agitated
I'm sometimes surprised at how much fear and anxiety people carry around with them, even people who seem to "have it together." It's relatively rare to meet someone who isn't trembling at the edges or clamping down on an emotion that could sweep away their equilibrium. (I'll add that I'm not making these observations from a remote distance, untouched.)
extreme
He's wearing a jacket with the name of a far-right conspiracy website printed on the back. He's plugged into the truth now, is what he thinks.
friction
A town hall, the officials sounding quietly sympathetic, and the constituents sounding completely unconvinced that anyone competent is in charge.
glop
All the restaurants look alike, with the same yogurt parfaits in mini-fridges, pizzas dribbling on waxed paper, and hamburgers the size of a fist.
opponent
Talking to them becomes less complicated when I realize they're not interested in a discussion. They want to figure out if I'm on the right side (their side) of a given issue. If I express a doubt or point out an inaccuracy, it means I'm not on their side. Even if I mostly agree with them, they expect me to share all of their sentiments and use their preferred language. I can't do that, but at least I now understand why I'm being set up as their opponent.
squoosh
Making slime has become a fad among kids. She shows me hypnotic videos of people squeezing, stretching, and poking the viscous substance. Some turn the slime into artistic works of multiple colors and elaborate designs. Most enjoy the gummy, squelchy noises it makes.
waterlogged
It's a soggy evening, like a paper towel that's been soaked in cold water.
Showing posts with label government. Show all posts
Showing posts with label government. Show all posts
Friday, June 1, 2018
Friday, September 2, 2016
Five Short Stories Set in Haiti
Title: The Blue Hill
Author: Rodney Saint-Éloi
Translator: Nicole Ball
Where I Read It: Haiti Noir
With the government's permission, toxic garbage gets dumped near a village. It renders the dirt an unnatural blue and covers people in blue pustules. The story is basically the ravings of a local detective. Sick from the toxins, he lies in bed gripped by visions. And what he shares is compelling: apocalyptic and poetic, with historic flavors and images of dragons and demons. It's a cry in the dark, at once futile and necessary. ("We will at least have the elegance to bear witness.") A story written as a prolonged fit may have dragged or come across as belabored. But it's powerful, and it pulls the reader along through hellish landscapes and images of a battle that the broken people, like the detective, don't have the health or power to engage in physically. It's their souls sending up a cry that no other person hears.
Title: Claire of the Sea Light
Author: Edwidge Danticat
Where I Read It: Haiti Noir
Claire is a young girl whose mother died giving birth to her. After she spends a few years with her mother's relatives, her father takes her back. She wants to stay with him, but he's more ambivalent. He cares for her but feels he can't properly raise her. As a fisherman, he knows he might die at sea or have to move elsewhere at a moment's notice for work. What will happen to her then?
The story is told from his point of view, but still shows some of what Claire experiences, not knowing where she belongs and whether or not her dad wants her. He's holding her at arm's length, because he doesn't know what to do. Along with the fear of being lost to her, I also got the sense that he fears becoming too attached to her, after having lost her mother. (The mother is very much present in her absence.) To Claire, her father's ambivalence may come across as rejection, especially when a wealthy fabric vendor who lost her own daughter expresses interest in taking her in.
There's a beautiful scene in the story, set before Claire's birth, where her mother is swimming among glowing fish in the ocean as Claire's father looks on with concern and wonder. Claire's strongest ties may be to her mother, who in being dead can be safely loved with the assurance that, in a way, she isn't going anywhere.
Author: Rodney Saint-Éloi
Translator: Nicole Ball
Where I Read It: Haiti Noir
With the government's permission, toxic garbage gets dumped near a village. It renders the dirt an unnatural blue and covers people in blue pustules. The story is basically the ravings of a local detective. Sick from the toxins, he lies in bed gripped by visions. And what he shares is compelling: apocalyptic and poetic, with historic flavors and images of dragons and demons. It's a cry in the dark, at once futile and necessary. ("We will at least have the elegance to bear witness.") A story written as a prolonged fit may have dragged or come across as belabored. But it's powerful, and it pulls the reader along through hellish landscapes and images of a battle that the broken people, like the detective, don't have the health or power to engage in physically. It's their souls sending up a cry that no other person hears.
