Gates, biking in Manhattan, STRAIN

I love working at Strand. I love having a place to go to everyday. I love getting paid. I love that I don't have to be there until 1:30. Most of the people there are very funny and friendly. There are miles and miles of books. An awesome new floor of Kids books and Art and Architecture books.

There are some things that I stress about.

1) not being witty enough. many of the people who shop and work at strand are
either very knowledgeable or very quick with a joke or both. Me, less so.

2) screwing things up. I am afraid, based on my past experience that
given time, somehow, something will go terribly wrong.

3) I am old...not
getting any younger and I am working still at an entry level job. I am okay with
that but I wonder if other people consider that strange.

All in all though I think this job is good for me and I feel happy to have it.

Saturday, I started biking to work so that I could go by the park and see Jeanne-Claude and Christo's gates. Biking to work doesn't take much longer than the subway. The exercise is good but the traffic and exhaust are a bit stressful. for the most part, drivers are alert and amiable towards cyclists but it is still an hour of high drama.

the gates are impressive. As someone at the bookstore said, "Its a happening, a be in. "

There will be detractors. Some people will groan about how they cost 20 million dollars...like it was a waste of money...as if that was taxpayer money.

The color is reminiscent of the Dali Lama's orange robe. The shape creates doorways in thousands of invisible planes. The scale is so large, one's

perception of Central Park is altered. Walking under the curtained gates is nothing less than magical. I also love knowing that they are here for a fleeting moment. Like butterflies.

"Today Eeyore was busily concerned with the fit of his new cap. And since his standard was not the caps appearance but how it felt against his skin, it was not until, after a long series of adjustments,he finally pulled it down over his ears and finally his eyeballs that he discovered the final sense of stability and comfort."

Kenzaburo Oe, teach us to out grow our maddness

Cavedweller, Chisholm Trail, Bank Street Method

Ugh...woke up after five hours sleep to the sound of the garbage truck honking repeatedly for someone to move thier car. Started my period. Started to take a shower but the water was ice cold. Called Edy (the super)...voice mail full...called 311 to file another futile complaint with the city.

Socorro and I saw two screenings last night.

Chisholm '72 by Shola Lynch--The story of Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm's bid for The democratic nomination in 1972. The first minute of the film I thought, "Why have I never seen this? Why is this woman unknown to me? Why are voices so clear and reasonable, so absent from televised politics? Why was Chisholm un-invited to participate in the televised debate?"

These are painful questions to explore because they expose my great ignorance and the realities of american history.

It's no secret that women and people of color have had to struggle for rights in these United States. But even now, something is not right with our election process. My government professor at ACC was very passionate about the need for election reform...campaign finance reform. He spent a great deal of time explaining why it would be difficult for people in office to bring about election reform and why nothing in politics mattered more than election reform.

The first presidential race I remember seeing on tv was in 1976. When the peanut farmer with the big grin would defeat Ford. I remember watching the election results with my family. I was seven and my brothers were 9 and 13. My parents were very impartial, explaining the process to us. I don't think they even told us who they voted for.

I also remember the huge circus that preceed the election in which Carter was portrayed as a peanut with a grin...this was all I knew about him...peanut and grin vs. Ford the man with the same name as the car company. I was Shocked, surprised and amazed that peanut with grin could defeat a real person.

The other film was called Cavedweller, a story about a woman who returns to a rural town to reclaim her family after several years away. She ends up caring for her dying ex-husband while getting to know her estranged teenaged daughters. It was a good story, well acted and emotionally complex, simply told. If there are any connections to be made between these two films for me its that american life can be hard and imperfect and somehow still good.

Shirley Chisholm passed away this year...leaving an excellent example of a life worth living.

On the way back home, Socorro explained the Bank Street method of education to me.

Code of Hammurabi

Someone asked me to help them find a book about the Code of Hammurabi. I had only the vaguest recollection of what this was. So I googled it....first written code of laws...Babylon...death penalties...slaves...property rights...all that good stuff I guess there were three classes of people(what's new?)

I think the ACLU might have a problem with some of these laws.

I have the day off and my neighbor Socorro invited me to see a free film at the Tribeca festival...not the actual festival...that's in May...which reminds me that I need to finish taping the five minute video I was doing about her and log it so I can sign up for the MNN editing class.
Sigh...and I have to do something about this pile of laundry.

Later, one (very intoxicated) person asked me to recommend some amusing fiction.

"What's funny? I don't want any of the depressing stuff. Give me something funny."

Hmmm...good question actually...Martin Amis, Eugene Ionesco, Douglas Adams, Kurt Vonnegut and Lynda Barry amuse me, but is that the kind of thing she's looking for? Steve Martin is hilarious as a comedian, but Shop Girl wasn't really funny. She said she likes Elmore Leonard...because he's funny...some people might consider him trash but he makes her laugh.

