Read... and eat pie!

And I was thinking maybe later on
We could get together for a while
It's been such a long time
And I really do miss your smile

-England Dan and John Ford Coley
"I'd Really Love to See You Tonight"

Geez, it’s almost February and I have not posted since Christmas. January has just flown by. I was just sitting here wondering what has been happening. It's been cold. Its 2 degrees about now with a wind chill of “yo mama.” When it's cold, that part of my brain which looks for the humor in things turns all dark and depressed. I write less and read and eat more apple pie. I cannot begin to tell you how comforting books and pie are. They are sweet and juicy and always bring a smile, and the pies are great too. There has always been something about apples and musty pages that do it pour moi.

So, what have I read in the past month? In addition to reading most articles that have come my way ranging from those found in the New York Times to The Chronicle of Higher Education to Women's Wear Daily, I have read:

1. Who Moved My Cheese by Spencer Johnson, M.D
2. East of Eden by John Steinbeck
3. The Inner Circle by T.C. Boyle
4. The World is Flat by Thomas Friedman
5. Thrive: Finding Happiness in the Blue Zone
6. Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
7. All' Well that Ends Well by William Shakespeare
8. Half Empty by David Rakoff
9. Cleopatra: A Life by Stacy Schiff

-And a couple others that were so great that I can't remember the titles right now. As you see here, only one of the titles is actually a new print. I decided that January was to be about reading some of the titles from my book shelves that were screaming out. "Why did you buy us at that book sale, if you weren't going to do anything other than occasionally dust our spines?' I won't bore you reviews or recommendations that would undoubtedly lean towards the academic. I will however advise you to get yourself a wedge of pie (if it is an 8 inch pie, you can even get away with cutting a quarter of it) and a book that you should have read long ago... and read and enjoy!

BTW: Here is a link to several fantastic apple pie recipes: http://www.epicurious.com/tools/searchresults?search=apple+pie&x=18&y=10

A Streetcar Named The Economy

In a brief conversation with a friend earlier, somehow a discussion of the political climate morphed into screaming for Stella. I then thought that it might be an entertaining idea to re-work Tenessee William's, "A Street Car named Desire," to reflect our trying times. Thus far, these are the main characters:

Stella = The American people; pretending nothing's wrong and avoiding the truth. Just trying to make a nice home...

Blanche = The Republican party, The Tea party, Glen Beck et al; unrealistically longing for a kinder more gentile time but, in reality is really kind of soiled and nuts.

Stanley = The ECONOMY; angry and out of friggin' control. He really wants to F*** somebody.

Mitch = President Obama; trying to turn a "ho" of an economy into a housewife. He doesn't quite realize that politely courting a b***h this messed up is kinda useless.

More to come...

Merry Christmas, baby!

The peace of the season be with you all!

Unattended

So, earlier I was in a store and I notice almost immediately at the end of one of the aisles, a woman's purse sitting in a cart full of crap. The weird thing was that the cart was unattended. The still weirder thing was that there were cupcakes in the cart in a plastic bag along with; a humidor, a man's black ski jacket, some fake red stemmed flowers and other strangeness. This was a department store that did not sell food, mind you. I was in that area of the store for more than a half hour and no one went near the cart or purse. And for most of the time the cart with the purse just sat there taunting curious me. I shopped around and it was now roughly 45 minutes later. I happen back and noticed that the cart was still sitting there unattended.

I went to the counter and told the saleswoman. She and I went over to the cart, opened the purse and took out the wallet. We looked about and saw a woman near the dressing rooms in the distance who looked like the person in the driver's license photo. We asked her if the cart was hers and she nodded with a scowl, yes. She appeared annoyed by our question. She then slowly went off in the opposite direction leaving the cart and purse sitting there. She did not stop at her cart or even walk that close to the thing. Wouldn't it be natural to check the thing at this point? She appeared mad rather than concerned.

