Greatest Hits

Growing up, my favorite flavors were R & B, Motown, with some disco thrown into the mix. The 70s dance craze raged through our household. My parents got dressed up to go dancing, looking so glamorous and grown-up, as they twirled around the living room doing The Hustle. Two of the more popular songs to their choreography were from the movies.

Nothing makes me feel more "disco" than the theme song from "Car Wash". It's a bumpin', fun, rowdy ride of a song. Listening to it takes me back to the joints that lined Manhattan's West Side Highway, along with the "Ladies of the Night" and the squeegee bums, who would foul up your cars' windshield with newspapers and dirty water, just to get some more money to repair their shoddy work. It was some scene. I still love going through car washes, too. Good memories.

Another record that played often was the soundtrack to "Thank God It's Friday!". The movie showcased the great talent of Donna Summer, the reigning Queen of Disco. What a voice! I loved her storyline, too: a shy star, making her first strides in the music scene, working towards her big break. 

She begs the DJ to spin for her, so she can sing to the track, but he turns her down because she's an unknown. Through some scheming, she finally gets her track to play over the club's system. She steps onto the stage, nervously warbling through her first notes, then gains strength as the she moves through the song. It's such a great scene, because we empathize with her wholeheartedly, rooting for her to make it. Aren't we all trying to find our rhythm? Don't let anyone break your stride.

(Skip to 5:15 in for Donna Summer's performance as Nicole)

Fat Cats

People of my acquaintance know that I am a huge pet person. I have been the proud owner of various choice, quality snow dogs. However, there's an exception to my "Dogs Only" rule, and that is a portly kitty. A former co-worker, who is an insanely over-the-top rescue volunteer for a specific breed of terrier, took umbrage when I expressed my affection for the fat cat, as the exemption to my snow dog policy. 

Yes, I am aware that said cat in question is perhaps unhealthily obese, but with all my pet experiences, (our family dog was introduced to the household when I was 4 or 5), I have never known an animal to expire from the onset of heart disease related to high cholesterol derived from fatness. It's not like they hit the Mickey D's hard!

My dream scenario is this: a very large and docile chubster lives in my library, equipped with a leather couch, a fireplace, and many bookshelves for the cat to play amongst. Fitting, no? I think it is quite so. Witness Watson, the cat of a couple of designers, and his comfortable Fat Cat lifestyle: THANKSGIVING. SO FULL, SO FAT.

Watson also knows the joys of library lounging, and shares my love of all things Halloween. This is most acceptable to me: HALLOWEEN, HAPPY.

Now, without further ado, I bring to you, dear readers, some choice selections of Fat Cat videos, in celebration of their awesomeness. 

It's hip to be furry!

Will work for food: 

What would a fat cat be without a couch potato lifestyle?

Seriously, though, I still need a dog for outdoor activities. I mean, this cat just does absolutely nothing, deserving of banishment to my fantasy library. Scat, cat! 

This specimen earns major points for fatness, laziness, and overall cuteness:

Eat like a champ, because if you don't, they will.

City of the Dead

photos of Green-Wood Cemetery © Marie Doucette

For years I've wanted to explore Green-Wood Cemetery. When I lived in Kensington in the 90s, I used to pass by an entrance to the famous Brooklyn landmark, on my way to Prospect Park. My curiosity was forever piqued. This weekend, the gates were opened to the public for free. I had my adventure on Sunday, with maps in hand. It felt like I was about to embark on a treasure hunt! 

With my very first vivid impressions, I was overwhelmed. Spectacular! Gorgeous! Beautiful! It's a wildly scenic place, more like an Olmstead park. Some stretches burst with light, bright with color and sunshine. Other areas are dark and eerie. The wind whistles through the treetops, rattling through the raspy fall leaves as they fall to the ground, evoking a loneliness that is palatable to the senses. It smells of decay. Most of my readers know my fondness for Halloween, Tim Burton, and my favorite movie, "The Nightmare Before Christmas." This is my Disneyland. Why do I love cemeteries? They're quiet spots; peaceful, holy places, that have sculptures and engravings. As Scouts, we created rubbings from the stone facades, capturing the lettering and reliefs on paper. Large grave sites are typically laid out amongst a vast landscape, fun to wander around and get lost in, or at least try to.