If you know of any undisputably amusing fiction please share.

Maybe Dave Barry...Can anyone read his stuff and not laugh? Not me...he is definitely what I would consider laugh out loud funny....My mom suggested the sweet potato pie queen...I haven't read it yet...so I can't attest, but the pictures are funny.

Then she kept repeating,"What are the new classics? What do Young People consider the new classics?"

Sheesh...I don't know...Fortunatly, she was quickly off on some new tangent about history.

"What about history? Do you read history?"

I guess a really funny history book would have been just the thing.

What about America, the book...by the daily show people...that is funny in an oh my god, if i didn't laugh I would cry sort of way and it should immediately replace all HBJ texts.

good light

The weather here has been nothing less than perfect the past few days And we've had much more hot water. Feel so clean and warm. It looks like the roommate situation is good too. Bernardo is back from Spain and Z is turning out to be a nice person.She was kind of angry at first about the lack of heat and agua caliente. Eric (the actor) is politically incorrect but entertaining and clean.

Today I am going to work early to meet with some people about starting a non-profit art organization. The person who wanted to turn the project into a for profit real estate management company sent me a hurtful e-mail about why she was dropping out of the group. I am torn between being insulted and being elated. She said in many more words, something like,:

"You are ridiculous and this idea of a non-profit group is doomed. I thought you should know. Good luck in all your future endeavors. --Steph".

I wrote back:

Thanks Stephanie. Good Luck to you too.

B. F. Skinner, Highline, and Maya Lin

What I know about B. F. Skinner and behavioral psychology comes from an intro psych class I took back in1987or 88(trying to type without looking here.) at San Antonio College. The professor was entertaining and made it prettoiuoparrgh! easy for us by giving her "in a nutshell" version of things. So Skinner and behavioralism fell out of fashion with Hitler is what stuck in my head. not a quote but my interpret=etatuion.
So the thought of modern day behavioralists never really occurred to me until I met one today (Sure, I knew there were loads of people studying and practicing marketing and sociology in the most scientific ways possible but I didn't link that with skinner and behavioralism.) This guy at the bookstore was evangelical about behaviorialism. I told him that I was sure it worked but it wasn't how I wanted to view society (Clockwork Orange twitch).

He said, "The truth shall set you free!"

I have been thinking about city spaces that have been left to nature. There is an abandoned building, an old school outside my window that has trees growing inside of it. Today (yesterday) someone bought a photobook about a retired raised trainline, the Highline. The photos were beautiful...beautiful...and beautiful. I think AIA was taking proposals for re-use designs for that site. The question in my mind about these things is fundamentally a question about designing and engineering anything. The action of design, planning, orchestrating, and destroying versus observing, appreciating, enjoying...the age old dichotomy (sp?) of becoming versus being.

In my life lately I have been very much in the mind set of becoming...finding a job...figuring out where to live and what to do. I think this is why I feel so tired. today (yesterday) I realized that I had to stop and just be for a while. I have been trying to create a non-profit group that would buy and renovate a building...Today (yesterday) I realized that I shouldn't worry about making it happen but instead it was ok to sit back and realize that I am doing what I have wanted to do already...the fun has already begun...the party has started...I can stop worrying about what to wear.

observing and appreciation...demanding change...what would Maya Lin do?

blood shot eyes

I am so tired why do I keep waking up so early?

I bought the neruda book. Its full of nice drawings too.

Oda a las cosas

Amo las cosas loca,
locamente.
Me gustan las tenazas,
las terjas'
adoro las tazas
las argollas,
las soperas,
sin hablar, por supuesto,
del sombrero,
Amo
todas las cosas,
no solo
las supremas'
sino
las
infina-
mente
chicas
el dedal'
las espuelas,
los platos,
los floreros.

Ay, alma mia.

Amo
todas
las cosas,
no porque sean
ardientes
o fragantes,
sino porque
esta oceano es el tuyo,
es el mio:
los botones,
las ruedas,
los pequenos
tesoros
olvidados,
los abanicos en
cuyos plumajes
desvanecioel amor
sus azahares,
las copas, los cuchillos,
las tijeras,
todo tiene
en el mango, en el contorno,
la huella
de onos dedos,
de una remota mano
perdida
el lo mas ovidado del olvido.

Yo voy por casas,
calles,
ascensores,
tocando cosas,
divisando objectas
que en secreto ambiciono:
uno proque repica,
otro porque
en tan suave
como la suavidad de una cadera,
otro por sus color de agua porfunda.
otro por su espesor de terciopelo.

