If Flickr Ever Worked Correctly

I had taken a picture of something rather odd on the subway, and Gothamist.com put it up, what do you think?

Great Weekend

Saturday was fun, Heather had a brunch/wedding gown try-outs all day, and I did apt maintenence stuff (read: played Xbox) all day.

Sunday was also great, we went to a park wherein I found a lamp that had fallen off its post, much like the one pictured here, and I decided to take it back home to a) make a chandelier b) pot a plant inside it or c) sell it on eBay. it' pretty big, weighs like 45 pounds and looks cool, but i better figure out what to do with it, pronto.

the weekend was also peppered with games of Scrabble (thanks Nicci!) and warm coffee house hanging-out, and shrimp fetuccini. the freaking Broncos lost to the Chargers, which means the Chargers are probably contenders for the Superbowl (damn them), and the poker club i play with on Wall Street was interviewed for the local news.

Very Niiiice

Heather and I saw Borat last night, and we have never laughed so hard in a theatre in my life. if you have the means, i highly recommend it, it is so choice.

in other news, plans are moving forward with invitations and save-the-dates. we are getting the proofs in directly. work is great too, the city is bustling and i've recently made a couple of rough YouTube commercials in my spare time, and uploaded my brother-in-law's run-in with a snake in Vegas. what do you think?

36 Hours in Luray, Virginia, OR I'm a Dumb Motherfucker, and I Vote!

The past weekend will prove to be one of the most wondrous of dinger-fest-bachelor parties in the annals of Queensbury bachelors: playing hooky from work, meeting in Jason's Park Slope apartment, getting picked up by Bryan and his rented minivan with Jaron in-tow and driving a good 7 hours to a cabin in Luray, Virginia for 36 hours of beer-drinking, meat-cooking, baseball-hitting action.

It was my first trip to the South and among the more interesting things (besides the gorgeous pastures and mountains) were the "One Man, One Woman" voting initiative sign, the "On marriage and homosexuality" marquee of the local church, gasoline was $1.99, and camoflauge was this year's juicy couture. Also, the locals were probably the ugliest race of people I've ever seen, a discovery that made us thank our lucky stars we decided agin' a stripper for the party.

I voted early this morning in Bushwick; an almost deserted senior center served as my polling place, which was thankfully just behind my building. I came face to face with an ancient voting machine comprised of a series of levers and switches, that probably was used during the Roosevelt adminstrations.

We'll see how the mid-terms shape up the future of this country, if they haven't lost my vote by then. And I wonder if that sign in Luray, or the church marquee will work its magic and drive the voters of Virginia to keep oppression legal.

Halloween: the Halloweening

despite St. Louis winning the world series, the weekend was still pretty good.

friday night we checked out Pat's new place and dined on sushi in Brooklyn Heights.

saturday heather and i went to the Fairway grocers in Redhook, which is a wonderful day trip from Bushwick. we also watched Shaun of the Dead to kick off the Halloween season. (note: earlier in the week we watched Silence of the Lambs, which was the unofficial start of our Halloween moviefest).

and then yesterday, after watching The Departed (the Scorsese flick, which is really, really good and bloody) we watched Dawn of the Dead while eating Indian food.

this Halloween season is all about Zombies in apartment 8, though we are scheduled to watch a ghost movie on Halloween proper. Next season i think we'll go with the vampire/werefolf motif, with some fava beans and a nice chianti.

Jessica Simpson, Resident Lizard

during my daily you-tubing i came upon the latest jessica simpson music video, during which she sings with such passion that her face became so contorted, i nearly jumped on the Lachey bandwagon. between the lack of talent and the feaux passion in her lip syncing, it makes for a very poor video, you see?

Homeward Bound

We spent last weekend in Boulder, a whirlwind visit to see our wedding venue, taste the menu and meet the staff who will make the big day function (see pic)

It was so, so nice to go back to Colorado, it made me want to stay.

Things that also happend recently:

I found $20 on 15th Street
I lost my new Razr phone in a cab (they of course 'haven't found it')
I attended a taping of Jeopardy at Radio City Music Hall (and much to Jason's chagrin, Alex Trebek was NOT an asshole)
I ate Korean BBQ eel
I enjoyed a visit from a soon-to-be cousin-in-law
I rued the rain
We celebrated Dana's quarter-century mark with Cuban food
I had a cold
The Broncos have been kicking ass


oh and the President completely wiped his ass with 8 centuries of habeus corpus

I'm Very Baffling to my Friends

Picture 2
Originally uploaded by dimshine.

