The Unbearable Lightness of Being a New Yorker

Two winters ago I was walking through the crowded downtown streets of Manhattan. It was cold out but, not bad. Tourists in town for the holiday season were brushing by me with their many shopping bags on their way to stare at the vast and still-empty site where the twin towers once stood.  I heard a street vendor shouting out, "Traaaagedy snow globes, get 'em here!" Startled, I looked over. Did he really just say that? I wondered. There in front of me on a fold-out table were about a dozen snow globes with the twin towers featured prominently. "Only $20 a piece!" The vendor boomed, "They make great gifts for the folks back home!" "Traaagedy snow globes, get 'em here, get 'em now!"

"Is this evil? Is this wrong?" I wondered. Here was a guy on the edges of Wall Street practicing the favorite American pasttime of commerce. It's what all the tourists come here for: to witness sin and sex and capitalism all wrapped up in one knotty, snarly roller coaster of a city so they can go back home invigorated and yet, relieved that they don't live here. And yet, it isn't we New Yorkers who buy this stuff. It's the tourists. They love the over-priced designer monograms that tell their friends back home that they've got big-city sophistication. And they love the ticky-tacky, too.

But, because this is my home and not just a city I'm visiting, when I see something that crosses the line between the odd and the wrong, it always puts me in a weird state, as if my spinal fluid were replaced with neon and helium. I feel light headed and charged, sort of like Joan of Arc all dressed up in her armor with no place to go fight, "Is this something that I should somehow stop?" 

I once wondered the same thing as I saw a woman having sex on the floor of a public bathroom stall in Penn Station while her ten year-old daughter waited by the sinks. But, the train was leaving and my husband insisted over my protests (that the child could be in danger and perhaps we should find a police officer) that we get on and so, we did.

No one wants to be unpopular, to be the biddy shaking her finger in some young man's face, "Shame on you!"  So, on that day I saw the snow globe vendor, I did what we New Yorkers are known to do when we spot a celebrity, or see something distasteful: I thought about how I could turn it into an mildly interesting anecdote to tell friends about later; "You'll never guess who/what I saw today..." Letting myself be carried forward by the momentum and tide of people with brightly-colored shopping bags, I walked on.

Curious Georges

President George to Painter George: "What's your first name?" Painter George to President George: "George." President George to Painter George: "That's my name, too!"

Subway, 1950 and...My uncle in earlier years: not crazybeautiful but, rather handsome, nonetheless.

Last month my very deaf and aged uncle George Tooker received a National Medal of Art from the President for all his years of hard work as an artist along with Andrew Wyeth, Les Paul and seven others. As I took my uncle up to Penn station by taxi to catch the train to D.C. I asked him if he was excited about going. Here's how the scene played out: Me: "Are you excited to be going?" Uncle: "Am I a Quaker? Well, yes, I do have some Quaker heritage." (We don't.) At this point, he reached into his pocket looking for something. Uncle: "I gave the Quakers some money and they gave me this." He withdrew his hand from his trouser pocket and showed me a small button that says, "Stop The War In Iraq" Me: Figuring if there is ever a time to manipulate an old man, this is it: "I'll give you money if you give that to the President." Uncle: Smiles wanly as he knows I'm just trying to fuck him up at the White House. (I said he was deaf, not stupid or senile.) Well, he didn't give the button to the President, which is too bad because it would have been so ballsy and wonderful. And if it weren't for this blog entry I could just pretend that he had, thus preserving our family legacy of embellishing or lying about our family legacy. (To reiterate: we're not descended from Quakers - though I did briefly attend a Quaker high school. Nor, was a certain ancestor ever kidnapped by Native American Indians and then returned because she was too ugly to rape.) It would have also been most excellent if my uncle had simply refused the medal as Adrienne Rich did back in 1997. "I could not accept such an award from President Clinton or this White House because the very meaning of art, as I understand it, is incompatible with the cynical politics of this administration." (How like a great poet to devise a one-refusal-fits-all-American-Presidential-administrations. Word up, Adrienne!)

Pearls before swine

Instead of concocting some hare-brained resolutions for the new year (does anyone still do that?) I have decided to re-write old proverbs as they come to me. Here's the first: Cast not your rose-colored glasses before swine wearing your old pearls.

Crazybeautiful Marvin

Yesterday, I was doing some research for a Crazybeautiful post and I was listening to some music by the extremely crazybeautiful Marvin Gaye and got sucked into the world of Youtube.

I watched every video clip there was of him. In a state of total beatitude, I went to make a cup of tea. When I returned to to my computer, I noticed my husband, Smart, was playing some music. Upon hearing a few notes I exclaimed, "I'm living in a gift shop!" I cannot bear to download the actual song he was playing and, if you have even the tiniest bit of evil in you it would make your soft, pink ears bleed. But, here for your listening pleasure or pain, is the musical chaos I found myself in.