Students of history know that graveyards are portals to the past. Throughout Green-Wood are stark reminders about the brutality of life in pioneer America. Many plots have stones that read, simply, "Mother", "Father", "Brother", and "Baby". Mausoleums for the very wealthy revealed their share of heartache, too. This picture was taken from within the Niblo mausoleum. The famed man laid to rest was a Broadway producer. This statue marks the grave of a unnamed child. It had never been open to the public before the day of the tour.

As much as I like mausoleums and gravestones, I felt a special thrill entering The Catacombs. So atmospheric, like the underground crypts of Rome. Throughout the length of the corridor are round skylights which cast long, blue shadows. Tiny, orange electric lights dot the way. Awesome! It's the perfect primer for catching the Halloween spirit.

I took a brief rest before resuming my wanderings. Markers everywhere testify to the ethnic diversity that defines the American experience. Here's a fellow from Scotland. For those of us with storied lineage from the "New World", they serve as ties to the lands of our ancestors. There's a section filled with people of German descent, another with Italian, and a resting place for Irish-American soldiers who died in the Korean War.

The grounds are sophisticated by design, full of scenic vistas. In this city of the dead, there are lanes and paths with charming street signs of wrought iron, mirroring the urban environment we live in. You'll need a map to find your way around, and you'll need more than a day to take it all in. A tour guide said he notices something different every time he works here.

Another tour guide has a pet name for a giant tortoise called "Godzilla", that lives in the pond by the Niblo Mausoleum. She tried to conjure him for me, by calling his name and tapping her foot on the stone ledge that borders the pond. I tried, too, but had no better luck. She returned with binoculars, though I had already come to the conclusion that it was a yellow leaf floating on the surface. There's birds, squirrels, chipmunks, what have you. The lakes and ponds have fish, frogs, toads, and turtles.

I sat down to rest on the edge of the Morse family monument, wherein lies Samuel Morse, inventor of the telegraph. I was surprised to catch the scent of apples. I looked around to notice the ground covered with fruit fallen from a nearby tree. To be surrounded by such beauty, what a honor! I felt a lightness in the air. The worry we feel about death was lifted, replaced by a feeling of transcendence. I felt hope that I would be able to face my final moments with bravery, my soul filled with peace. I would return to the great vastness of the universe from which we all spring from. I felt happy and excited about the future. What a cheerful spot.

As I made my way back to the beginning, along the perimeters' winding boulevard, the main gate began to appear above the treetops. What borough tour be would be complete without Brooklyn Parrots? A large colony makes it home among the turrets which mark the main entrance to Green-Wood. Ooo, that's happy, too! I heard them before I saw them, a bright flock of green and yellow parrots, or parakeets, followed by a burst of movement. Several birds took flight from their large nests, putting on quite the display for the delighted spectators below. To find out more about them, you can take another tour, which I wrote about previously on this blog: http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/search/label/Brooklyn%20Parrots

As much as I adore history and nature, I asked the guides about the particulars regarding religious practices and affiliations. There was a serious spiritual aspect to my tour, as you, the reader, may have already gathered. Green-Wood began as nondenominational grounds. After a time, a section was blessed for Christian burials, and then the entire cemetery was consecrated for Catholics. As I lay on my back enjoying the sun, on a small grassy knoll by The Catacombs, my mind wandered as I meditated on the surroundings. 

What a perfect place for an Illuminator to spend an eternity ;)

http://www.green-wood.com/

October Light on 3rd Street

photo © Marie Doucette

Like many artists, I am struck by beautiful light, especially the kind that shines through autumn trees, dappling the sidewalks. This shot was taken on a typical morning in the neighborhood, except that I caught a bright flash of radiant sun with my camera.

May you feel the sun on your face today.

Best Musicals

When I saw this movie in a dark theater, I sat in one of the rowdiest, loudest-laughing crowds I'd ever been part of. Truth be told, I was feeling no pain in my seat, thanks to pre-movie indulgences. To test my instincts in the sober light of day, I saw it again on Netflix. Wow.