Oh rio
irrevocable
de las cosas,
no se dira
que solo ame
los peces,
o plantas de selva y pradera,
que no solo
ame
lo que salta, sube, sobrevive, suspira.
No es verdad:
muchas cosas
me lo dijeron todo.
No solo me tocaron
o las toco mi mano,
sino que acomperion
y fueron para mi tan existentes
que viveron conmigo media vida
y moriran conmigo media muerte.

Christo, friends in NY, five minutes

I didn't think I had anything to write about but in the spirit of writing for writing's sake here i go...unloading thestuff piled up in my psyche like the mound o' laundry on my floor.

I have been thinking about my Mother, I should give her a call. Outside there is the sound of a someone speaking rapidly in Spanish. An engine running. A low voice over a policecar PA. I am practicing typing without looking. May...may...maybe...hmmm...a few...maybe fifteen minutes ago...the engine stopped...about fifteen minues ago some guy rang our door bell asking for Mono...Mono is the street name for Wilson, the father of Vy's baby. Some how I connect the police car outside with the unexpected visitor.

Vy called and left a message on my voice mail a few days ago. She wanted to know if her W-2's had been sent here. They are here. I haven't called her back.

Vy was the first person I met when I moved toNew York. We were pretty good friends for a while. Something happened...some exchanges. Before she even got pregnant. Something about her and Juliana...I went to Ohio for Christmas that year. When I came back they were not very friendly.

I guess she is a friend. I don't have many here. Kathy. Ryan. Vy. Socorro...Bernardo...Eric...Lew...Jeanette...Myrna? What about Adam. For a while Eric (Edy)the super was a good friend...he got kind of possessive and scary though. I was glad when Emma told me she had slept with him and I could confirm that he had lied to me...either that or Emma had lied...I still think he's a good person...mostly...a mostly good person...Edy and Henry were really good friends...at least I thought they were...sometimes here its hard to tell who is a genuine friend.

Yesterday Christo signed books at Strand. Lew, Jeanette and Myrna came in to see him. I didn't go up to see him. I couldn't think of what to say. I had that deer in headlights sort of brain freeze. I thought of something later. I could have asked him why he chose pvc...Matt asked if we wanted books signed...I didn't...I couldn't really afford one and I didn't really desire one. I told Saki I am very impressed by his work...not nostalgic or sentimental but...WOW! His work is impressive...It occurred to me this morning that I have never actually seen his sculptures
...heard tales...seen pictures...watched video...but I haven't seen one...they are very...ephemeral? temporary? fugitive? Fleeting? Huge and fleeting. Watching the DVD, I was impressed by how accurately the conceptual drawings matched the finished products.

Now here in Central Park, I can see one upclose and for two weeks. Maybe I will be nostalgic and sentimental then.

Five minutes has turned into an hour.

Utrecht, Neruda, and Oe

Yesterday morning I was out early hoping to deposit a check before my rent check cleared. I think I made it. A couple sobering realizations followed: 1) After taxes, rent, metrocard, and phone bill, the income from my full time job leaves me $5.60 per day. No more $10 lunches at lemongrass. 2) The guy at the $2.50 eggs-homefries-toast-tea breakfast place I had ducked into to do my calculations had shortchanged me while distracting me with compliments about my hair.

Emil, you dog!

To celebrate my budget shortage and the extra time I had before work, I hiked up to the Utrecht paint store on 23rd street where Socorro and I had seen the little Moleskine notebooks that I think are the most perfect notebooks. They are small enough to fit in any pocket, they have grid lines, a little pouch inside and an elastic band to keep it secure. Sadly, they seem to have discontinued it. The Moleskine display was off to the side with only two little books left, neither of them grid lined...Sigh. I bought two pens instead.

Walking back towards the Strand I did have one of those really nice moments where New York in all its grittiness seemed beautiful.

I sat drinking free water from a very small cup at the Barnes and Noble Starbucks, weighed the pros and cons of living here and found the scales about as level as my checking account. I wrote in my current notebook:

This is capitalism. Thank God for Starbucks or you'd have to pee at McDonalds.

So, this morning I got up to let the cat out and discovered we had hot water, a rare occurrence these days, so I jumped in the shower. Now, up early and wet, I find myself finally starting a blog. Something Liz suggested long ago.

Asked to pick a name I instinctively ripped off a literary reference...a side effect of shelving literature all day. My first thought was grain of sand after my lost Wislawa Szymborska book. Then I thought of the Pablo Neruda book I saw at work yesterday, the one with the nice drawing of a saltshaker pasted on...and thought, Ode to a Grain of Sand...or simply Common Things...I looked around the room...I have mostly architecture books here not much literature...I settled on out growing madness, a reference to Kenzaburo Oe's short story, teach us to out grow our madness...a story about a fat man and his son Eeyore.

Now I see I mispelled madness...maybe I should have called it...learning to spell.