Title: Claire of the Sea Light
Author: Edwidge Danticat
Where I Read It: Haiti Noir
Claire is a young girl whose mother died giving birth to her. After she spends a few years with her mother's relatives, her father takes her back. She wants to stay with him, but he's more ambivalent. He cares for her but feels he can't properly raise her. As a fisherman, he knows he might die at sea or have to move elsewhere at a moment's notice for work. What will happen to her then?
The story is told from his point of view, but still shows some of what Claire experiences, not knowing where she belongs and whether or not her dad wants her. He's holding her at arm's length, because he doesn't know what to do. Along with the fear of being lost to her, I also got the sense that he fears becoming too attached to her, after having lost her mother. (The mother is very much present in her absence.) To Claire, her father's ambivalence may come across as rejection, especially when a wealthy fabric vendor who lost her own daughter expresses interest in taking her in.
There's a beautiful scene in the story, set before Claire's birth, where her mother is swimming among glowing fish in the ocean as Claire's father looks on with concern and wonder. Claire's strongest ties may be to her mother, who in being dead can be safely loved with the assurance that, in a way, she isn't going anywhere.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Animal Farm: Funny and depressing
I don't remember if I'd read Animal Farm when I was younger (I only know for sure that I'd read 1984), so when I picked it up for the Classics Club Challenge, I knew only the general plot and a couple of the more famous quotes that have made their way into the wider culture, like "All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others."
The book tells the story of the Russian Revolution and the subsequent rise of Stalin, only the events take place on a farm. The deposed czar is a drunk, incompetent farmer who mistreats the animals, who all represent different figures or types of people in society. The pigs, cleverest of the creatures, are the leaders of the revolution, and two emerge on top afterwards - Napoleon (Stalin) and Snowball (Trotsky).
Just the fact that it's animals makes some of these events so amusing, as when Napoleon gets one of his propaganda pigs to write a song in his honor. Here's one verse:
But then, the amusement always fades after each of these incidences when it hits you, yet again, that this actually happened to people. That there are still places like this. And if you view what goes on from the outside, it's a combination of the deeply horrible and the undeniably ridiculous. That's a part of the genius of Animal Farm, showing this. Because it's ridiculous when a bunch of sheep chant, "Four legs good! Two legs bad!" But it's also depressing: sad enough when actual sheep do it, and much worse when you think about the real-life people they represent.
I forget which edition I read, but there was an intro that discussed how thankfully the dystopian visions of writers such as Orwell and Huxley don't seem to have panned out, and that the books were important warnings but that the human spirit has triumphed (or something of the sort)... and yet, they're still relevant and always will be. When you read Animal Farm, you're reminded of the kinds of things you see in politics all the time: the brazen rewriting of the past (counting on people's short attention span, ignorance, or intimidation to get away with it), the chanting of inane slogans to drown out meaningful debate, the power-grabs and erosion of rights, the push for a utopia that will just cause more misery, new idealistic politicians turning into the same old corrupt ones and rationalizing their crimes as actions taken for the greater good...
Anyway, if you haven't read it, do so. It's a great book. And you could finish it in an afternoon; it just breezes by.
The book tells the story of the Russian Revolution and the subsequent rise of Stalin, only the events take place on a farm. The deposed czar is a drunk, incompetent farmer who mistreats the animals, who all represent different figures or types of people in society. The pigs, cleverest of the creatures, are the leaders of the revolution, and two emerge on top afterwards - Napoleon (Stalin) and Snowball (Trotsky).
Just the fact that it's animals makes some of these events so amusing, as when Napoleon gets one of his propaganda pigs to write a song in his honor. Here's one verse:
Friend of the fatherless!
Fountain of happiness!
Lord of the swill-bucket! Oh, how my soul is on
Fire when I gaze at thy
Calm and commanding eye,
Like the sun in the sky,
Comrade Napoleon!
But then, the amusement always fades after each of these incidences when it hits you, yet again, that this actually happened to people. That there are still places like this. And if you view what goes on from the outside, it's a combination of the deeply horrible and the undeniably ridiculous. That's a part of the genius of Animal Farm, showing this. Because it's ridiculous when a bunch of sheep chant, "Four legs good! Two legs bad!" But it's also depressing: sad enough when actual sheep do it, and much worse when you think about the real-life people they represent.