The sales woman went back to the front of the store and I moved a safe distance from the cart. I watched the woman and the cart. At all times she was no less than 20 feet from the cart. She shopped and looked at merchandise as if the cart was not hers. Not once did she even look in the direction of the cart. Yeah, I realize that none of this is any of my business but... What was this about? My first thought was that it was some sort of sting and the first person to remove an item from the cart would be tackled to the ground and prosecuted as a shoplifter. The saleswoman and I suggested among ourselves that perhaps the woman had some sort of issue(s). Perhaps she had some sort of psycho-social problem that precluded her from being careful of her belongings or going about without cupcakes. Who knows?

I finally felt uncomfortable in the store and bid the saleswoman a good day. It still bothers me though.

Drama in Real Life

Yesterday morning, I spent a couple hours wondering about my local library branch. I was unable to find any of the five titles I was searching to borrow. That point is far less significant to what happened when I left.

I should start by stating that I have always been an exceptionally curious guy with the exclusion of screaming police cars and fire trucks. Most people run towards them with camera phones at the ready. I usually go in the opposite direction. I don’t really know why. Perhaps, I have some deep rooted fear of being an “eyewitness,” brought on by what I discovered that young couple doing in the park when I was but, a lad of six?

Moving right along… Directly across the street from the library is St. James Catholic Church. St James is a late ‘50’s- early ‘60’s well manicured complex which includes a school building. In front of and blocking traffic in both directions of St. James were a half dozen police cruisers and the police chief himself. I glanced over and first thought that maybe there was a funeral in progress but, then quickly realized that something else was going on. What? Don’t know, don’t care; I continued to the corner cross street which was no more than a half block away. I was briefly forced to walk in to the street to avoid a mound of snow on the sidewalk.

At the corner was a credit union bank. The parking lot was to may left as I walked by and it was necessary also to walk into that lot to avoid the unplowed snow on the sidewalk. (In a minute you will see this as more significant.)

I continued my walk; I stopped at a store and then eventually arrived home to eat apple pie instead of a healthy lunch. The pie made me sleepy or it was the episode of, “Design on a Dime,” I was half watching. Anywho, I woke up a couple hours later. It was around 4:30pm. I flipped on the TV and the cable news was beginning. Apparently, while I was in the library; the credit union bank was robbed at gun point by a man of my approximate; age, height, weight and race. WTF! Yeah, I said this out loud. Wait, it gets better… While the police were searching for the bank robber they found a body of a half naked man sticking from the snow bank in front of St. James church.

While certainly odd, the body did not appear to have been the result of foul play. We are told that the deceased; walking about without a shirt, outer jacket or coat died somehow; got buried in the snow bank and with 40 degree temperatures, voila! I should offer that the dead man also fit my general description and that the police feel certain that because he was dead for two days at least. He was most likely not connected to the bank job. What an eerie coincidence; I too have been known to on occasion go about half naked, in some ways I am dead inside and, I have never been involved with a bank heist.

Now, the way I see it I dodged two bullets yesterday. I pretty much walked on to two crime scenes in an attempt to remain oblivious. Do you believe that perhaps some deity is trying to tell me something?

You'd Cry Too If It Happened To You...

Yesterday I stopped by my favorite thrift store haunt. My eye was immediately drawn to a vintage 1950's black leather motorcycle jacket. The jacket had the single zipper up the front and two zippered pockets across both sides of the chest. I had one years ago which I loved and alas someone apparently loved it more than myself, if you know what I mean.

I looked for a size in the jacket and found none. I removed it from the hanger and checked it out further. It was in perfect condition with the exception of perhaps needed a good conditioning. I then tried it on. It fit as if it were made for me. It was sleek cut, trim through the waist and had all the signs of being genuine. The collar label was however missing and I had no idea who made the thing. That did not much matter in that for all purposes it was the same jacket I had had years before. (I would provide a pic for you but, the option to insert a pic into blog posts seems to be missing today.) Maybe I should describe it further. The jacket is meant to be trim fitting, almost like a shirt and sits right at the waist. It has a single six inch vertical zipper at the sleeves and a banded collar with two snap buttons at the closure. Truly hot!

