Wheel of Fortune

When I was in my mid-to-late 20’s I bought a unicycle. I don’t remember my motivation for such a purchase but, nonetheless, I spent hours practicing at a deserted tennis court a couple of blocks from my apartment in Sausalito, Calif. The high fencing was an excellent go-to element in mounting the unicycle even though, at first, it didn’t prevent me from crashing to the asphalt a couple of times. Anyway, after a month or so of dedicated practicing I became relatively proficient at it and even ventured onto the steep hillsides of Sausalito and started riding it around in public. Of course it was an attention-getter, which might have been my motivation in the first place, but after a while the stares and nudges of passersby palled. I realized that riding a unicycle, in most people’s minds, was a circus act and it was that part of the activity that pretty much got me back on my feet. The final blow happened one afternoon in late summer. A woman approached me on the street and asked me if I would ride in the town parade and, if I would consider it, she would sponsor me, had a costume that she thought would fit and would volunteer to do my make-up. I wouldn’t have to do anything but show up and ride through town. In other words I would clown around for the kiddies, albeit using a skill beyond making them squeal with laughter or fear (a good motivation of itself) on foot. Soon after I sold the unicycle to the husband of a co-worker and continued on my quest for expanding my universe in other ways.

I just wish there had been an organization then that exists today. That is, a whole group of extreme-unicyclists that test rough terrain similar to the current mountain biking movement extant throughout the U.S. (and world). Only they do it on one wheel! They are called “muni” (for mountain-unicycling) events and were pioneered in California (where else?) in the late 1990’s. The Unicycling Society of America has about 865 members and this year’s convention and championships were held this month in Rapid City, So. Dakota. So now I guess riding a unicycle has been manned-up and considered a sport rather than circus entertainment and it’s probably only a matter of time before it becomes an Olympic event. So put away the clown suit, lady, I’m wearing dude stuff in your parade.

Oh, one thing I forgot to mention. Way back in early high school I taught myself to juggle and became fairly proficient at that too; being able to keep five balls in the air at once (I can still do three). So maybe the clown gene hit me earlier than I thought. Thank goodness for downhill skiing and Scuba-diving. Those costumes at least look good.

One interesting side note: I think I paid about $60 (mail order) for my unicycle back in the day but now there are at least ten companies that make mountain unicycles, and they can run to more than $1,000 each.

The Day of the Dahlia

As the hydrangeas hit the skids the dahlias are taking center stage. I have creamy-white, pink and this spectacular purple lady. The structure of this flower is so intricate and perfect I never get tired of looking at them. The heat and humidity of this particular summer, almost tropical (yes, with short-lived thunderstorms in the late afternoon), has been perfect for flowering plants. The mums are already starting to burgeon, maybe too early since the “done” plants like the peony and iris are not yet ready to be cut back, but we shall see…which is part of the glory of gardening

Chillin' with Uncle Louie

My first encounter with Uncle Louie G’s was back in the late 90’s when it was a small storefront on Coney Island Avenue near Park Circle. Tiny, well-lit and run by a series of incompetent high school girls it was a Mecca (for two or three summers) for the best Italian ice in Brooklyn, and that’s saying something. Soon, however, that series of small stores was razed and Uncle Louie’s moved around the Circle to the corner of Vanderbilt Ave. and Prospect Park West, even more convenient for me.

Success followed and, now franchised, there are a number of Louie G’s spotted around Brooklyn and the other boroughs (and far beyond--down the eastern seaboard and, I’ve heard recently, Florida). Even though ice cream seems to be the product of choice for most people, it is to thank the powers-that-be they are still selling Italian ices. I’m not a big fan of their particular brand of ice cream but, luckily, the lemon ice remains special; tart and tasty and a really nice splash of oral frigidity on a hot summer day.

I’m not too happy that a double dip (shown here) now costs $3.50 but I guess we can, as usual, blame the current economic downturn for the (over)price of even this little slice of Italian/Americana. Anyway, as you probably suspect, I just got home from Uncle Louie G’s with sticky fingers and a cool uvula.

A Dubious Dubya Dis-Honor

I’ve mainly steered clear of discussing anything political here but this one kind of tickles me. A measure seeking to commemorate President Bush's years in office by putting his name on a San Francisco sewage plant has qualified for the November ballot. The measure, which was certified last Thursday, would rename the Oceanside Water Pollution Control Plant the George W. Bush Sewage Plant. Supporters say the idea is to commemorate the mess Bush will leave behind on January 20. Although I’m amused by this and agree with the reasoning, I am more inclined to back a more appropriate movement, to wit: never, ever name anything after Mr. Bush. Let him have his library--all presidents get them even though they all tend to whitewash personal reputations and completely acid-clean anything negative in their displays and, as far as I know, their archives.