I forget which edition I read, but there was an intro that discussed how thankfully the dystopian visions of writers such as Orwell and Huxley don't seem to have panned out, and that the books were important warnings but that the human spirit has triumphed (or something of the sort)... and yet, they're still relevant and always will be. When you read Animal Farm, you're reminded of the kinds of things you see in politics all the time: the brazen rewriting of the past (counting on people's short attention span, ignorance, or intimidation to get away with it), the chanting of inane slogans to drown out meaningful debate, the power-grabs and erosion of rights, the push for a utopia that will just cause more misery, new idealistic politicians turning into the same old corrupt ones and rationalizing their crimes as actions taken for the greater good...
Anyway, if you haven't read it, do so. It's a great book. And you could finish it in an afternoon; it just breezes by.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Week in Seven Words #177
curiosities
What do we learn in museums? Sometimes it's only 'oohs' and 'ahhs' and a fact or two. How many times do we really connect with what we're seeing - immerse ourselves in it?
discomposure
He flies around the souvenir shop like an agitated moth, landing on treasures and launching off them again. Finally, he clutches a prize to his chest, but keeps circling as he's told to put it down again.
flirtation
A butterfly lands on her shirt front, right on her breasts. She stares at it, eyebrows raised, until it flutters off. "Must be a boy," she says.
hives
Palatial buildings are home to the offices of petty bureaucrats.
jigsaw
The White House is beautiful, but in a strange way looks like a hollow 3D puzzle of itself.
morphemes
Fun word games give structure to the hours we spend on the road.
natation
Swimming through images captured by Hubble. Strolling in a warm, gray drizzle. Looking out from between low-hanging branches at the Tidal Basin and Jefferson's pale monument.
What do we learn in museums? Sometimes it's only 'oohs' and 'ahhs' and a fact or two. How many times do we really connect with what we're seeing - immerse ourselves in it?
discomposure
He flies around the souvenir shop like an agitated moth, landing on treasures and launching off them again. Finally, he clutches a prize to his chest, but keeps circling as he's told to put it down again.
flirtation
A butterfly lands on her shirt front, right on her breasts. She stares at it, eyebrows raised, until it flutters off. "Must be a boy," she says.
hives
Palatial buildings are home to the offices of petty bureaucrats.
jigsaw
The White House is beautiful, but in a strange way looks like a hollow 3D puzzle of itself.
morphemes
Fun word games give structure to the hours we spend on the road.
natation
Swimming through images captured by Hubble. Strolling in a warm, gray drizzle. Looking out from between low-hanging branches at the Tidal Basin and Jefferson's pale monument.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Some thoughts on the Tucson massacre
Earlier I posted an excerpt from Lincoln's First Inaugural Address.
And now I find myself linking to Jon Stewart (from President to Jester). I haven't watched a full episode of The Daily Show in years, though occasionally I'll view some clips on the internet.
I'm glad I came across this one. He presents here probably one of the sanest reactions I've heard from a media commentator/pundit after the Tucson massacre. He also articulates some thoughts I've had while reading through the updates on the aftermath.
Even before anything meaningful was known about the killer and his state of mind and possible motivations (which are still quite muddled and all over the place, to say the least), various media commentators and politicians were already insisting on the narrative of their choice and using it for their own ends, trying to see if they could tie the shooter and his off-the-wall ramblings to any one party. Casting blame and deflecting and defending against it. Some earnest conviction here, but also no shortage of hypocrisy, grandstanding and dishonesty.
The details that have been coming out increasingly show a man who is deranged, with a history of deranged and disturbed behavior, and who is not politically active and has so far not been found to be a member of any extremist group (he was identified as a registered independent who didn't vote in the 2010 elections; that's the most definitive statement that has been made of his politics so far) - in fact his thoughts about government and people and life and the universe, if you have the heart and patience to sift through them, are like something out of scribbled science fiction; being registered for one party or another probably would have been minimally relevant to how he processes the world. According to friends (and some stuff found in his house) he also had some sort of weird fixation on Congresswoman Giffords for a few years now, after meeting her at a similar sort of event where he disliked her answer to a question he posed. (That, and added just now, he really liked movies on conspiracies, mind control, and altered states of consciousness - the article at the link talks about some of his life and also about his parents, who are going through their own personal hell, which I hope they can get through.) For the time being, this is the information we have.
