The Rabbit Head

WTF?!

I was on my way to the library, when I saw this from across the street. I had to cross the street for a closer look. Sometimes I see random objects hung in the chain link fence, like the skateboard sold at the dollar store or a missing baby sock, but this stuffed animal took me way back, to a time when me and my brother outgrew our childhood toys forever. 

Instead of play, my Barbie doll got a Mohawk haircut that I dunked into a paper cup of blue food coloring on the kitchen counter, and we froze my brother's Stretch Armstrong doll in the freezer, just for kicks, to see what the red goo inside would do. It cracked into big chunks after we took it out and threw him onto the hard kitchen tiles. Oh. Neat! 
After that initial experimentation, everything we had was up for grabs. 

Oh, I see. It's "Don't let this be you!" in kid-talk.

My Kermit the Frog doll was hung by a rope-fashioned noose from the top of the stairs by my brother and our cousin, as a tribal warning to me when I came through the front door about what was in store. Aha! Something was afoot with those boys, and methinks our childhood is officially over. I could fight the tides that be, but true to me, I shrugged it off and joined in the fun. 

Kermie went into the dryer, Barbie was blown to bits by firecrackers (after she drag raced Mad Max style a few times in several horribly disfiguring crash-and-burn scenarios), and then we just simply tore things apart. The next year in junior high school, we read Lord of the Flies for the first time. Lesson learned.

Cornfield to Nowhere

Huh. That's an odd juxtaposition.

"Welcome to mah jungle!"

I've walked past this oddly cultivated batch of corn and other assorted plants for awhile now, and I have no idea what it's doing behind a gas station or next to a bus stop, but I really don't care. I like the idea of some wacky station owner or old county farmer refusing to sell out to developers by obstinately retaining this weird garden patch in the middle of nowhere. 

Why an arrangement of corn rows densely interspersed with lawn hedges? Dear readers, I went in for a closer look, and I still have no fucking clue what this crazy redneck is thinking of, but whoever he (or she) is, they're my kind of rebel. Raise your freak flag high and grow some vegetables, you damn Yankee. Hat's off to you!

A little bit of rust and car exhaust never hurt no one.

Fill 'er up, dump off old clothes, pick some corn, or take two shrubs. Huh?

Boat and rocks. Lots and lots of rocks.

An exceptionally dense Yankee thicket.

Corn AND ornamental shrubs. Oh my!

And corn. And actual ear of corn can grow here.

Why ram a truck into it, or park two trailers, a boat, and a pile of rocks?

Because he's a rebel redneck Yankee and you're not. That's why!

Jeebus...real corn with cobs and all.

Squash patches and car oil.

Why here?! Whose is it?

You caught my attention with your strange garden patch. Grow on!

Redneck flower pot=discarded tire.

You beautiful weirdo. Kudos.

Benign Neglect

Diversification and preservation often accompany a purposeful, deliberate kind of neglect. Witness the relatively intact architecture and perfectly preserved cars of Cuba, a nation that was in extreme isolation from us. What would new wealth have done to its iconic architecture? Probably given us one badly done renovation after another. How many beautiful brownstones would we have lost in New York City, if Harlem and Bedford-Stuyvesant were rich white neighborhoods? 

And so it follows in nature. The front lawn of a certain old house in the historic Hudson Valley has an intact lawn; not the artificial one made with an abundance of pesticides and aggressive weed-pulling, but an incredibly rich and diverse tapestry that holds hundreds of plants, weeds, and wildflowers one doesn't typically see untouched in the suburbs, simply because the current owner does not tend to it with the same kind of care he would to his own lawn. It is often through this kind of neglect that the most beautiful wildflower flourishes. 

Welcome to September, dear readers.

Nature: Red Berries and a Hornet's Nest

Nightshade berries and a small paper wasp's nest.

Religious Signs, and Other $ Matters

Jesus and Mary, Co-Pilots in Suburbia.

Oh. This Acadian will keep her money, then.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acadians

Small Town: Carnival

Mad Ghetto Skillz: The Shopping Cart

Front lawn to an apartment building. Why not?

Like sneakers hanging off a power line, the lone shopping cart parked at an odd angle, (like the victim at the scene of a crime), is a sign that you're officially in the 'hood. Not exactly gentrification. What's always baffled me about this convoluted carelessness is that it takes wayyy more energy to push a shopping cart beyond the parking lot, up and down and over bumpy country terrain, than it is to use a relatively cheap and easy hand held cart for shopping and transporting. 

It's snowed and I hate shopping, so I'll block the sidewalk.

It takes a lot of work to be the kind of fuck up who ditches carts wherever the fuck you feel like. It's selfish, lazy, spoiled, and self-entitled, like people who spit on subway tracks or push their used gum under railings. Why?! Because that's the hood rat nature; complicated and contradictory, the core that's at the very essence of chronic dysfunction. If you asked someone who does this routinely, you'll get the typically common shit from them you already knew: they're disabled, their back hurts, they have a big family so they need a lot of groceries, they didn't have a choice, they just HAD TO, blah blah blah and why is it their fault? Well, it may not be (or, this being the hood, it probably is in some fucked way they'll try to cover up), but why is their damage our collective problem? 

