Sticks and Stones

In an editorial a couple of weeks ago The New York Times, while deploring the current idiocy extant in the New York State Senate, called Pedro Espada, Jr. a “slippery mediocrity.” The juxtaposition of those two words has stuck in my brain ever since. Somehow they are not only exceptionally descriptive but deliver a punch that something like “stupid asshole” never could. I don’t know if these words together were coined for Mr. Espada (it seems like George W. might have been appropriately smacked in the jowls with them first) but it’s poor Pedro who took the blow this time. Pow! Right in the kisser; and from the prestigious NY Times (debatably the most influential newspaper in the world) to boot!

Just prior to this my favorite descriptive words were “wise, Latina woman,” spoken publicly (eight years ago) by Supreme Court nominee Sonia Sotomayor and for the last month continually quoted by unwise, white, middle-to-elderly Republican men, it had a certain ring to it I liked. I recently applied it to a hunky, Ecuadorian male of my acquaintance but nobody understood the reference so what the hell good is it? But I digress and continue to dwell on “slippery mediocrity.”

How would you like to have that on your resume? Mr. Espada (representing a district in the Bronx) is now the New York State Senate Majority Leader, which he obtained by a coup of timing and basic political chicanery while flip-flopping between Democratic and Republican majorities; siding with one and then the other and then back to the first. It was so mind boggling that one can’t help but think this may be typical of the general caliber of the Senate as a whole.

I’ve been called some interesting things in my time, mostly in the guise of taking me down a peg or two but my battered ego always survived and I’m a better man for it. Water off a duck’s back, as the saying goes. But this! This “slippery mediocrity” has glue in it and isn’t going anywhere soon.

Hopefully Mr. Espada will take the high road (yeah, right) and not run for reelection next year but if he does his opponents will certainly have a quotable quote for Espada-bashing. Maybe a wise Latina woman can do the job.
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Update June 21, 2009: The latest journalistic flapdoodle to catch my eye was on the sports page wherein Tom Watson, the 59-year-old golfer, was called "destiny's wrinkled darling" as it became a possibility that he might win the British Open in Turnberry, Scotland. Maybe it's better than being a slippery mediocrity but not by much.

Sticky Love

I LOVE THESE STAMPS! Look at 'em...how could they be more perfect? The choice of background colors is fantastic; the individual drawings are just sloppy enough and even the choice of font fits the tone. Even though my affection for The Simpsons has been pretty much supplanted by Family Guy these days; the Simpsons and their bizarre insouciance are still the template for all that came after. I love it that the US Postal Service agrees.

Nowhere to go but UP

UP might be my favorite Pixar movie so far. Maybe second to Monsters, Inc. (in my opinion their most imaginative film to date), but still right up there in the top three; The Incredibles being the third (debatable) fav. They are all wonderful for different reasons and it’s astounding to me how Pixar never seems to drop the ball. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that UP and Monsters are directed by the same person, Pete Doctor. The man has a Midas touch and is unafraid to pander to adult sensibilities and lets the under-12 crowd fend for itself which is, in a way, showing a lot of respect for the acumen of that age bracket. (I should insert here that I hated the trailer for Toy Story 3; talk about pandering to future merchandising.)

Like all Pixar products the perfection is in the details in UP and my own boy scout background has a great deal to do with my appreciation of it. And the variety of merit badges that can be earned being a Wilderness Explorer just tickled me to death. I do wonder what one has to do to earn the badge showing the radiation symbol and, even more intriguing, the mushroom cloud (I’m pretty sure that’s what it was). Also there is just so much going on in the background that, so far, two viewings are probably just not enough to notice them all. It had to be pointed out to me that at the end of the movie the zeppelin is moored in a handicapped parking space curbside. And I loved it when Russell, our intrepid scout, pointed out that South America is in America, only SOUTH. And his merit badge in zoology gave him the knowledge that there are no tigers in Peru. Another intriguing aspect is that Russell is obviously Asian but nothing is made of that fact and also, although his home life isn’t the best (absentee working-father and Phyliss, the mother-figure in his life, is not really his mother), he is not a neglected child by any means. Nothing Dickens going on here.

I think this is the first animated film I’ve seen where there really is true human evil afoot, with revenge, menace, madness, and murderous mayhem as part of its theme. (The witch in Snow White doesn’t count, does she?) Alongside the cuddly talking dog (named Dug) and the outright beauty of some of the land and skyscapes, UP is really an unusual movie and not just because it’s animated. It has heart, hope and redemption. And, weepy as this sounds, true long-lasting love as a theme ain’t too far behind. Geriatric sympathy and respect for the elderly is sure a welcome difference in spite of the sore backs.

UP is exceptionally clever; astoundingly artful and has many laughs, both visual and verbal and makes you feel good because of the sunny-side-of-the-street ending. Of course there’s always the fact that, despite the many close-calls and dangerous misadventures, you know darn well that nothing really bad is going to happen to all of your heroes: human, canine or avian. This is as it should be and please, Mr. Lassiter, no sequels for this one.