Back to Jon Stewart. The monologue begins at 2:28 (the clip starts with some back-and-forth between him and a colleague, which is amusing but skippable). I really encourage you all to take several minutes to watch it:
Prayers for Gabrielle Giffords and her family and friends; I hope her recovery is steady and sure. Prayers also for the people who were wounded and the six who died (Christina Green, Dorothy Morris, John Roll, Phyllis Schneck, Dorwin Stoddard, and Gabe Zimmerman), and for their families and friends, who are going through hellish times; I hope they find strength, support, love and healing.
Some other brave, decent people: Daniel Hernandez, a college student at the University of Arizona, who had been working as an intern for Giffords for only five days. When he heard gunshots he ran towards the crowd, getting there in the immediate aftermath. He might have saved his boss's life; he held Gifford's head and applied pressure to the head wound. He then stayed with her and kept holding her hand when the medics took over. Patricia Maisch, who wrestled ammo away from the shooter and prevented him from reloading his gun, and Retired Colonel Bill Badger, Roger Sulzgeber, and Joseph Zimudie who tackled and held down the shooter.
I'm tired of hearing that society is in a hopeless state - worse than it's ever been. (Study history, including the history of political rhetoric, and that assertion falls apart.) I also don't want to see a further breakdown in political discourse or acts of political opportunism and demagoguery because of a lone deranged killer (with his blank smirking mugshot, nihilism, and scrambled thought processes). Right now everything about this tragedy is especially raw, everyone's talking about it, but it's also possible to pause, take a breath, and think.
Stewart's monologue was a breath of fresh air for this reason. I found it thoughtful and decent.
And now I find myself linking to Jon Stewart (from President to Jester). I haven't watched a full episode of The Daily Show in years, though occasionally I'll view some clips on the internet.
I'm glad I came across this one. He presents here probably one of the sanest reactions I've heard from a media commentator/pundit after the Tucson massacre. He also articulates some thoughts I've had while reading through the updates on the aftermath.
Even before anything meaningful was known about the killer and his state of mind and possible motivations (which are still quite muddled and all over the place, to say the least), various media commentators and politicians were already insisting on the narrative of their choice and using it for their own ends, trying to see if they could tie the shooter and his off-the-wall ramblings to any one party. Casting blame and deflecting and defending against it. Some earnest conviction here, but also no shortage of hypocrisy, grandstanding and dishonesty.
The details that have been coming out increasingly show a man who is deranged, with a history of deranged and disturbed behavior, and who is not politically active and has so far not been found to be a member of any extremist group (he was identified as a registered independent who didn't vote in the 2010 elections; that's the most definitive statement that has been made of his politics so far) - in fact his thoughts about government and people and life and the universe, if you have the heart and patience to sift through them, are like something out of scribbled science fiction; being registered for one party or another probably would have been minimally relevant to how he processes the world. According to friends (and some stuff found in his house) he also had some sort of weird fixation on Congresswoman Giffords for a few years now, after meeting her at a similar sort of event where he disliked her answer to a question he posed. (That, and added just now, he really liked movies on conspiracies, mind control, and altered states of consciousness - the article at the link talks about some of his life and also about his parents, who are going through their own personal hell, which I hope they can get through.) For the time being, this is the information we have.
Back to Jon Stewart. The monologue begins at 2:28 (the clip starts with some back-and-forth between him and a colleague, which is amusing but skippable). I really encourage you all to take several minutes to watch it:
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Arizona Shootings Reaction | ||||
| ||||
Prayers for Gabrielle Giffords and her family and friends; I hope her recovery is steady and sure. Prayers also for the people who were wounded and the six who died (Christina Green, Dorothy Morris, John Roll, Phyllis Schneck, Dorwin Stoddard, and Gabe Zimmerman), and for their families and friends, who are going through hellish times; I hope they find strength, support, love and healing.
