The Reading: Oh, the jargon...

I must apologize for light/lame posting lately. Illness has kept me home and asleep a lot, hence not much consumption or experience of anything outside my apartment and office. As most people reading this know, I read for a living. Most of my material is psychology and educational research, with occasional forays into geography, and I find most of it very interesting. I've had the misfortune, however, to be assigned a new geography text entitled Contesting Neoliberalism. Jargon in the title is a bad sign. Now, I get some pretty dense manuscripts that cover subjects about which I know little or nothing, but I still manage to find something worthwhile or interesting to keep me engaged and alert on each project. This book, however, has proven to be so brain-meltingly dull that it has taken me 3 days to crawl through as many chapters. The worst part is, I agree with a lot of this book's premises (so far), e.g., that the status quo of Western societies/economies over the past 30 years is due for a serious critical reexamination especially in light of our impact on developing nations and the increasingly less equitable social policies, use of resources, etc., and that it's time to consider alternatives to the nominally capitalist yet huge, invasive government system. I get it, guys. Really. But the jargon and bombast make me curse the authors with every page. I pity the grad students who'll be made to read this next fall. In any case, it's made me pretty much worthless for anything else. That, and the NyQuil.

The Eating: I've Gotta Try This Place...

It all looks so good.

The Lowbrow: Get Your War On

I can always count on Mrs. Brown to find the most cringingly awful things on the interweb. Today? War rugs. Visit and blink in disbelief at the rugs depicting "obvious" and "subtle" weapons. Read the testimonials. Then reconsider that move to Canada.

The Watching/Listening: I'm Your Fan

A few weeks ago, we were invited to attend an advance screening of Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man, slated for release this June. Music nerds that we are, we were pretty excited. The film centers around a concert staged (weirdly, in Sydney, Australia) as a tribute to not-dead-yet Cohen; interviews with the man himself are interspersed throughout. Despite the somewhat promising lineup, which included Nick Cave, Beth Orton, The Handsome Family, and U2, this film was just plain bad. The performances were mostly terrible, with the exception of Orton and Antony (new discovery for me), and godawful cliched camera and film effects lent a false and unnecessary gravity to the interviews. Listening to Mr. Cohen speak, though, is always a delight; we agreed the film was worth it just to hear him discuss how the "punksters" took to the much-maligned Death of a Ladies' Man.

As we left discussing the disappointing performances, Will made the very good point that it's a testament to the quality of the songs that a) it's so hard for lesser artists to do them justice and b) we enjoyed the songs themselves in spite of the lame interpretations. This got me thinking nostalgically of I'm Your Fan, a compilation of Cohen covers that was a staple of my library in 1991. That tape (yep) disappeared years ago, so I tracked down a used CD online and decided to give it a listen to see if it was as good as I remembered. The verdict? Not as wonderful as my 17-year-old self thought, but a hell of a lot better than the limp performances in the film. The lineup on this CD is a who's who of late 80s/early 90s alterna heroes: REM, the Pixies, Ian McCulloch, James, House of Love, Lloyd Cole, Lilac Time, That Petrol Emotion, and many more. I was recently talking smack about James, but their woozy "So Long Marianne" is actually a lot of fun. Lloyd Cole does a fine, smoky "Chelsea Hotel," and Nick Cave turns in a weird, improvisational (and probably drunken, if the mid-song belch is any indication) recasting of "Tower of Song."

The track I was most concerned about, however, was John Cale's version of "Hallelujah," my favorite back in the day. One reviewer wrote that Cale sounds like an English professor singing alone in his study, one of the most marvelously apt descriptions I have ever heard. After listening to Rufus and Martha Wainwright yowl their way through this song in the film, it was doubly important that this live up to my memory, and it didn't disappoint. He may not have the operatic range of the Wainwrights, but he does perfect justice to the pain, desire, and wry humor conveyed in Cohen's lyrics and provides a perfect coda to the compilation.

...and we're back

I think this weekend can be considered a success for all concerned. Thunderegg found their way to Hartford's Webster Underground and found out that two of the evening's five acts had canceled--including Charlotte Martin, the headliner (*cough* SISSY *cough*). So the Egg played two sets to a full and enthusiastic house and were invited back to play the main theater in June. Photos to come when my co-blogger emails them to me.

For myself, I had a lovely brunch with my old friend Jon, with whom I lost touch around 1992. We caught up on the past 14 years and I was happy to find he's still a nice fellow and has grown into a happy family man with a successful business.

And unrelated but cute, the pops recently sent me a picture of yours truly with the original Red Squirrel, circa 1985.

Gone for the Weekend...

There will be no posting until Sunday night (maybe), as Will & co. storm the stage at Hartford's Webster Underground (opening for the very damp Charlotte Martin), and I reunite with a long-lost childhood friend who happens to live in that fair city.

