denver (with a little fly-over of Phoenix, why not?), so I suppose I shouldn't complain too much. Denver International Airport has long been a favorite of mine. One of the coolest things about checking bags through to Denver is that there is a series of sculpted paper airplanes to direct passengers to the baggage claim area. Here's a closeup of one, suspended from the ceiling and pointing in the direction of the escalator:
Here's a shot looking down the "up" escalator, with the airplanes pointing the right way:


And of course, who can forget the tent-like roof ... or is it a series of sails? .... of the airport. From the inside, it certainly looks like a mast and sail arrangement, complete with crow's nest:


Alas, all good things come to an end. We eventually had to pick up our luggage and exit the paradise that is Denver International Airport. On the way to Breckenridge from the airport, we had a lot of troubles with our rental car. Alamo didn't have the car we had reserved (a 7-seater SUV), and so they offered us a 5-seater instead. A 5-seater with no pickup on the highway through the mountains. So, as we drove 100+ miles to our destination, we entertained ourselves by contacting Alamo's Customer Service department. When we asked if we could have a whopping $20.00 off the week-long rental charge for the smaller car, Alamo's Customer Service representative told us we should be grateful they didn't charge us $250 more for the smaller car. She would not transfer us to her supervisor, and when we asked for her name she hung up on us. We called back and reached another Customer Service representative, who suggested that we could drive to Alamo's next nearest location (Las Vegas, perhaps?) to get a 7-seater. We told her that, much as we would ordinarily love to spend our vacation driving around aimlessly to see if Alamo might possibly have our car at some other location, we had actually planned this as a ski trip and would not have time to undertake a road trip as well. We also advised her of the lack of pickup -- at which point, she promptly transferred us to Roadside Assistance. We rehashed the entire story again for the record with Roadside Assistance, and then we also held up the phone in the car so she could hear the engine strain to go 50 miles an hour when we floored it.

As navigator during a slow trip down a highway with no turnoffs, I had plenty of time to record the spectacular scene though the windshield as the sun set. These heavy clouds seemed fitting during our rather surreal conversations with Alamo.



The sky lightened as our journey continued.



To some extent the sky opened up as the sun set.



The next day, we skied. Along with 20,000 other people. And Breckenridge (one of two resorts open in the vicinity) had only one peak open. Apparently, it was 70% of their maximum ski crowd ... with only 20% of the trails open. There were tremendous lines at all four of the operative lifts. At the Mercury SuperChair, it was as bad as European lift lines -- everyone jockeying for position before the actual line began.

This white guy stood out in the crowd, with his rasta hat.



Nonetheless, Breckenridge was serene.



The second day was much more overcast, but much less crowded. In fact, the lift lines were more than reasonable - just what you'd expect pre-season!


Some brilliant sunshine broke through the clouds now and then, though, as we rode up the lifts again and again.

We got a lot of skiing in on day 2 - much more than a usual day - because the lift lines were so short! Had to take an extra-long lunch... and then snuck in 5 or 6 green runs at the very end of the day as the few remaining skiers trundled off home. I caught one of the last 10 chairs up the slopes before they closed the lifts.

Ode to Joy

So much to be thankful for: friends, family, swingsets, laughter, peace, abundance, and courage - wherever and whenever they are found.

Breckenridge

Meditation on the Night Sky

Disorganized Religion

I remember about a dozen years ago, I was telling a friend of mine that I had decided to go to church - which I had not done in a while - and had even signed up for choir so I would really have to attend. She just said: "Well, you know how I feel about organized religion." I was thrown for a loop; I'd had no idea that she had strong feelings about "organized religion" (much less negative ones). In fact, I'd thought she was Catholic.

Not sure what brought this incident to mind - maybe the organization of American Catholic bishops and its efforts to "welcome" non-practicing homosexuals to the Catholic church? - but it makes me wonder what is the alternative to "organized religion".

I see the following choices:

(a) atheism,

(b) agnosticism,

(c) private "arrangements" with God (likely to slide into category [a] or [b] above because they are uninformed by the learning and experience of theologians and holy persons through the ages ... and unsupported by a community of believers), or

(d) "disorganized religion" - which could mean anything from
[i] poorly planned worship services that never start on time, lack necessary supplies/equipment, run too long, and consistently miss the point to
[ii] small, loosely aligned groups of fanatics making independent decisions about how to reveal their "faith" to the outside world (think warring Sunni/Shiite factions, Al Qaeda, Heaven's Gate, etc.).

For now, I think I'll stick with organized religion, thanks.

"Stranded in Skin and Bones"

I spent 6 hours on Saturday listening to U2 songs, reading their lyrics, and watching their videos as a part of a class called "Stranded in Skin and Bones." This was allegedly a theology class at my church. It was somewhat enlightening on the topic of U2, the band and the phenomenon (rather than on God or any religious doctrine). I'm not sure that the members of U2 are exemplars of pure Christian living in all respects, though they seem to have the social justice thing down pat.