It's What's For Dinner

"The Finest Sausage and Italian Specialties Since 1900
Faccio’s Pork Stores Inc."

I’m not much for hanging out at butcher shops. In fact I’m not much for food shopping period. Key Food supermarket is usually my culinary source for all things edible. The one exception is Faicco’s, which I think is the Ferrari of butcher shops in NYC. It’s not all that handy to my neighborhood and means a special trip, being way out on 11th Avenue in Brooklyn (there’s also a branch on Bleecker in Manhattan) but it’s worth it if only for the visuals. The store is not that large but it does a huge amount of business because the meat is so fresh; the butchers are infinitely friendly and there’s a lot of ‘em. Yeah, you have to take a number but the wait is never that long and I’ve seen as many as a dozen men serving customers when it gets crowded.

All the meat just looks so damned fresh and it proves the axiom that you should never shop when you’re hungry because you can count on buying double or triple what you intended. And they not only have meat but can supply dinner-sized (for two supposedly but, well…) containers of Italian specialties like lasagna, baked ziti and manicotti; sometimes frozen but often fresh out of the oven.

Also the rice balls and potato croquettes are freshly baked right on the premises and they have to constantly replenish the supply because they are so good they fly out of the store so quickly.

Of course you can buy all kinds of packaged pasta and all the stuff that goes on it but the main attraction at Faicco’s is the fabulous meat counter with all that perfectly aligned display of beef, pork, lamb and various other, sometimes unidentifiable, cuts of edible flesh; a veritable carnivores dream. Oh, I know what you’re thinking: Nothing is cheap at Faicco’s, but the extra dough you spend you can apply to the artistry of the display and an appreciation for its authenticity. Unlike the High Line, see below, this is a stop your Aunt Millie might like to see. A slice of Brooklyn; a cut above the rest. Where the elite come to greet the meat. Etc.

A (short) walk in the park

It seemed like a good thing to do today; the rain having deposited its last drop for the weekend. But approaching the entrance to the newly opened High Line Park I was rather taken aback by the people waiting in line to gain entrance. I can’t recall ever needing to wait in line to get into a public park. But I had made the commitment to subway over to the far west side of Manhattan and there was no going back; so I dutifully did my, well, duty and queued-up like the good citizen I am. It was a mere bag-of-shells however, and I needn’t have worried because within five minutes I was trudging up the 45 stairs.

As soon as I lowered my expectations I realized that the High Line is really pretty nice. Thirty feet above street level this manmade urban haven (which opened to the public about a month ago) was built from scratch atop an abandoned railroad trestle and runs from Gansevoort St. up to West 20th and meanders back and forth just as the track did when it was in use. As a matter of fact the designers deliberately left a few sections of the (rusty) track and they can be glimpsed through the 100 species (it says here) of flora ensconced along the length of the park. Might I say at this point that our current tropical weather has made them flourish almost to the point of obstructionism. I’m sure a development not planned in advance.

The urban views are a bit less than spectacular; after all it’s only 30 feet up, but you get an occasional glimpse of the Hudson River; a birds (low flying) eye view of the numbered streets as you make your way north, and lots of undistinguished rooftops of what is still a mostly industrialized neighborhood. The park actually runs under three buildings; one a fairly high-end hotel, and two that were obviously there when the railroad was in use. Along the way I counted at least 30 building sites in various stages of construction and I suspect the existence of the High Line might even be influencing some of this influx.

But viewing architecture is not the present thrust of this park anyway or the reason for taking the stroll which is, obviously, an easy one being only the equivalent of about eight short city blocks. Right now one’s main focus is on the park itself. Along with the aforementioned rusty tracks and plants there are some pretty wonderfully designed benches and little off-shoots of walkway to take a rest from the constantly flowing stream of humankind. Actually the benches are way cool; very sleek and, dare I say, contemporary with some being lounge-chair shaped and very inviting for a sit-down even if you’re not inclined to recline at that particular moment. I sat on one just because I could but moved on fairly quickly. I didn’t notice anybody really lollygagging around; making a day of it. There is also an area of bleacher seating floating over 10th Avenue so you can watch vehicular traffic flowing below; I guess some people enjoy that. Anyway, I can see taking the Times crossword with me next time and finding a comfortable spot to spit into the breeze for a half-hour, if moved to do so.

The second section of the High Line is under construction as we speak (you can look through the fence) and the walkway will continue up to West 30th upon completion. A third section is planned but the funds have yet to be allocated and it might be a while for that to happen since the first two sections cost in the neighborhood of $144 million and pockets aren’t as deep as they used to be. Well, duh..

Overall the High Line might not be the hottest destination to take your Aunt-Millie-from-out-of-town but, still, it’s different enough to want to share with the more, er, sophisticated (horrible word) of your acquaintanceships.

Did I mention the benches, lounges and bleachers are really beautiful? Doing a little Goggle-research I learned they are manufactured using tens of thousands of board feet of a Brazilian and Peruvian rainforest wood called ipe. Of course this has raised the ire of our green friends and I am certainly sympathetic with their outrage but I guess it’s too late now for Section One. Do I hear recycled plastic lumber in our future?