The Family: Dad's Opinion

Two things that are important to know about my dad are his twin passions for cooking and for Bruce Springsteen (not unusual when you consider that he's Sicilian and from New Jersey). The folks have been on a little road trip for the past week and stopped by the International Food Warehouse, which I wrote about a few days ago. Dad's take (slightly abridged):

Found our way to that store. Not hard to find. Probably won't go back. I like Corrado's better. They didn't have what I wanted, but we still managed to spend $65 there. I wanted imported San Marzano tomatoes. They had none. I wanted imported tuna from Italy and they didn't have it. I remembered I needed Parmesan cheese and they had none. They carried the Osem line of products, but not the Israeli couscous I like. They had Ghirardelli chocolate for $1.99 which was a great buy. Got some dried porcini mushrooms at a great price. Mom bought some dried fruit. We spent $165 at Corrado's. I love that store. I got six pound cans of imported Italian tomatoes for $2.99. Make up a nice batch of marinara and freeze it. Also imported Sopressata, and my tuna and the semolina Italian bread. They have a great Italian cheese selection, great fish, and cheap produce. Red peppers for $.98 per pound, lemons 5 for a dollar, cranberry beans, Sicilian eggplant and of course the cookies I love. Nothing you can't buy in NYC, but if you live in northern NJ, much easier to get to and all under one roof.

Take that, Chowhound.

The Watching: Breaking the Waves

This has been on my "to watch" list for many years now, and it finally arrived via Netflix earlier this week. As I've been under the weather, I decided to stay in and watch it last night.

The best things about this film? The cinematography and great performances by Emily Watson and the late Katrin Cartlidge. I spent a few weeks in far northern Scotland several years ago, and Lars von Trier perfectly captured the bleak beauty of that landscape. The story itself features plenty of von Trier's trademark fetishized humiliation of women, and was sad enough to get me almost tearing up until the CORNIEST ending I have ever seen. I won't spoil it for the five other people who haven't seen this movie yet, but the final 2 minutes of the film completely ruined the rest of it for me on so many levels. If you do decide to watch this, I recommend turning it off right when it seems like it should end, and you have a great, if disturbing, film.

The Listening: Out in the Street

Poor Ms. Squirrel is under the weather tonight so I thought I'd fill in. I just didn't want her consecutive-day streak to snap so soon. Especially because I'm the one who got her sick.

I don't have my cassette deck hooked up to the computer yet, so you'll all have to wait for the killer Wolfsbane and Trouble mp3s. For now I'll just report in on my solo gig on Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn last Sunday, between Third and Fourth Streets in front of the playground and across the street from my favorite bar in the neighborhood, the Gate.

Flopping down my new yet inexplicably mildewy guitar case and shouldering my guitar, I thought I'd play until I had enough money to buy a beer. The sun was starting to go down. It was bitter cold. Eight songs later, my hands were frozen and I had exactly $0.00 in the case. I gave up and got a beer anyway. Annotated set list:

1. Skeletons (a)
2. Supergirlfriend
3. If I Went on a Diet
4. Glass of Water (b)
5. Puffins (c)
6. Keep It with You
7. Hall Pass (d)
8. It's Not You, It's Not Me (It's Her) (e)

(a) Not a good song to open with
(b) I killed it on this one!
(c) Was approached by a toddler here; father, wearing another baby in a sling on his chest and pushing an unoccupied scooter, looked on for about a minute. I thought I might get a buck here! But no. I got overexcited and played like three wrong chords in a row.
(d) While rocking out, my jacket zipper was tapping against my guitar and the pompom on my hat was bouncing around. At first, though, I thought the guys on the corner were throwing acorns at me. They still might have been. I am choosing not to believe that.
(e) (Encore)

I'll be back on that same block next week, 6:00 sharp.

The Lowbrow: "If you get caught between the moon and New York City..."

I was a little ashamed of the corny headline of yesterday's Lowbrow, but it seems like everyone's buzzing about things Liza lately. In my mind, her screen career has been one long yawn, bookended by her brilliant turns as Sally in Cabaret and Lucille 2 in Arrested Development. This montage of her appearance on Larry King Live, which has been making its way around the internet over the past 36 hours, cements her as a comedic genius, or at least as the crazy aunt who fills the uncomfortable silences at Thanksgiving dinner with inappropriate non sequiturs. The money shot comes when coffee spurts out her nose after a caller tells her he's a muscial theater major.

The Playing: Merrily We Roll Along

This is Day 3 of the guitar project, but it was only my second session, as I had a guest over for dinner last night. Did I make it up by practicing for an hour today? I did not. I spent 30 minutes reviewing the two chords I had already forgotten how to play. Once again, my tender little paws are bright red and aching. This will get easier, right?