The thing that was most interesting to me in studying their lyrics was not so much any insights into Christianity or God etc., but how often they draw on phrases or images from the Psalms, Revelations, and (to a lesser extent) the Gospels. It's easy to miss, and of course most of their songs can be enjoyed (or endured, if you don't like them) without knowledge of this. I was surprised to learn that "When Love Comes to Town" was not by Huey Lewis and the News, and that "Mysterious Ways" was not by Tears for Fears. And also that "Gloria" was not necessarily about a woman named Gloria (the line I'd always heard as "Gloria / In the darkness" is actually "Gloria / In te domine"). Oh well.

And U2 is quite a powerful force in some Christian subcultures, apparently - there are "U2charists" (celebrations of the Eucharist in a worship service structured with U2 songs), and collections of U2-based sermons, and a number of theologians have taken U2 seriously enough to spend gobs of time and money studying them and publishing books about them.

The U2 sermon book pushed by the Episcopal priest who led our class was apparently published by a bunch of monks. She really had to talk them into it because they were sure no one would buy it (after all, theyhad never heard of U2). Apparently it is now the best-selling work ever issued by the monks' publishing house! The next time she visited them for a spiritual retreat, they assigned her to a 92-year-old monk. Her disappointment at being stuck with an old fogey was alleviated when he told her he insisted that he be her mentor because of that book - he has apparently become quite the U2 fan.

So of course I went on a music store binge Sunday and bought 18 songs from the likes of U2, Sting, Neville Brothers, The Church, They Might be Giants, and Talking Heads - basically replacing songs I've not listened to in years because I have them only on cassette tape. Without a car to drive, I don't end up listening to cassettes very often. Especially since my stereo system - which dates back to the late 1980's - is in my guest room, where I don't really hang out.

Life in the Winter Limbs

Sequence 1




Sequence 2 (look carefully):



Did you see it? Way in the backgound?? Here's a close-up:



Seeing the bird and the plane "in" the tree of course reminds me of the Kingston Trio's joke: "It's a bird! It's a plane!! It's -- Super Skier!!!" (beat) "No, it's a bird."

In a different mood, signs of life in the leafless limbs remind me of Galway Kinnell's poem, "When One Has Lived a Long Time Alone," exploring the bleak thoughts of an isolated man who is growing aware of his need for companionship and sex and love. The signs of life in nature around him seem to provide both solace and aching self-awareness. Perhaps the most poignant is Stanza 4, but this is a G-rated blog,* so I will quote only from Stanza 6:

When one has lived a long time alone
and listens at morning to the mourning doves
sound their kyrie eleison, or the small thing
spiritualized upon a twig cry, pewit-phoebe!
or at midday grasshoppers scratch the thighs'
needfire awake, or peabody birds send schoolboys'
whistlings across the field, and at dusk, undamped,
unforgiving chinks, as from marble cutters' chisels,
or at nightfall polliwogs just burst into frogs
raise their ave verum corpus... one hears them as inner voices,
when one has lived a long time alone.

(*Stanza 4 is rated PG-13.)

Week in Review

This has been a long and short week at the same time. Two days off in a week - wow! And the end of the voter guide preparation madness, with election day - super wow! And yet, the three days at work this week just seemed WAY more difficult to get through than I anticipated. There are some relatively minor issues to address, I think, and I'll certainly address them... next week.

Outside of work, this has been a great week (other than a deep sense of fatigue and sleepiness that stole over me from time to time). I saw a presentation by Russell Jackson, a long-time "text advisor" to Kenneth Branagh, on Monday night - "Filming Shakespeare with Kenneth Branagh." (The Big Cheese himself was invited, but fobbed us off with a generic "thank you for the honor and buy my soon-to-be-released product" video; supposedly he recorded it just the Thursday before, but I noticed he was careful not to customize it by referring to New York, or the Shakespeare Society). The presentation was interesting, with clips from Henry V (my favorite of his films) and Much Ado About Nothing (my favorite love story, and a good film), as well as Hamlet (an oddly surreal and largely unsatisfying film) and Love's Labour's Lost (which I have not seen and will not now that I've seen a sample of its awfulness). He also showed us the trailer for his upcoming HBO release film, As You Like It. It felt like a "Masterpiece Theater" production, but I would probably watch it if I had HBO. And a TV/VCR.