Dear readers, I submit to you, for your approval, that the catchiest movie musicals of modern cinema are written by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, of "South Park" fame. One of the best is none other than "Team America: World Police." How about this little ditty, in place of our National Anthem? 

(WARNING: THE FOLLOWING VIDEO CLIPS ARE NOT SUITABLE FOR CHIlDREN):

Ever felt trapped on an island, in a sea of loneliness and stupidity? Kim Jong Il has, as he shares his tale of woe with us, in song:

How about folding major movie stars into your plan for world domination (because your alien planet has decreed that you must do so), only to watch your scheme go down in flames? Relatable, yes? Kim Jong Il feels your pain, and so do I:

What about the sadness you felt when "Rent" ended it's run on Broadway? The directors have that covered, and happily so. They give their leading star his next role as Master Spy, as this story arc shows him getting "discovered" anew:

Are you in love? Do you miss your paramour, and also the lack of decent movie roles for Cuba Gooding, Jr? I do, and so do Trey Stone and Matt Parker:

As we head into the weekend, let's pause for a moment, as we reflect back on the work week. Did you find yourself caught up in a game of petty office politics, with annoyingly clueless and toothless co-workers? Kim Jong Il has! The directors build tension musically, as we wait for the denouement to this mise en scene:

Hey, it's Friday, and you're outta there! 

Have a "Good" one, for Cuba and me :)

Tricks or Treats

Holidays in our household were marked by Charlie Brown specials. Regularly scheduled programming was interrupted, replaced by a vivid spinning graphic. Something cool was about to happen! It was exciting, a break from the routine:



We thought about the finishing touches to our costumes. We formulated a plan of attack for collecting the most candy in the shortest amount time, and which neighborhood to hit first. What houses gave out the biggest amounts, or the best kinds of candy? Who was weird when they answered the door, or stingy with the treats? Who gave out cheap parcels of useless pennies wrapped in paper napkins? Okay, let's avoid that house. Some houses left candy out on the stoop unattended, which was a huge bonus for us. We could circumvent interacting with adults, grabbing as much as possible without chastisement. It felt more appropriate that way anyway, since our teeth ached after our candy-eating binges. This holiday was an illicit indulgence, best done on the sly, like pelting a bad neighbor's house with rotten eggs on Gate Night.

As we grew older, we got to explore our surroundings without parents. The freedom was more intoxicating than the Tootsie Rolls. As a rule, we had to stay together as a group, but the trade-off was a walk in the dark. A few years later, glow sticks became popular, adding to the surreal and fun aura around trick-or-treating. We consulted the weather forecasts, hoping for warm temperatures, so we could show off our costumes, unimpeded by covering layers. If not, then preparations had to be made to ensure that we did not have to cede quickly to the chill of the night air. Otherwise, we would lose precious time by returning home earlier than planned, warming our hands before going back out again, subject to parental interrogation and inquisition. For cold Halloweens, it was best to have thermals on underneath, fingerless gloves, hats; anything to prolong the night as much as possible.



What could be more fun for kids than dressing up in costumes and getting free candy?! It's the best feeling ever.

Here's wishing you more treats than tricks this Thurday.

The Magic of Zamfir

Have you ever seen something on t.v. that you thought was a comedy skit, when in reality, it was a sincere effort? That's the high and grand feeling me and my brothers felt as kids, when we realized that Zamfir was a genuine person, and not an actor. How can this be? Sometimes it was more humor than we could absorb, because we laughed until our sides hurt. Observe:

Years later, it's still that funny. It set me off into a fit of giggles anew when I rediscovered it, especially remembering all the requisite "skin flute" jokes that we had to tell each other, whenever it aired. As I took a video trip down memory lane, I was delighted to find that a particularly ardent fan has made the ultimate tribute to the magical effects of Zamfir and his classic commercial:

It's Wednesday silliness! 

 Have a laugh with me.

A Walk in the Park

photos © Marie Doucette

This past weekend was a perfect example of a classic Northeastern fall. Bright, cloudless blue skies, warm sun, and crisp, cooler nights. Here's few highlights from my walks.