Can't you just smell the toxic, scented candles? VS. Marvin singing the national anthem:It's enough to make a patriot out of the most dyed-in-the-pentagon-doublespeak cynic. 100% pure Marvin.

Nutty Professors!

The Washington Post reported today that 02138 magazine which caters to the Harvard community, has released a exposé; Chicanery in Cambridge which details the many ways that esteemed law professors like Alan Dershowitz (defender of Claus von Bülow and O.J. Simpson) and Charles Ogletree basically have a handful of poorly-paid students research and/or write their books for them. I guess the old "Publish or Perish" adage has really gotten to these guys. Unfortunately for Ogletree, there was also a bit of plagiarism in his book. No less than six passages in one of his books were lifted from a book by - how humiliating! - Yale professor Jack Balkin. While many universities have no-cheating policies in place for their students, it would appear that Harvard needs one for their professors.

Der bunker, part 2.

Ok, I got permission. This is the building I was talking about. The reason it works so well is partly due to the local regulations which restrict height but, also. because it takes something which is not too interesting - a cement square- and improves it immeasurably. It's very much a modern castle. Though, I have a feeling that if something like this were attempted in the U.S. that it would go awry. I'm not sure how but, I am pretty sure it would be pink and sell cheeseburgers.

Bunker, sweet bunker

(Sorry folks, You'll have to use your imagination until I get permission to use the photo my friend sent. But these two are pretty good substitutions until then.) Just when I was starting to fret about getting a post out today, this came along. I have been wondering when I would find another urban architecture story and really, what is better to blog about than a little piece of Nazi real estate? Here's another little nugget of serendipity: This morning I found myself inexplicably curious about the lyrics to the German national anthem and then, out of the blue, a very dear friend sent me some cool pics of her new home... in Germany. It is built on top of an old bunker (much like the one in the photo here only, without any windows. Here's where your imagination comes in.) I just love that they have used what's already there (a storage facility) instead of making more garbage and tearing the whole thing down and starting from scratch. Plus, it is a clear improvement over what was there. What makes it successful is that there is an integration between the old and the new. A flow, if you will. And they haven't added ten stories, just two. Though, as innovative as the whole design is, I really think a moat is in order. No one does moats anymore and I think it's a shame. Plus, it would make the entire design ever greener by adding a wetlands feature. Back to the anthem: I have found that if I substitute my aberdeen terrier's name for Deutschland, (first two lines, only) it makes a very sweet lullaby. She seems to like it a lot. Try it with your pet and see what happens. I think cats would be especially pleased by it. PS for parents: Don't try this with your kids or, you could really mess them up bad. Loolly, Loolly über alles, Über alles in der Welt, Loolly, Loolly über alles, Über alles in der Welt.

American Beauty

Continuing on the beauty theme for today: the The Campaign for Safe Cosmetics recently released a report about the dangers of lead in lipsticks. Yes, you read that right, LEAD, a proven neurotoxin in humans. The report states that one-third of the only 33 lipsticks tested exceeded the FDA's lead level for candy. (Betcha didn't know that any amount of lead was allowed to be in candy, huh?!) While the Food and Drug Administration oversees beauty products it has no power to demand a recall of unsafe products. Nor, does it regulate the beauty industry in any way. According to the Campaign for Safe Cosmetics, “nearly 90% of the over 10,000 chemicals used in cosmetics have not been evaluated for safety.” I admit that I didn't know about the lead problem but, since around 1976 when I discovered that some companies put formaldehyde in shampoos I have been a fan of more natural products. I know what you are going to say, some of the more natural products don't work so well. Sometimes the shampoos leave your hair flat, the deodorants leave you smelling less like a rose and more like a litter box, and the toothpastes are weird-tasting, etc, etc. Even so, I keep buying natural beauty products and finding ones that are wonderful. In this spirit, I went out to Perelandra, my local health food store, to investigate the more natural lippies. First, I tried Dr. Haushka because I have been a fan of this line for decades. But, the colors just didn't suit my complexion. I finally settled on a "Wild Plum" lippy by Hemp Organics. I tried it on the back of my hand to test it and it went on smooth as butter. But, when I got home and unwrapped the new one, it went on my lips like chalk. I'm not giving up, though. If we humans are smart enough to invent Q-tips (eargasm, anyone?) we are smart enough to develop safe cosmetics that still make us feel pretty. Pretty Peewee

Crazybeauty

Crazybeautiful Loolly Littlepaugh

Crazybeauty is when someone is so beautiful that the sight of them makes you want to do crazy things. It's not that they are crazy, just that they overwhelm others with an affectionate response. When I see someone who is crazybeautiful it sometimes makes me want to lick them. Or bite them. Just a little. And run around a lot. In circles. I want to put my cheek next to theirs and whispering, tell them, "You are soooo beautiful" over and over again. Social conventions and occassionally, death (theirs, not mine) sometimes prevents or curtails the action but, the impulse is still there. So, from time to time, I will post a photo of someone (living or not) who I personally find crazybeautiful and I invite others to make their own suggestions.