Tuesday, I played hookey from my Psalms study group and went to see the opening night production of Twelfth Night at BAM Harvey Theatre. It was well done and interesting, to be sure. It was done in Russian, with English subtitles, by an all-male cast minimally dressed in black and white. Lighting largely substituted for scenery and props. The production tended toward overt physicality (to make up for the language barrier), although I didn't find the interpretation particularly novel in its insights. Ever since Branagh's Much Ado About Nothing, it has been a fairly standard interpretation to play the tricksters/pranksters as clumsy michief-makers whose success is due solely to the self-absorption (obliviousness) of their dupe/target. (Here, the trick is played on Malvolio alone to make him think Olivia loves him; in Much Ado, the trick was played on both Beatrice and Benedick to convince each of them that the other loves). One slight novelty in this production (more "cute" than anything else) is that Malvolio at the end is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase or something when he stands alone and expresses his desire to be revenged on the lot of them - he is clearly contemplating legal action. That got a cheap laugh (which it deserved).

Yesterday, I saw Cirque de Soleil's "Delerium" at Madison Square Garden. It was basically a rock concert with cool lighting and special effects (recreating water, fire, gardens, jellyfish, etc. using ribbons, screens, and projected patterns), plus some gymnastics/dancing. I love the dancers who flip over and over like a slinky. They also did the expected showing off (e.g., one-armed handstand on another guy's head, human trampolines, etc.). Very cool, but I have to confess that the intense drowsiness I felt (maybe due to the lack of oxygen at the top tier?) interfered with my full enjoyment of the piece. The "story" - Guy Has Dream - didn't do it for me either. One of my favorite images, however, was a pile of gymnast/dancers who were being slowly moved off-stage: they were dappled with light, making it look like a giant blobby creature (e.g., jellyfish or sea monster) slowly moving away.

Today, now that I've been out walking in the park, opened all the windows to let sunshine in, and got some of my shopping done, my mission (should I choose to accept it) is to clean up my apartment for MJ tonight, deal with the retirement plan from my old firm (it's about time, eh?) and cook up a storm. Yippee!

A Chinatown Feast

As my mom would have said (had she been speaking with marbles in her mouth): "Eat your vergetables!" Numbers 132 and 142 look nice, but if you've skimped on showering recently, #133 is really the way to go.

NYC Marathon: Winners!

Pre-race carbo-loading at Jing Fong's dim sum palace:


Garden-variety marathoners, doing their best after training hard:


The medal!


Congratulations to all the winners - men and women of every fitness level who made the commitment to prepare for and run the race to the end.

Our heroine, George, did it in 4:42, after extensive training - and extensive setbacks - and without the aid of a tag-team of professional runners accompanying her to coach and encourage her during the race. Also, significantly for this post, without whining.

...and Whiners

Excerpts from “In Under Three Hours, Armstrong Learns Anew About Pain and Racing,” by JULIET MACUR in the New York Times (Nov. 6, 2006):

The marathon was Armstrong’s first major athletic endeavor since retiring from cycling in 2005, and he said he had not prepared for the race as he should have.

Armstrong said he was able to run only about 45 minutes a day, squeezing workouts among appearances for his cancer foundation and jaunts to Los Angeles, hanging out with celebrities. * * *

For the first 10 miles, Armstrong was paced by the former marathon champions Alberto Salazar and Germán Silva. They gave him his split times and cups of water. * * * [Joan Benoit] Samuelson [the 1984 Olympic women's marathon champion] took over as his pacesetter at 10 miles. Two miles later, she said, Armstrong began complaining about his shins. As each mile grew more daunting, she said she gave him focus points to go after — like a man in a red singlet ahead of him, or a brick building one block ahead. She told him just to make it to Mile 20, then it would become easier. * * * Hicham el-Guerrouj, the 2004 Olympic champion in the 1,500 and 5,000 meters, joined Armstrong and Samuelson with about six miles to go. At that point, as the clocked ticked closer to three hours, Armstrong said he wasn’t thinking about the time. He just wanted it to end.

“I was so tired, I just didn’t care,” he said.

At the finish, he doubled over. After his news conference at the New York Athletic Club, he limped out of the room. “I’m a cripple,” he said, needing a boost into a waiting van. * * * “I wasn’t kidding when I said that I’ve never felt this bad, ever,” he said. “My legs are killing me. My back doesn’t feel that great, either. I’m really suffering.”

When he arrived at his hotel, Armstrong hobbled out of the van, looking stunned as he walked through the lobby and into an elevator. He got off on the floor that has the spa.

“Which way to the hot tub?” he said as the spa’s door closed behind him.

Armstrong is to be congratulated for his strong finishing time (just under three hours), and for sticking it out to the end of the race. But he lacked the grace and style of the tens of thousands of less-athletic marathoners who prepared for this race much more rigorously than he did. And I wouldn't say he made any particular effort to "keep it real."

Go, George!

She just started running a little over 2 years ago, and has set her eyes on the prize with her usual determination. This year she qualified and trained for the New York Marathon.