The Family: When Squirrels Attack

It seems that posts about my unusual childhood are a popular theme so far...I have received yet another request for a wildlife anecdote, this time from Monica, one of my oldest and dearest friends.

Monica and I go back to the 4th grade, and she always enjoyed dropping over and visiting our petting zoo. One day when we were in the 7th or 8th grade, Monica came over to visit and learned that my mother was raising a litter of three flying squirrels. While they are fairly common, not many people have seen them, as they are nocturnal. As it happened, Mom had them out of their cage for some "exercise" in the study, so we went in for a peek. Now, one of Monica's many beautiful features is her long, thick, wavy hair, which, like any good tween of the mid-1980s, she had teased and sprayed to an impressive volume. When we walked into the study, the squirrels were perched along one of the curtain rods at the far end of the room (you see where I'm going with this). Just as she caught sight of them, one launched off the rod and soared across the room. Into her hair. Monica is as adventuresome as the next person, but when you have a tiny, freaked-out rodent scurrying through your hair, it's hard to keep your cool. So she's trying to disentangle this thing from her head, I'm trying not to laugh, and my mom is (probably) saying something like "Don't hurt it/let the others out/let the cats/dogs into the room!" The exact resolution of the situation escapes me lo these 20 years later, but I do recall everyone escaped with only minor lacerations to their pride.

The Lowbrow: Life Is a Cabaret

A week or so back, we decided to check out the fabled Russian nightlife and cuisine out on Brighton Beach. A quick search on Chowhound pointed us to The Primorski Restaurant out on Brighton Beach Boulevard, rumored to be one of Gary Shteyngart's favorite haunts (for whatever that may be worth).

Ordinarily, I'd post a restaurant experience in The Eating, but the food was mediocre at best. But the atmosphere? So surreal that it approached the sublime. We were there too early in the evening to get the full cabaret experience, but as we were finishing our meal, an older gentleman in leather pants took the stage with a young blonde woman and an Asian woman of indeterminate age (but, as we were soon to hear, hundreds of years of experience and pain in her husky voice). Vapor puffed out of a little dry ice machine and the disco ball started turning. The man began to sing "Just the Way You Are," and immediately there were three middle-aged couples swaying on the dance floor. Despite the cruise ship-meets-Blue Velvet feel of the show, it was endearing to see that it's still the highlight of some people's weeks to head out for an evening of dinner and dancing. I'm sure things got pretty wild later on, but it was still sedate and easygoing by the time we left, around 10:00. Perhaps later in the spring we'll return for the full show. And we'll skip the stuffed cabbage.

The Watching: Who's Next

I read today on The Slate that the BBC is launching a remake series of Dr. Who. I haven't thought about that show in years, but it was my favorite when I was about 7 or 8 years old. Back then, my parents attempted to slow the brain rot of their young children by limiting network TV viewing to, I think, 2 hours per week. But we were allowed all the PBS we could stand, which for me meant a lot of nature shows and a lot of Dr. Who. My first celebrity crush was on Tom Baker, who, I realized today, bears a striking resemblance to this fellow. Anyway...I couldn't wait to plunk down in front of the telly to watch Dr. Who zoom through space and time in that old telephone box and battle B-movie monsters and aliens. Christopher Eccleston has been cast as the new Who; I'm a little suspicious of this choice. He's a fine actor, but seems like he lacks the goofiness that so endeared Tom Baker to nerd girls and fanboys the world over. I don't have cable, so I'll have to rely on my nerdy friends to watch and weigh in.

The Eating: Despaña

For the past few weeks, there has been much noise made about the opening of Trader Joe's in Union Square. Journalists and bloggers have rhapsodized over the friendly Hawaiian-shirted staff, the cheap wasabi peas, and the bottles of Two-Buck Chuck. Lines of customers have snaked around the store and down the sidewalk. I haven't been there yet, although I'm sure I'll check it out soon, but I fail to see why everyone is so excited about yet another chain store taking up valuable downtown real estate and making New York look even more like a suburban shopping mall.

Much more exciting to me is the nearly unheralded opening about six weeks ago of Despaña in Soho. This inviting little storefront on Broome Street between Lafayette Street and Cleveland Place is packed with amazing imported specialty foods from Spain. I visited recently and was swooning over the selection of pickled vegetables, cured meats and olives, juices, seafoods, and creamy and pungent cheeses. The staff were friendly and knowledgeable, and sample dishes lined the shelves and counters. There were no bargains to be had, but I definitely plan to treat myself to something new here at least once a week. I'm already having dreams of a tapas party...

Introducing...