36 Hours in Queensbury, New York, Redux

I spent another weekend in the place i call hometown, to go to my old high school's homecoming game with a buddy of mine, Ken Liberty. By some fluke of poor planning the Queensbury Spartans were playing the Burnt Hills Spartans, to whom they lost 42-20.

I ran into many old teachers and coaches and was beguiled by their memory of a football season in 1997 that sent we Spartans to the "Dome to Bring the Title Home."*

While much of the high school remains as I had left it, there are new editions and wings and even display cases which showcase the stars from yesteryear who have gone on to some notoriety...

The weekend was just resplendent with fond memories and laughs, updates and train travel along the Hudson River, which is beguiling in and of itself.






*no title was ever brought home.

Everyday

Everyday i take the L train to work. my stop is Union Square. i board the train at the DeKalb station in Brooklyn, and while this might not mean a lot to the average reader, it means i am about 10 stops away from my destination. this is about the maximum number of stops one wants between one's self and work. had it been eleven stops, my life would be vastly different.

on the L train, there is a 50/50 chance of me finding a seat. the train either arrives full or empty, and it's nearly impossible to predict its capacity upon arrival.

when i sit, i am able to close my eyes and sleep for 15 to 20 minutes, or failing that i watch the people enter the board the train. the closer and closer we get to Williamsburg, the more fashionably eccentric the people become and i realize that yes that girl IS wearing a green necktie as a bandana, yes that guy IS 6 foot 1 and skinnier than the pole he's holding, yes that girl IS wearing fishnet stalkings to work as a barista, and yes that guy spent 45 minutes to get his hair to look like he just rolled out of bed.

upon arrival at Union Square about 80% of the train's riders disembark and make their way up the stairs en masse. i try to usurp the crowds and head to the unpopular stairs which would normally transfer me to the NRQ trains, but bypass the trains and pop up the relatively deserted stairs and find myself in the midst of union square proper.

i pass by a dog park that reeks and begs to be cleaned with rain, local artists setting up their works for sale (most of which are really quite shitty [i'm talking portraits of J-Lo and Fergie]), and three days a week a farmer's market. sometimes i buy apples and peruse the bonzai trees for 5 bucks and think always of the Karate Kid movies (2 and 3).

I usually pass the same homeless man sleeping in a doorway, always wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned, bald, bearded. occasionally i fall into Au Bon Pain to get a bagel or a yogurt. there is always the same couple sitting by the big front window, an older white man and a younger asian woman. they are always reviewing documents on the table and i wonder what it is they are discussing: a thesis? real estate? a divorce?

i pass a deli that sells flowers outside, always a rainbow in white buckets.

the empire state building, which i can see from the DeKalb station all the way in Brooklyn, is stoic and silent every morning. i watch it as i walk north on 5th avenue to my building thinking this is my life, and it is wonderful

On an Island in the Sun...

i know it's been a while since i rapped at ya, but life has been just too good to blog about:

at work: i've moved to the 10th floor in celebration of my awsome proofreading skillls, to a rather large office (a rectangular cubicle normally meant for 2 people) and am now being paid a salary to drink coffee, write fiction and listen to amazing music.

at home: Heather's truck from colorado was delivered to us by my brother who drove it cross-country with his girlfriend. it will be nice to NOT have to rent a car from now on, and it wil be nice to NOT have to shlep stuff from the Home Depot via gypsy cab.

on the wedding front: after much wrangling, we've finally picked a date and venue. (September 2, 2007 at the Boulderado Hotel, in Boulder, CO). our collective sigh of relief could be heard across Brooklyn.

heather and i also attended a wedding on Long Island for former Sphere guitarist Sean Senical. it was a classy affair at the Thatched Cottage in Centerport, and just a wonder to see my friend get married, this man who i used to know as a 15-year-old goofball.

on the meat front: heather's parents sent us a case of frozen steaks and other meats from local ranches in Colorado, which we were able to grill on the new grill heather gave to me for an engagement present. it works wonderfully, the meat was flawless, and i plan to grill anything i can from now on, including eggs.

on the facial hair front: in preparation for winter and spousal sexiness, i have taken to growing a beard. after 4 weeks it's coming in pretty well, though the jury is out when it comes to my friends and family. heather, however, likes it, and i'm a sucker for her opinion.

Bon Voyage, or, The Children's Crusade...

This weekend I said goodbye to my 'freelance' (read: Temp) status at work and was hired on, outright. Goodbye timecards, hello benefits. Also, Rob had his going-away party replete with girly drinks and manly men. He's going to Ireland to live and work for 18 months, and he will be sorely missed.

The weekend was wonderful, depsite (or because of) the cooling weather and the rainy-day ambience of a subdued Bushwick. Also, do you remember that radio program I attended at which I met Kurt Vonnegut? Here it is, I asked the first studio question at about minute 9:43....