 

Gorgeous colors, as the leaves begin to change....

...bathed in the most beautiful golden light.

Take a walk today, if only briefly, to clear your head. It works.

Fall Harvest

photos © Marie Doucette

Another benefit for those of us lucky enough to live in the Northeast part of America, is the bounty from the fall harvest. New York is known for its many varieties of delicious apples and autumn produce, as our farmers markets burst with great pickings.

When my family moved to the country, we spent autumns hiking, to view the changing foliage, and apple picking. I also tagged along with my Grandpa to buy apple cider from a local farm stand. He kept a jug of it outside our suburban house, on the patio, turning it into applejack. It was my introduction to process of fermentation.

So, I decided to revisit the orchard from my childhood, Dr. Davie's Farm. It's as gorgeous as I remembered; a beautiful, pastoral place unchanged through time. I was delighted to find the grounds in wonderful shape, preserved and tended with care, plus a thriving, working farm, buzzing with customers and orchard workers. The process of gathering apples remains unchanged; buy a bag for the fruit, then select an apple picker. 

The pickers' handle is a smoothed branch, with a bag that has wide prongs around the edge, attached to the top, for fitting between the branches and stems of the apple trees. With a slight twist, the apple dislodges from the branch to drop into the bag, or not, as you soon discover it can be a hit or miss operation. I was amazed at how easily I picked it up again.

Our suburban house was adjacent to a family farm. The backyard had six apple trees, remnants from the farm's orchard, perfect for climbing and constructing tree houses. We also had two cherry trees, and a raspberry bush that lived in the back corner of the property, near the farmers' honey bee hives. He grew corn, rhubarb, string beans, lettuce, which we picked with the children next door, on their families land. Eating fresh food, while sitting on the ground between the rows of crops, was an incredible way to experience produce.

As we walked the rows of trees, I couldn't help but smile at the festive, happy atmosphere of families engaged in harvesting. It's like a treasure hunt for kids! We passed child after child, grinning and biting into a fresh apple. What a wonderful feeling that is, to feel the sun shining on your face and the sweat on your brow, as you taste your first plucked apple. 

We learned to reap the rewards of our labor, and savor the fruits of it. The farm still produces this same effect on the children of today; to appreciate the finer things in life, while joining together as a community. Our society is not as corrupt as it sometimes portrayed. Children are the shared crop of our future, so let's tend to them well.

Enjoy the fruits of this season with your loved ones.

http://www.drdaviesfarm.com/history.htm 

The Weirdest Show on T.V.

I submit to you, dear readers, that ANTM is the weirdest show ever to air on television. For those of you not in the know—and how dare you—it's "America's Next Top Model". And it is a long running show. 

You may ask yourself this question every time you watch an episode (as I do), between the cringing and head-turning embarrassment, for the judges and contestants: how does a bunch of "Zoolander" NY fashion-types rule the tube?

Because the host, Tyra Banks, has created this exercise in vanity to let you know that she is still the prettiest girl in the room. She creates these gawd-awful "challenges" for would-be models to try (and fail at), so that she, and her panel of judges, can make fun of them. First, she has to prove that she can "make it work", by posing in the challenge photo herself, then mockingly showing it to the young girls at their judging, like this fine example of bald Tyra. Most of the models looked like an absolute horror freak show afterward, but of course, TyTy already knew that, and so did we.

Tyra and her cronies also like to take perfectly fine-looking young ladies and give them ridiculous hair-dos. They hover around the girls, ganging up on them when they react poorly to the overwhelming situations they are placed in, constantly reinforcing the message that this is what "real models" endure. As they sit in the stylists' chair, wigs are painfully sewn onto their scalps, or their long locks are sheared off, as it is hammered into their heads over and over, that they must suffer for "fashion". Inevitably, one lost sheep starts to bawl, when she comes out of the "makeover" part of the show looking like a little boy. In response, they create a peer-pressure environment around her, telling her to grow up and quit acting like a diva, while they film their latest victims' meltdown.