You may have noticed another name over in the sidebar. Will, aka willenvelope, has kindly agreed to be a contributor to this blog. He'll comment on a variety of topics, but I'm going to rely on him to be the main poster on music (The Listening). I'll also post on music, but most of my new tunes come from Will, and he's much better versed in the arcana of pop/rock/blues/etc. than I. Will is also a valuable repository of information both trivial and of-the-moment about New York City, and I hope he'll share some of that with our readers from time to time.

The Family: Kicked Out of the Nest

For those of you who think I'm exaggerating about my mom's bravado when dealing with animals the rest of us prefer to appreciate at a distance, obeserve the following from last summer. Who among you could so cheerfully keep a grip on a cranky red-tailed hawk? Mom don't mess around--and the lady wears some fly shades.

The Playing: Ow.

So this was Day 1 of my attempt to learn how to play guitar at the ripe old age of 32. My parents tried to give me a grounding in the performing arts, with lessons in dancing, singing, acting, and flute. I showed aptitude at none of these. But my kind and patient beau recently gave me one of his old guitars and an amp he found on the street, and I have decided to repay him by mastering one song by his birthday in June. I will accomplish this by practicing for at least 30 minutes each day. I just finished my first session, during which I learned the G-major and D-dominant seventh chords, according to my little manual. My fingers are burning, but I got all the way through "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" fairly well.

The Family: Animal Farm

Already I have had requests for posts on a certain subject from two of my five fans...

One unique feature (among many) of my upbringing has been the role of animals in my family. My father is a soon-to-be-retired veterinarian and my mother has worked for many years as a wildlife rehabilitator in conjunction with the family clinic. So, in addition to many family cats and dogs, our household menagerie always included a rotating cast of injured and orphaned squirrels, porcupines, songbirds, hawks, owls, waterfowl, beavers, deer, possums, woodchucks, and other wild beasts. Mom has attempted to scale back on the rescue work as dad has neared retirement, but often finds herself sucked right back in. To wit, a recent email:

"Just thought I'd communicate with you one last time before Dad comes home for lunch and kills me.  Couldn't help myself, couldn't leave the poor little guy on the median strip, hurt and scared and shivering.  Now my truck and I smell like skunk. Maybe I'll just off myself and save Dad the trouble."

Oh, yes. Yes, she did. She picked up an injured skunk on the side of the road as law enforcement officials looked on from a more prudent distance. But it survived and is now convalescing in the outdoor pen of a fellow rehabilitator. No word yet on how the interior of the truck is doing.

The Eating: Food Adventure

Yesterday, my partner in crime and I took a field trip to the land of my forefathers (Bergen County, NJ) to visit the International Food Warehouse in Lodi, which had been written up on Chowhound as one of the most overwhelming arrays of international foods one can encounter under one roof.

Living in New York, it's easy to become spoiled and jaded by the endless choices of ethnic and specialty food shops that populate nearly every block of the city and its boroughs. This, however, was a vast, echoing warehouse of the most random foods I have seen in a long time (not to mention deeply discounted lingerie and housewares). And cheap! My selections are pictured here; there seems to be a theme of preserved fish and red liquids. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with some of this (Er, a can of stuffed eggplant? But it was only $1.88!), but I'm starting to develop a notion of a lemony-garlicky risotto with scungili.

A Note on Title and Links

First, the title--those of you who enjoyed The Far Side back in the late 80s may remember a cartoon about Squirrel School, in which the teacher is instructing her students on how to cross a busy street. She's pointing to a blackboard with a diagram and the caption says, "And remember: always, always double back." I have been likened to a squirrel from time to time: a little hyper, a little indecisive, often dashing back to grab something I forgot.

The links are, as on most blogs, a work in progress. They reflect sites I visit fairly regularly (yes, I like snarky celebrity gossip), as well as lesser-known ventures by friends and family. Feel free to recommend additions to the list or to ask for more information.

Inaugural Post

I'm very, very late to the blog party and am ambivalent about joining at this juncture. I've been a lurker on many a blog for the past few years and have felt a growing need to create some type of online journal. I've never kept private journals or diaries, partly out of laziness (which bodes ill for maintenance of this venture), and partly because I don't much see the point of writing if it doesn't go out into the world somehow, whether as a published article, a thank-you note, or an e-mail to a friend. So I'm going to consider this blog as a sort of stream-of-consciousness open letter to my friends and whatever strangers happen to stumble across it.

For the time being, this blog will be general-interest, which I realize is sort of a deal-breaker when it comes to finding an audience. A focus may eventually emerge, but as I start out, the following will be covered in approximately equal measure: music, film, books, odd encounters, food, and my newly embarked-upon project of learning to play guitar. I'll count on the five or so readers who are likely to check this site to tell me what is fun and what stinks, and maybe the posts will take a more interesting shape as time goes on.