I remember a choice Gary Larsen “Far Side” cartoon that showed a smattering of people standing around the edge of a huge hole in the ground. A nearby sign said something like “The Richard Nixon Monument.” (Google fails me on the exactitude of this quote.) So this idea for a salute-to-Bush is not a new one but, although fun, it probably shouldn’t have gone as far as it has. Let Bush’s legacy be monumental silence and, anyway, I think the “Oceanside Water Pollution Control Plant” has a certain attractive ring to it. As it now stands, according to their website, the OWPCP offers tours which “are available monthly, on one Saturday each month on a first-come-first-serve basis, for up to a maximum of 35 people--including adults and children at least 10 years of age. Please NO flip flops, sandals, clogs, open shoes, open toe shoes, shorts, short pants, or short skirts.” Oh my, it sounds like it's time to break out the hip boots. Sort of like watching our dear president break wind on YouTube.

A superhero on wry

This is Buster Larkin, the first superhero in the on-going saga of my life; comix version (click on the graphic to embiggen). I have decided that Buster is 51 and currently the highly regarded proprietor of a mid-luxury bed-and-breakfast in Fire Island Pines, NY. For rates or other personal information feel free to ask by clicking on "comments" below and leaving a message. Buster may, or may not, get back to you.

Buster is the handiwork of a cool dude named Steve MacIsaac who has broken into the field of "adult" comics, although I understand he hasn't yet given up his day job: http://www.stevemacisaac.com/

Our collaboration was fun, Steve, and I thank you; we'll have to try this again soon.

'bot Love

Movie of the year; animated or not.

WALL-E rocks!

MLB.com on the make

This is the logo for the upcoming Major League Baseball All Star Game. I saw this sometime last year and I distinctly remember thinking, well, “bleh.” What happened to imagination? What happened to art? Obviously the design choice was made by corporate committee with no one on the board willing to take any sort of imaginative leap. How bleh can you get? Here’s how:

The publicity for the game, which is taking place at the old, historic, storied Yankee Stadium on July 15th, is just now kicking into high gear. As part of the hype…er, I mean, celebration the city has given permission for 42 of these 8-1/2 foot tall replicas of the statue of liberty (30 of them painted to represent all of the teams in Major League Baseball) to be placed hither and yon around the city. The remaining 12 will be dedicated to other aspects of baseball including the one shown here, commemorating the old Yankee stadium, which is soon to be razed. Before you leap to defend these things as examples of “art,” please know that you can purchase 9” replicas of any or all of them at the MLB.com store for $24.99 each, plus shipping. Bleh.

Chez Peebs et fermer

I think my sole claim to popularity is that I have a small extra bedroom in New York City. It’s cozy and clean (acceptably so at least) and my place in Brooklyn is on a nice, quiet street in a nice, quiet neighborhood (with occasional fire trucks to rattle the brain and help you remember where you are) and is only a block and a half from a very convenient subway stop: if you’re lucky with quick train arrival it’s 20 minutes and you’re in the heart of Manhattan or 20 minutes and you’re eatin’ a dog at Nathan’s in Coney Island. The best thing about this extra space is that I can be my own grumpy self and guests just have to put up with me because it is, after all, my home turf. Most people seem to accept these terms rather than pay with the lives of their first born to obtain a decent hotel room in New York.

Anyway, my little extra bedroom is out of commission right now because my bathroom is undergoing a bit of an excavation/ renovation. The 1,000-year-old bathtub has to be broken up and hauled away to make room for the installation of a complete new shower stall. I understand from the contractor that the new stall floor has now been constructed and that a demolition crew will be on its way soon to create the space for it and to reinforce the floor; after which the new stall base will be, well, installed. All new plumbing with brand new fixtures will immediately, I hope, ensue. The second phase will be the installation of new tile. Once the grout dries I’ll be back in business as a curmudgeon-at-large in charge of some cheap attractive space for passers-through. Here’s the keys; the subway is on the corner; don’t wake me up when you get home. If you’re a really a good guest and bring your own soap I might make coffee in the morning. But don’t count on it.

Update Sunday, July 27, 2008: Four weeks it took! With a combination of mismanagement, mismeasurements and missed appointments I'm mystified how any contractors stay in business. The quality of the work is adequate but the aggravations and annoyances linger because of the mess left behind; yet another mystery. Doesn't anybody use dropcloths anymore? I spent yesterday afternoon scrubbing and cleaning but also admiring the clear glass doors of the new shower stall. Tonight, after waiting 24 hours (as directed) I can give it a dry run...which is odd, since I will emerge wet and rumpled and, hopefully, euphoric from the tingling result of my fabulous new shower head.