Mystery Sister: Episode 2.

Two days ago I received a forwarded letter and some photos of my Mystery Sister. She doesn't look a whole lot like me but, there is no denying that she looks like some of my other siblings. She is actually quite pretty and has great teeth which must have come from her mother's side. All this reminds me of when I was a kid and how I really identified with Pat Priest who played Marilyn on The Munsters. For those of you too young to remember, she was this very pretty blond cousin of the Munsters who came to live with them and they felt pity for her because she was so unattractive. That is, she didn't look like a monster/Munster. Even though like most kids, I was fairly horrified by my family, the truth is, I bore no resemblance to Marilyn Munster at all and instead, was frequently compared to Lisa Loring who played Wednesday Addams on The Addams Family. Anyhow, I sent Mystery Sister some pics last night and I wonder if once she sees them, she is going to feel like Marilyn for real now. Pat Priest, Lisa Loring, Wednesday Addams

DO

DO interpret unusual cloud shapes as a message from God if you feel like it. The other day I woke up to see a huge, vibrant pink sunset cloud in the shape of a hand highfiving me. I didn't have my camera with me but, it was even better than this giant heart cloud pic. DO sleep on the diagonal whenever possible. DO keep frequently checking back at The Gamut because I often revise my posts or change them entirely.

Don't

DON"T search in Google images under the word "shock" or, "shocking." You will find the grossest stuff you have ever seen in your whole life. And you won't be able to stop looking, either... DON'T use unnecessarily bizarre expressions like one British Airways flight attendant recently did when he announced over the PA system that, "Our flying time is seven hours dead."

Oi!

It rained five days out of seven while I was in Oxford and London last week. As anyone can see I was severely fashion-challenged by the dreary weather. My husband, brave soul that he is, said nary a word about my constant wearing of the hat I call the "tit." "Where's my tit?" I would ask every morning as we set out. Or, "I've found my tit!" or even, " I am so grateful for the tit." I admit that I enjoyed walking around that stuffy country with a nipple on top of my head. PS: The sign over my head in the first photo says, "Buttery." That's from all the clotted cream I was basting myself with. It was taken right outside the Christ Church College dining room. One might expect the food to smell delicious, it being part of the illustrious university but, no, it smelled just like the stinky school lunches I remember from elementary school. Too bad for all the smarty pants!

London journal

Recently, I made the discovery that prescription painkillers go down veddy nicely with afternoon tea, scones, jam and that heaven of all heavens: clotted cream. Then I made the further discovery that prescription painkillers go even better with a Guinness. Who knew?!! Merry Old England, indeed!

Mystery sister: episode 1.

You know what is really absurd? Getting a call last night from my brother* and finding out that I may have a long-unknown-about sister who is 47 years old, a CPA and lives in Arizona. When I heard the news, I thought, "That is so cool! I always wanted a different sister! (The one I have has never said more than maybe three full sentences to me unless you count "hello" and "bye.") (*I've got a whole, big, bunch of 'em, six to be exact, plus the one sister - which makes eight -and we are not even Catholic! Just the progeny of several Episcopalians and Jews and maybe one Lutheran.) ... HUH?!

Lamb Chop Gone Wild

How do you know your blog has gone to hell? When you leave the country for a week, have serious jetlag and then try and pass off a music video which stars a hand puppet and some feta cheese as a excuse for a new post.

So Geniusy

The First Gamut Genius Award to Lenora Claire, Los Angeles art collector and curator of the Golden Gals Gone Wild show this past August for possessing the brilliance to purchase the Bea Arthur painting off eBay for a measly $110. and also for gathering all sorts of artwork based on the show and putting it all together in one place.

All-time best t-shirt worn by a subway rider

A while ago I saw a rather enormous fellow on the F train wearing a t-shirt bearing the message: Rights for Imprisoned People with Psychiatric Disabilities. It made me aware of the plight of the many thousands of people in our criminal justice system who suffer from mental illness and do not receive proper care. But, more importantly, it proved to be very effective at getting him a seat on a crowded train. This is the all-time best photo of a t-shirtless fellow riding the subway train. Even though he apparently doesn't even own a t-shirt, I'd still give him a seat - right next to me. Grrrrr! (Thanks to FDNY Calendar of Heroes hunk Stephen Spagnola for his amazing bod. Uh, I mean, use of his photo.)

Truth in Advertising?

What is there to say about someone who dresses up as a giant turd - and actually looks happy? This woman has taken self-loathing to an entirely new level and come out the other side. She has accepted and embraced her essential turditude.

Oh, Sandra!