Swingline

I'm not even kidding, someone at work took my stapler!

36 Hours in Queensbury, New York

After work on Friday, Heather and I and Pat and Mark jumped in a rented car and high-tailed it for the place of our auspicious high school years, Queensbury. In what is turning out to be an annual stay at Camp Moynihan on Glen Lake in tandem with a late summer Saratoga Race Track excursion/gamble-fest, we again had a wonderful time in all aspects of the mini-getaway. The lake was warm and inviting for swimming and though the weather was mostly rainy, that didn't stop me from turning a $2 bet on a 44-1 longshot into a 91 dollar payday! Nor did it stop us menfolk from another dinger-fest/homerun tournament in which I hit a grand total of 0 dingers and earned a gross (literally 144) amount of mosquito bites. I am like sugar to them! The rain didn't stop our imbibing of many a beer and consumption of pork in various forms, it didn't stop us from laughing all night or my chastising Mike and Pat for not knowing who Jimmy Carter's brother is.


It was nice to hear crickets again, it was nice to swim in a natural body of water that didn't smell funny, it was nice to get away, but it was also nice to come back.

Begin Year 2

But I forgot to tell you that we've been here over a year now, and yes we have decided to stay put, renewing our lease, appreciateing our new jobs and situations and letting our sentences run on and on and on.

The neighborhood (Bushwick) has really changed since we've moved in. It's like every able-bodied hipster who doesn't want to pay Williamsburg (aka Manhattan, Jr.) rent is moving down the L train. I originally liked my barrio for its gritty nature, ethnic monolithism (hispanic) and sense of distance. But the recent newcomers provide an interesting influx of character.

This past week my friend Hart has come to visit. I met him in 6th grade in Iowa City; we used to sneak out in the middle of night and try to meet girls. He was the first of my crew to touch a boob. He's awesome.

The Lost Month

I've not blogged in a month, and what has transpired? I've been fishing off of Sheepshead Bay in South Brooklyn, which is a wonderful time that enables me to fulfill my dream of kicking back with a beer on a boat while being shat upon by gulls; I've attended a 4th of July Party on a Williamsburg rooftop (courtesy of Mark) overlooking the East River fireworks (courtesy of Macy's); a friend from high school, Ken, visited (and we went fishing); I've been trained at work on Acrobat, and self-trained myself in preliminary skills of Photoshop, iMovie, and Garageband (ps, i love Macs now); my friend from college, Louis, visited me, which entailed much Indian food and basketball letdowns; Heather interviewed twice and was hired as project manager at Kaplan in a matter of 7 days; and I joined a poker league on Wall Street with other people who just want to play nice and get better. I have a feeling much of the rest of this blog will be poker-related. Beware.

For instance, everyone has a poker nickname, what's mine?

Last Day, Birthday, Independece Day Extravaganza!

Last Friday was Heather’s birthday, and the gifts I gave her over the course of our mini vacation will remain a private affair between we two. But suffice it to say that I had wanted to make this weekend our best in a long time. Because of the peculiar way in which the Fourth played with the calendar, we had a 4.5-DAY weekend, and so were able to celebrate Heather’s last day of teaching, her birthday, my impending full-time status at work, Independence Day, and most of all, our engagement, all in one big extravaganza.

I had many ideas as to how to propose; one involved a suite at the Plaza, one involved a picnic and a kite, but really I knew that she would just like a simple, private, organic experience and so after work on Friday (it was a half day) we got some sandwiches and took a cab to the boat house in Central Park.

We rented a little row boat for two, and I rowed us here and there until I found the perfect spot. We finished our lunch and I read to her a letter I had written for her birthday. The letter purported to be a salute to the idiosyncrasies I adore in her, though in reality it was a preamble to a question I have wanted to ask her for some time.

You can see the red dot on the picture here which marks the secluded alcove wherein I surprised her with the ring my father gave to my mother 30 years ago asking the same question, “Will you marry me?’

And so we are engaged, and life is just beginning!

I'm Rather Taken with this Song

Cusp

Main Entry: turning point
Part of Speech: noun 2
Definition: critical juncture
Synonyms: climax, crisis, critical mass, critical point, crossroads, crucial moment, crucial period, crunch, cusp, decisive moment, defining moment, emergency, high noon, hinge, kairotic moment, moment of truth*, nexus, peripeteia, pivotal moment, point of no return, race against time, rising action, turn of the tide, when push comes to shove, zero hour*
Source: Roget's New Millennium™ Thesaurus, First Edition (v 1.2.1)
Copyright © 2006 by Lexico Publishing Group, LLC. All rights reserved.
* = informal or slang

Last Goodbye

Douglas Harry McDowell with great-grandson

My grandpa passed away on the morning of the 11th. It was a Sunday; he was born on a Sunday too. So it goes.