Good for you, Les and thanks for sharing. Silly, you know there’s a problem. I tried the jacket on and looked in the mirror. Fantastic, I thought. I zipped up the jacket. It was a perfect fit. I was again amazed at how this jacket was exactly like the other I had once. I stared in to the mirror imagining how the jacket might look with various jeans and boots and such. Well, dress-up play time was over and I was hungry. As I reached to pull the zipper down, I noticed that the slider was missing its pull tab. In an attempt for full disclosure, I just Googled “zipper parts,” This increased my knowledge base of zipper parts. If you’d like to learn more about zipper parts click here: http://www.zippersource.com/parts/definitions.asp

Anywho, the pull tab was missing. I tried to hold the slider tightly between my thumb and index finger to pull it down. It would not budge! After about five minutes or so of trying I became increasingly frustrated. The jacket which I loved was now becoming a straight jacket. My mind drifted to a former relationship (a metaphor perhaps) and immediately back to the slider. It seemed that the harder I tried to release myself from this “straight jacket,” the more my efforts were in vain. I started to do that thing where I breathe through my nose when I am totally frustrated. Nothing seemed to work. I looked around me to see if someone, anyone could release me from my leathery hell. The store or at least about me was empty save for two old birds looking at tchatzkah or rather knick knacks. Speechless, I looked towards them as if they would see my plight and make haste and come to my assistance. They saw me not. I started to sweat now. Goddamnit, I was going to have that nervous breakdown I have been avoiding for the past several years. I thought I was even going to cry. It then occurred to me to make my way to the counter. Maybe someone there had giant scissors or something else to get me out of this thing. I tripped and almost fell I hurried so.

When I got to the counter I blurted out my plight and the four foot six or seven inch tall cashier laughed and said, “I have an idea.” Her tone was as if to say, “Step aside people, I’m a doctor!” She handed me a large paper clip and instructed me to fish it through the hole that once held the tab. I did as she instructed. Oh, sweet relief. By this time I had sweat through my hat and there was the little woman barely able to contain herself. I mumbled a thank you and quickly returned to the coat rake. I left the store like I had stolen something. How good the rain felt.

Serious business

Bright and early yesterday I went to my local polling place. After some difficulty they found me on their list. The name was just like it was written on the card that I had presented that had been issued from the Board of Elections. “Hmmm, Lester Bryant III is an impressive name,” someone's granny told me. "I'm working on it," I told her. She didn't get it and I was eager to get votin'. I signed my name in the book right above my mother's and was given the ballot in a grey folder. Following instructions, I did as I am certain that you my civic minded friends did and went over to the little cardboard booth setup and selected your candidates. It did not take long in that just about every “opponent” had by this point succeeded in pissing me off . I recalled them as I voted: the guy who wanted to unseat the incumbent who had spent much of his adult life not voting and living in NYC and abroad; the nut job who would be king; the hateful looking lady who would unseat the Ivy-leaguer etc. etc. As well, I refused to cast a vote for anyone without an opponent. It makes sense to me anyway. I quickly marked the ovals for my choices. Teacher, I’m finished. I returned my glassed to my face and looked around as to where to go next.

A smiling woman directed me to the voting machine near the right wall. I inserted the ballot and the machine returned it to me. “Is there a message on the little screen,” the woman asked? It reads, “blah, blah, blah... I’m stupid.” Apparently, I had not filled in the ovals or at least most of them but rather I had placed heavy X’s. With the same Mrs. Cleaver smile she seemed to announce to the room my error. I was embarrassed. I voted in the primary, certainly I knew to color in the ovals rather than do what I did. I slowly put my hands behind my back fearing a ruler was coming to attack them. “Please return to the table and fill all of your selections in correctly." The room seemed to frown. As I turned it seemed the entire room was watching me. The older gentleman behind me had an expression that could only be interpreted by me that I was a dick. Head down and with a lifetime of standardized test floating through my brain, I did as I was told.

Did I do it right this time, teacher? The woman was tempted to check my answers as had been long ago but, obviously remembered her duties as a poll sitter. I was directed to try submitting it again. “Did it work this time,” I was asked? Indeed it had and I asked, “Am I going to get into a good college?” “Sir, you’re next,” she said to the voter behind me, ignoring my smart mouth.