Another surreal game they play with contestants is to place a beautiful girl in a twisted fantasy, just to see if she can "model through it". Here's a neat scene from a previously aired show, when they forced a girl to model with actual homeless people on a set, styled like a back alley nightmare, to capture "hobo chic". WTF?! Isn't fashion about selling clothes?

The next hat trick these cruel magicians perform is caking the girls in unflattering make-up, obscuring their natural beauty as much as possible, with the premise, once again, to see if she can "model through it". And fail at it, as they rip her to shreds, while high-ranking, imposing industry gurus sit behind an intimidating desk, on a raised podium, firing off at her. The girl has to shakily stand there in front of a line of them and take it, but not show any nerves.

If the girl currently up at bat reacts in any way that Tyra doesn't like, they criticize her into acquiescence. If another girl has too much sang-froid about it, they tell her she is an emotionless robot, creating a constantly shifting and uncertain landscape to maximize breakdowns, so they can film the results. Keep in mind, readers, that they are girls, between the ages of 18-21. The derisive"old" comments typically start when the young women on the show are 24 to 26 years old.

When a girl tries to defend her relative inexperience, Tyra berates her for that, too. She tells them how cool and tough she is compared to them, because she was a high-fashion runway model at age 14. Many of the girls have never been away from home, or outside of their small town. Tyra likes to toss that aside in her scathing "critiques" by bringing up her modeling experiences as a comparison. After a few contestants remain, she ships them off on an arduous journey to a hereto previously unknown destination (so they have no time to prepare), and crams them into tiny overseas hotel rooms, for a more "authentic" experience. They get maps in foreign languages, then they are sent out to navigate a new city and its unknown mass transit system, under a time limit, to get harshly judged at go-sees, their first. Often, they are not educated enough to succeed under these particular conditions. What a disadvantage!

The outfits aren't much better either, to go along with all that heavy, drag make-up. Where are the gorgeous, sumptuous designer clothes? Not here! This young model has to endure weird petals stuck to her head in a freaky sunflower tableaux, which represents, oh, who the eff knows. Model through that, honey! How about a bizarre hat three times too big for your head? Is that too challenging for you? Because I'm sure TyTy can dig through her archive and find a picture where she did it better than you ever will. Again, how dare you.

So, why do I watch it? Because I'm a New York girl, and fashion is a daily part of life in this town. The streets are our runways, and every major designer has a house here that has sample sales, with incredible clothes at major discounts. I also love photography, which is a part of my artistic routine. Models walk the streets everyday. They can be seen teetering on high heels, making their already tall frames even more so; skinny, pale, and extremely young, carrying portfolios under their arms.

In truth, it can be a rough life, and it is not for everyone. But for those hungry for that type of success, it can be yours, for a price. Strange as the show is, for some young girls out there, it represents their version of the "American Dream". Certainly, it does for the current crop of NY models, many of whom emigrate from very poor Eastern European countries. This is their ticket to a better life, and their families, so they'll take any shot at it that they can get. If you happen to come across the many, many reruns of this show during on a random channel surf, just turn the volume down, and check out the clothes in peace. It's much better that way.

 Go out there and strut your stuff this Friday!

And have a great weekend.

Greatest Hits

I caught the beginning of this movie on t.v., about a week or so ago. It was sheer excitement. I sat up on the couch, threw both arms in the air, shouted "Yeeaaahhh!!", then cranked the volume on the remote.

Dear readers, for your enjoyment I submit to you the opening sequence from the original 1958 version of "The Blob"—a movie with the added bonus of Steve McQueen in the lead, as a drag-racing hipster. The graphics are perfectly set to the music, hinting at the action to follow. No wonder we loved this movie as kids! How much fun is the trailer?

Check out the beachy theme to "The Munsters", a weird and silly t.v. show about a family of monsters, (and one human cousin) with some of the best, most exaggerated, over-the-top characters, ever. Unfortunately, we never had the attention span to watch an entire show. Too hokey for our tastes, though the music has aged really well:

We flipped for "Courageous Cat and Minute Mouse" because of the opening music, the evil frog villain, and the groovy background tunes. If you've got the time, watch the clip (after the jump), from beginning to end, because the voices are hysterical. It's about 5 minutes long. If not, the first 30 seconds is the theme song. You've got to click on the link below to watch it on youtube, because the embed functions for videos have been disabled on the site, in order to drive the sales of a DVD release featuring the cartoons:

http://youtu.be/vuAPrY5ErjA

Nothing made us more psyched than hearing the Pink Panther cartoon theme song. Great music played throughout, timed and composed to incredible animation, with nary a word spoken. If you have the time, check out the first episode from season one:

No compilation would be complete without a clip or two from the "Schoolhouse Rock" series:

Have a magical day.