His name was Douglas Harry McDowell. Harry was his middle name because his mother’s maiden name was Harry. He’s from that generation. He was born in Chicago in 1926. There were many pictures of him as a child, and while I was gathered with my family for his wake last weekend, we noted how the photos abruptly stopped after his childhood. “Well the Depression came,” was an answer muttered and we all understood: there was no money for frivolity, photographs being the most frivolous things at the time. There was a picture of the house they had lost in Illinois, on the back there’s a note reading, ‘we paid $400 down.” He’s from that generation.

The photos picked up again in the 1940’s, after the war. He was in the army air corps in the occupying force in France; he fixed the ball turrets in B29 bombers. In his black and white photos he looked very handsome in his uniform, all of 20 years old. He stands in front of the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triumph, stands in front of his bombers, he stands with friends in front of a base, his uniform pristine: tie tucked into shirt, a short smirk on his face, just a bit confident that his country had done the right thing. He’s from that generation.

He told me a story once about his airfield in France. He was walking the perimeter fence one day with an orange in his hand, and a girl stood on the other side of the fence looking at him. He gave her his orange, and having not seen proper fruit in 4 years of Nazi occupation, she cried.

He was good with his hands, and after he left the service he worked repairing cash registers and typewriters in Iowa. He had twin sons who grew and had children of their own, who also had children of their own. After his retirement he made a hobby of refurbishing ancient radios and woodwork.

He loved garage sales and would bring things home, sneak them past my grandmother and keep them in the basement. But she knew.

My grandpa was simply quite wonderful. I had only known him to be kind and generous, and I knew that I would miss him when he passed. Four years ago he was diagnosed with liver cancer, and we all knew it was just a matter of time for a man his age. He gave me a check for $50 the year of his diagnosis, for helping move his radios from the garage to the basement. I never cashed it, and today it is the only thing I have of his bearing his signature. I kept it because his name was worth more.

I cried the night he checked into the hospice and I was too drained to cry the next morning when he died. It happened quickly, as he slept, which is a wonderful way to die. I knew the funeral was going to be sad, not tragic, but I wasn’t prepared for this enormous grief. And as my father eulogized his own, I cried when he said, “The last thing he said to me was ‘I want to take a nap.’”

A few years ago I helped my friend Jay and his family move from a town north of Denver to a town south of Denver. His little girl, Brittany, had to say goodbye to a friend she had seen every day of her young life. As her friend walked away, Brittany started crying with her own sorrow of a friendship ended by the circumstance of geography. “It’s a new feeling for her, eh?” I asked her mother. “It is,” she said.

When you’re 6 years old you have a lot of emotions to yet experience. At 26 I had naively thought I was finished learning how to feel, but my grandpa’s death has proven to me otherwise. I’ve been heart broken and depressed, sad and pitiful, but I have never known this feeling: so absolute and pure, genuine and grave. I’m learning now what real grief is, I am learning how to mourn someone I loved, and even after his funeral I am not done crying over his loss.

It’s odd to know I won’t be able to see him again, hug him and say ‘I love you’ first because otherwise it’d only be silently understood. It’s odd to wonder what his death was like for him, and what he could have been feeling himself as he passed. It seems we’re never fully learned when it comes to emotion, and that is a discomforting thought.

But I smile now as I recall my memories of him:

He’d let me watch him brush his teeth when I visited him in the summers of my childhood. He always made me laugh because he’d have to take out his top dentures and set them on the sink and I thought he was like George Washington.

He used a magnifying glass to read the paper sometimes, and I’d use to it to burn ants in his backyard.

I’d play with his old radios in the basement, pretending to be in a submarine, and he’d come down and show us how they worked.

He’d get cut off mid sentence by my grandmother sometimes, and he’d just swallow his sentence and tilt his head with a little nod, and while everyone’s attention was now drawn to my grandma, I’d keep focused on him and note the look on his face as if he was saying, “Well you go ahead, honey, you tell it, it’s not like it was my story or anything.”

He drove with both feet.

He had a dent in his head from when they had to remove a small growth decades ago.

He was hard of hearing, but wouldn’t get a hearing aid.

He said “warsh” instead of “wash.”

He always carried a small pocketknife and used it to cut an apple at lunch or tighten a screw. My grandma gave it to me before I came back to New York, knowing he would have wanted me to have it.

He loved us all, without ever having to say it. He was from that generation.