"Do not enter"?! Fuck you!

Like any other seemingly random ghetto act, talking in circles to someone caught red-handed will get you nowhere fast, which is at the heart of disordered thinking. So, let me officially lay out some solutions for anyone struggling with courtesy as a concept, as a preemptive strike against incompetence: buy your own utility cart for shopping trips (see above suggestion), only buy what you can safely and comfortably carry (like I do), shop on the Internet and pay a delivery fee (if you can afford it), or have someone go with you (maybe a friend or a neighbor...you know, actually help each other out). 

You're welcome, community.

Around the Way: New Jersey Diners

Cocktails and eats, from way back when.

The only really late night game in our town was either White Castle, or quietly stumbling around your parents kitchen in a quest for drunk food. Jersey, a scant ten minutes away by car, had it so much better: the all-night diner. And the great thing about diners is, the menu is long (for any type of craving) and the food from most places is actually really, really good. Most of the family joints were Greek owned and operated, so you could count on a certain type of quality.

Passing by this empty building one afternoon on a bus back from the city, I felt a nostalgic sadness for a bygone late night life that I never had in Rockland. I bet it hit locals hard to see their go-to joint close down. I am happy to see the Hudson Valley emerge as a happening fine dining kind of place, because with the kind of produce we have here, it's the perfect marriage of locale matched with interest. Enjoy!

Food, glorious food: 

http://www.pinterest.com/mariedoucette/food/. 

Dogs: Dog Statues

Notice the intent stare on this dog statue.

Devoted dog owners, like people who love to cook, are people who like to have a good time. We're wacky in a socially acceptable way. Walking around town, I noticed a lot of funny doggie statues, some oddly realistic, like their eyes follow you and stuff. I had an uncle who loved to go through garbage dumps for weird stuff that he would dump on our lawn when we weren't home. 

Bulldog with human bifocals.

It was great fun for me as a kid, because you never knew what you'd find when you pulled in the driveway. It could be a tree, or a tire planter, or a plastic statue. My mom is pretty serious about her "no plastic lawn ornaments rule" (or those racist jockeys statues, that's just wrong) so when I see wacky dog sculptures, it reminds me of him. I love beautifully decorated houses and lawns, but thrown in a good sense of humor, and I'm done.  

What could be more welcoming?

Terrier in the garden.

You're a weirdo, funny dog person. 

Be glad: http://www.pinterest.com/mariedoucette/dogs/.

Small Town America: Malls

Grassy mound, at The Nanuet Mall.

One of the worst experiences about country life are the malls. They kinda suck the life out of people and places through the merciless sell sell sell of things. A lesser mind can get turned around in this fake Shangri La, a tempting NeverLand of beautiful objects priced just high enough to drain your wallet, making someone else rich. I'm not going to say malls destroy the environment, because that's easy and they provide jobs, but calling them blights on the landscape is justified.

Up.

Where the grassy mound sat was the last hold out from the early 70s boom in Rockland's economy, a time when young families from the city moved on up, and there one old lady sat in her old house as a reminder of our rural past, a real life version of the animated movie "Up". When she died, the developers finally moved in, and I found this mound where her house was a fitting tribute to her courage against the forces of Capitalism, the green earth not unlike a burial mound, some of the things I contemplated sitting at a red light.

How do you do honor the past in the present?

http://www.rocklandtimes.com/2012/11/29/simon-group-guts-ferrettis-home/ 

Small Town America: Café Land

Cafe table with Guinness

There were not a lot of opportunities for me to people watch and gaze at the scenery growing up. The cul-de-sac lifestyle of the typical track home, split ranch 70s suburb did not afford such luxuries, nor were those types of charming little spots easily accessible. Petty battles over cars, gas usage, and mileage became standard teenage fare, as a means of exerting control and drawing turf lines. 

Fortunately for me, I love to walk, and I can adapt to most mass transit schedules, but I still didn't know the good places to go, because I didn't have the freedom to roam and explore. Now that my family has switched up locales, I'm enjoying the small town experience a lot more as an adult. There's much to be said for living within range to a town with amenities. You see more, you exercise more, you live a little more. It's a great way to go when the world doesn't pass you by in a blur of speeding images.

For many of us, we moved to the city after college simply to have access to a better lifestyle, because the rural 'burbs can be hard for many people who live an active life, and also love fine dining. Driving a car after hoisting a few is certainly not the way to go, and designated driving is one of those ideas that sounds good in theory, but doesn't pan out in real life. I hope you find some time this weekend to safely stop and smell the roses, or a bouquet of the finest. Slainte!