This video is better than....

I discovered a golden thread on youtube last week, searching for clips to go with a post I was writing.

THIS VIDEO IS BETTER THAN AVATAR:

It was so good, I actually had to stop surfing because I was laughing so hard.

THIS VIDEO IS BETTER THAN COMMUNISM:

THIS VIDEO IS BETTER THAN HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL:

Have you ever felt like some tepid piece of pop culture crap, which you forked over hard-earned money for, has robbed you of some precious life that you will never get back?

THIS VIDEO IS BETTER THAN HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL:

These videos seek to address, and correct, that horrid injustice. 

THIS VIDEO IS BETTER THAN JUSTIN BIEBER:

THIS VIDEO IS BETTER THAN TWILIGHT:

Here's a tip—some of the comments posted on youtube beneath the videos are just as good.

Wishing you smooth sailing over the hump of the week :o)

"Uh Oh, Spaghetti-O's!"

Photo courtesy of http://coopcitycommunityforums.yuku.com

For a time, in the early 70s, during my childhood, me and my family lived in a section of the Bronx called Co-Op City, a place where owners and tenants entered into a cooperative housing arrangement. Meetings were held to determine every facet of life within the community. I suppose it was designed to be some sort of a socialist utopia; a way for families looking to "move on up" to have more of a say in how they lived. Only in hindsight do I realize the political implications of such a choice, because as kids we certainly didn't. 

One of my brothers has a Puerto Rican godfather, an undercover cop we knew from the projects in Queens. At the time, he was married to a beautiful white woman named Lillian. They were glamorous beyond belief, because they had motorcycles and wore all-leather riding gear. We used to bump into them in the hallways, holding helmets under their arms, collecting their mail, and taking in their bikes. We had German neighbors, too, whose little girls decided to play Barbie on me one afternoon, by cutting off my bangs completely.

image courtesy of http://nyiri.ca/photos/newyork.html

My most lingering memories from that period are of food. I remember the Saturday Shabbos, because I held my mother's hand as we walked to the corner deli, staring up at the big wooden vats of kosher pickles, which were tended to by men in Orthodox dress. My mother's closest friend was our neighbor Myrna, a warm, ebullient Jewish lady with a tall, brightly colored and elaborately-curled orange hairdo, who was the mother of my oldest brother's best friend. Looking back, I realize Myrna must have had her hair set weekly, as ladies did back then, though my mother did not, as she prefers a more natural look.

A rain lamp from the 70s.

Myrna was a foreign land to me in many ways. She had a loud, cheerful, booming voice that I was unused to, and their apartment held all sorts of fascinations for me. Strange, clear plastic covered the furniture in the living room, making loud sounds when you sat on it, which frightened me off quickly. They had one of those hanging oil lamps with a nude lady in the middle, sort of like a mood lamp but even more exotic, because I couldn't figure out how all that hot liquid didn't pour out over the floor. Delightful!

But, there is one afternoon I will never forget. We often visited Myrna during the day, when my brothers were at school, and I was still young enough to remain at home with my mom. On this particular day, I distinctly remember sitting at her kitchen table, overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells. Myrna started laughing at me as I stared at the t.v. blaring in the living room, one of those big console types we couldn't yet afford. "That's alright, hon!" she boomed, smoking a cigarette, "go over and take a look! It's a soap opera!!" I had never seen one before. In a rare act of bravery, I actually got up from the chair by myself and toddled over to the screen to place my little hands on the set. Who were these people?! Well, whoever they were, they weren't half as interesting as Myrna. I hurried back to my seat at the kitchen table, where more intrigues awaited me.