Absurd Blow to Women

The first woman ever appointed to the Supreme Court of the United States, justice, Sandra Day O'Connor, 77, retired in 2006 after 24 years on the bench citing a desire to look after her ailing husband who has Alzheimer's as the reason she was abandoning her post and indeed, everyone who cares about women's rights. It now turns out that her husband John has fallen in love with another woman at his retirement home in Phoenix, Arizona. Wait a cotton-pickin' minute! Did I just say, "retirement home?" Yes, folks, I did. It turns out that Sandra's excuse for retirement was bogus because John O'Connor is living in a facility, not at home with her. While many will be charmed by her potty husband's new found love with a geriatric temptress named Kay, I for one, am very disappointed because her retirement paved the way for Samuel Alito (*not John Roberts as I had previously written and which two deeper-thinkers pointed out to me was wrong. Suh-aaame difference, it all went to s---.) and a much more conservative and rights-reducing court. While hardly a knee-jerk liberal, (she wrote the 1989 majority opinion in Penry v. Lynaugh which ruled that a mentally retarded murderer with the intellectual capacity of a 7-year-old could be executed) O'Connor mellowed with the years. She was frequently a swing vote and even dissented with the majority of the justices in a case involving a private developer's use of eminent domain (see post below for more about this) in New London, Connecticut. About this, she said, "The specter of condemnation hangs over all property. Nothing is to prevent the State from replacing any Motel 6 with a Ritz-Carlton, any home with a shopping mall, or any farm with a factory. ... The beneficiaries are likely to be those citizens with disproportionate influence and power in the political process, including large corporations and development firms. As for the victims, the government now has license to transfer property from those with fewer resources to those with more."

Urban Architecture: The Absurdly Good, the Bad and the Stupid

Urban architects are mostly the lapdogs of real estate developers. (Actually, they are the whores of real estate developers, but, I don't want to disparage hard-working women by comparing them with the limp-minded men who design ever-taller, sky-and-sun-blocking phallic replacements.) Here are a few examples from each category in Brooklyn, NY. Absurd Architecture worthy of our love includes Cynthia and Arthur Wood's Broken Angel at 4 Downing Street in Clinton Hill. Though, the last we heard about the fate of this gem is that due to non-compliance with local building codes, the top two floors were to be removed and rebuilt and the rest of the building is to become condos, undoubtedly for more refugees from the suburbs who have just "discovered" Brooklyn. Absurdly Bad Architecture includes the Regal Cinema on Court Street in Brooklyn Heights. Deidre Carson, a lawyer who had previously represented other movie-theater developers and formerly the president of the Brooklyn Heights Association (a neighborhood organization originally created to protect the area from irresponsible development - ah, the irony!) actually had the gall to describe the building as a product of a "world-class architecture firm." What the hell does "world-class" mean anyway? If this building is any example, it means the biggest bull turd they can lay on you. Which brings us to Regal's bastard grandchild: Frank Gehry's absurdly stupid design for private-developer Bruce Ratner's proposed Atlantic Yards project. Designed to dwarf the brownstone neighborhoods nearby, Gehry himself called the project his, "ego trip" (shee-ut!) and our politicians greased their oily palms and pressed each others flesh in what has to be the most egregious crony love-fest ever attempted on the shores of Brooklyn. For all this and more, we hereby bestow a special Gamut Scabies Award to Bruce Ratner for trying to use eminent domain to steal, condemn and destroy people's homes to enrich himself. The following photos are: Broken Angel, Regal Cinema's UA Court Street Stadium 12, "Miss Brooklyn" and its architect, the penis-nosed Frank Gehry.

Absurd Music

I'M NOT IN LOVE. Everyone knows this song yet, few can name the band: 10cc. a now-defunct English group who experienced their heyday in the 1970's with the popularity of this song which reached no. 2 on the U.S. charts. Though the artier members of this pop group at first derided the song as "crap," (And they hadn't even imagined the videos to come!) the later multi-track version eerily layers multiple voices which, combined with the irony of the lyrics and Eric Stewart's creamy voice, make it unforgettable. As a kid, I especially enjoyed repeating the whispered refrain, "big boys don't cry, big boys don't cry" whenever I wanted to get under the skin of my big brother Angus. It used to drive him crazy especially when accompanied by an arm noogie. PS: For those of you who wish to enjoy this song karaoke-style, the following link has the lyrics and a wierd synthesized version you can sing along with. SING HERE

The royal bag

What better way to begin our journey together than by focusing on a needless fashion accessory for a obsolete monarch? Is she planning on popping down to the market to pick up a few things for dinner after she addresses Parliament? And what do you suppose she keeps in there? A cell phone? Surely not. Tampons? Don’t be vile. Altoids? Ah, that must be it. While never having been in her presence I am sure Lizzie Windsor has the freshest, mintiest breath of anyone in the, er, Queendom.