Steely self-discipline over the course of the entire year allowed her to continue her training despite running injuries, illness, an unbearably long commute to the start of every race, and - most disturbingly - a serious car accident in the last month. Coddled Olympic medalists could learn from her example.



Here's hoping she makes all her P.R.s with style and grace. GO, GEORGE!

Update: New York City Transit Bites

So, I got an envelope in the mail this week from my friends at New York City Transit. They declined to give me any credit for the $24 I put on a MetroCard and have not yet used, stating that they were

"unable to replace any value/time on your MetroCard(s) because more than one year has past [sic] since the expiration date of the MetroCard(s). ... As a result, we are returning the original card(s) that you mailed into this office."

Not sure what they want me to do with the original card, on which they have placed a sticker stating their policy of stealing unused money from their customers.

Incidentally, the expiration date listed on the card is July 31, 2005 -- I had my "unlimited ride" MetroCards coming in from WageWorks by mail every month up through May 2006, at which point I was out of the country for two months.

TREAT: Happy Halloween from Fifth Avenue Disney!

TRICK: A Tasteless Joke

If you feel like seeing a rather tasteless joke, select the text below. But don't say I didn't warn you.

> > Subject: inflatable doll

> >

> > A guy goes in an adult store and asks for an inflatable doll.

> >

> > Guy behind the counter says, "Male or female?"

> >

> > Customer says, "Female."

> >

> > Counter guy asks, "Black or white?"

> >

> > Customer says, "White."

> >

> > Counter guy asks, "Christian or Muslim?"

> >

> > Customer says, "What the hell does religion have to do with it?"

> >

> > Counter guy says, "The Muslim one blows itself up."

> >

Succisa Virescit

A touchstone, and a reminder. Et lux in tenebris lucet et tenebrae eam non conprehenderunt. -- John 1:5.

Le coeur à ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point. -- Blaise Pascal

Embracing My Inner Carnivore

Even when I was dating a vegetarian, I was never a vegetarian. Probably half the time we went out, I ordered steak. (It's the contrarian in me; I simply can't resist the opportunity to tease.) But it has been quite a while since I bought meat to cook at home.

So it was exciting recently to try some new meat recipes. The first foray was uninspiring, but the next two I tried were fabulous. One was a recipe for the "best burger" (secret ingredient is worcestire sauce) and the other recipe was for "shredded-chicken wraps with avocado, cucumber and cilantro".

They were both really good. Especially the shredded-chicken recipe. I added a few extra ingredients to the chicken mixture (including 1/4 mango and 1/3 C cherries), and it made an excellent stew. In fact, it was so delicious by itself, I never got around to putting it into wraps with the avocado and cilantro.

On both occasions, I was entirely delighted with the delicacies that I had cooked up from scratch. It was an almost biblical moment, to create something and pronounce it very good.

Fall Harvest (Views from the Skate Path)

In other news, I'm starting up with volleyball again, with the team sponsored by my old firm. There's plenty of room for improvement in my game, and plenty of people willing to give me pointers! In any event, it should be fun, and will give me a chance to practice socializing as an alternative to my usual "fight or flight" instinct.

The trapeze lessons will stay on hold until after the election; then maybe I'll take a few days off to take some lessons and have a bookcase delivered. (It's either that or get rid of some books!)

My Very Own Rice Bowls!

Rice-pattern ceramic ware (a style in which grains of rice set into the clay become translucent windows when the pottery is fired in the kiln) apparently originated in China over 1,000 years ago during the Song Dynasty.

My first encounter with these "rice bowls" (as we called them) was in the mid-1980's, when my family lived in Belgium. The local Seca gas station was giving away rice bowls for a while, and my parents assembled a good collection. (This was a much more useful and interesting customer reward system than Seca's ill-fated sock giveaway; they would give out just one sock at a time, as I recall, and a different color each week. So it was difficult to get a pair.)

Since then, I have always admired rice bowls -- but have seldom seen them. I actually went looking for some at the beginning of October. Neither Crate & Barrel nor Target carried them. (It was an unproductive foray into the stores, because I was also looking for fancy crystal goblets, of a particular type that probably does not exist anywhere other than my imagination).

Now I own a complete set! It was a gift from my parents for my birthday: rice spoons, rice cups, and rice saucers. The cups are for tea, but they are perfect for a shot of o.j. in the morning.

This is the same cup, from another angle (which makes it look more like a bowl):


The design inside is my favorite: a dragon.
And they also go well with the rice plates my grandfather gave me last year. It's clearly time for another mahjong party!!

Gorilla Tag

My most popular video so far, according to YouTube:



(Some of you may remember this from my Dublin Zoo post.)

Company Manners

Hoar Frost

Pictures taken in High Falls, N.Y.

Summer in October...

...a nice antidote to Winter in July (with apologies to Bomb the Bass).