On the table was a can with a most appealing and friendly label pasted on it. Why would I find that alluring? Dear readers, I had never see anything like it. To this day, most of my meals are home-cooked, by me. My mother, being a rare female science worker for those times, was hip to nutrition and the pitfalls of preservatives, way ahead of the curve. She made most of our meals from "scratch", every day, three or four times a day, for the entire family. Here in front of me was some sort of brightly colored food stuff in a can. It boggled my mind, because it looked like the packaging equivalent of a box of crayons.

As I turned the can around and around to get a better look, Myrna sat watching me with a twinkle in her eye. "Those are Spaghetti-O's, hon!! Haven't you ever had them before?! You want some? Come on, I'll make some for you." She went to the stove, turned on the burner under a little saucepan, returning to the table a short while later with a bowl of, well, I had no idea what is was. Her eyes crinkled up with laughter again, as I sat there trying to find some sort of reference for it.

"It's pasta, baby! In circles! Like this," she took a drag off her cigarette, and blew several perfect smoke rings. She poked her finger through the center of each, with long, perfectly manicured fingernails, "See? They're circles!" I'll never forget how her hands looked to me that day, moving through the air, with the sun behind her head, from the windows overlooking the sink. The first manicure for me would be at age 28, the day before I got married. While I sat there, uncomfortably taking in this new experience, I thought of Myrna and her beautiful nails. She had passed away many years ago, when we were children, after we had moved out of the Bronx.

image courtesy of http://synapsemirror.wordpress.com/

After Myrna performed such an incredible magic show for me, I had to at least try it. So I did, and I lifted the spoon to my mouth, for her. And it was horrible. Because, readers, my spaghetti and meatballs were made and cooked for me by my mama, who is of partial Italian-American descent. It is still my favorite comfort food. I think I must have inadvertently made a face or wrinkled my nose in disgust, because that set Myrna off again, into loud peals of laughter. "That's OK, baby, you don't have to eat it!" My mom joined in the fun, too, smiling and explaining for me shyly, in a softer voice, "She's never eaten food from a can before. This is her first time."

I was three years old :)

May all your food adventures today be memories forever.

Pumpkin Head

I'm kicking off this month's holiday season with an artist I saw last year on the Food Network, Ray Villafane. He appeared on a "Challenge" show about pumpkin carving, which he won with a rendition of the Medusa character called "Gordusa" (pictured above).

It was a masterful work. Naturally, I was intrigued to find out more. After some online searching I discovered that my instincts were correct—Ray has a long career as an educator, toy maker, pumpkin carver, and sand sculptor. He has received commissions by some of the most prestigious names in the toy industry, like McFarland Toys.

As we head into cool nights, full of atmospheric darkness, let's contemplate the fun that awaits us on Halloween. What costume will you be wearing this year? I know what mine will be.

http://villafanestudios.com/

A Divine Madness

I found this gem of a show during a rare bout with insomnia, on the oddest of channels, The Science Channel. The brilliant Ricky Gervais pitched (and actually sold!) an idea to the network to play what he calls "the most expensive prank in history" on one of his mates. Karl Pilkington is the everyman bloke who serves as the butt of this elaborate joke.

Because he is so naive and ignorant about the world around him, I found myself laughing hysterically at his honest reactions, as he is thrust into situations that even a seasoned world-weary traveller would find challenging. Ricky deliberately places him in these environments to film his inevitable freak outs with hilarious results. It had been awhile since I laughed that hard watching a t.v. show!

As we explore this concept of first world privilege, there are moments of true poignancy. The people Karl meets during his travels do not judge him in an overtly harsh manner. Many of them can relate to his childish meltdowns, when he is exposed to foreign ideas and customs, because his responses are also quite familiar. After all, don't we also have family and friends who behave in a similar fashion while travelling? Karl's new friends accept him for who he is, and he in turn does the same. Throughout his trials and tribulations, Karl sometimes has an actual epiphany, like in this clip when he visits with The Living Saint in India.

As Karl would say, "That's what it's all about, innit?"
It sure is.  Well done, Karl :)

http://science.discovery.com/tv/an-idiot-abroad/