Some other brave, decent people: Daniel Hernandez, a college student at the University of Arizona, who had been working as an intern for Giffords for only five days. When he heard gunshots he ran towards the crowd, getting there in the immediate aftermath. He might have saved his boss's life; he held Gifford's head and applied pressure to the head wound. He then stayed with her and kept holding her hand when the medics took over. Patricia Maisch, who wrestled ammo away from the shooter and prevented him from reloading his gun, and Retired Colonel Bill Badger, Roger Sulzgeber, and Joseph Zimudie who tackled and held down the shooter.
I'm tired of hearing that society is in a hopeless state - worse than it's ever been. (Study history, including the history of political rhetoric, and that assertion falls apart.) I also don't want to see a further breakdown in political discourse or acts of political opportunism and demagoguery because of a lone deranged killer (with his blank smirking mugshot, nihilism, and scrambled thought processes). Right now everything about this tragedy is especially raw, everyone's talking about it, but it's also possible to pause, take a breath, and think.
Stewart's monologue was a breath of fresh air for this reason. I found it thoughtful and decent.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
A Philly Fourth of July
To those who celebrated America's Independence Day, I hope you had a great and memorable holiday.
I spent this year's Fourth of July in Philadelphia.
Here's Independence Hall (the old Pennsylvania State House), where the Declaration of Independence was adopted by the Second Continental Congress, and where over a decade later the Constitution was ratified and signed. It was especially amazing to be here on the 4th; history was even more present and palpable.
On a lawn between Independence Hall and the National Constitution Center, a man in colonial costume smoked his pipe for a while, before the assortment of people around him sang God Bless America with a solemn tenderness.
Next came a stop at the Old City Hall, where the first Supreme Court met (6 justices back then); one of the earliest Associate Justices, James Wilson, who was also one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, is buried in Christ Church a few blocks north. Here two naval officers, after having paused to look at his grave, step into the church.
It's still an active Episcopal church today (and was once the tallest building in North America); its congregation back then included Ben Franklin, George Washington, and Betsy Ross.
I visited the Betsy Ross house too; she was an upholsterer famous for being a patriotic flag-maker (though there's a dispute as to whether she sewed the first Stars and Stripes flag).
That colorful tubby figure in the courtyard of the Betsy Ross House is the mascot for the Phillies baseball team; this one is painted in patchwork but in other parts of the city he shows up in different colors and patterns.
Another thing to note about the courtyard is how nicely shaded it is. It was a sweltering dry day, which tended to make a person sleepy.
Though to the little girl's credit, she was still holding onto that flag even as she slept. This was on the way to Penn's Landing, which overlooks the Delaware River.
You can see the Ben Franklin bridge. And on the 4th, the USS Bulkeley was docked at Penn's Landing and allowed visitors to tour parts of the vessel.
Another Penn's Landing treat was the Super Scooper All You Can Eat Ice Cream Festival (proceeds went to the Joshua Kahan Fund).
There was Turkey Hill vanilla with walnuts, Ben and Jerry's Phish Food, a Haagen Dazs sample that was a lot like the Phish Food but without the little chocolate fish, and there was strawberry Breyers, and then two spoons of Edys mint chocolate chip (I think it was Edys, it's all a haze now)... and that's when my stomach finally protested ("Have pity, Madam").
Good thing I walked a lot today. Including a stroll down the "oldest continuously inhabited street in the US" - Elfreth's Alley (I love that name, Elfreth - makes me think of elves and eldritch creatures).
A little offshoot called Bladen's Court:
There's that delicious shade again; it cooled the air somewhat.
But shade wasn't enough; I needed water. Not necessarily to drink, but just to be near. A portion of the walk west across Center City seemed to be in pursuit of water and was highlighted by some fountain hopping.
I spotted the first fountain across from the Arch Street Meeting House.
Ben Franklin - you find him all over Philly, for good reason. Though he spent years overseas and was born and raised in Boston, Philly is his city; it's where he developed and established a name for himself, plied his trade, and undertook and implemented many of his works, inventions and projects. He represents many classic American qualities - ingenuity, solid common sense, brilliant inventiveness, hard work and rigor, geniality, civic feeling and responsibility, entrepreneurship, broad-mindedness and free and open debate.
The next fountain was in Love Park, which is a great name for a park, though I never understood the 'Love' sculpture - which is just the word stacked on itself with a lopsided O, and made of what looks like plastic.
After that came the grand fountain at Logan Square:
Here the people were naturally a part of the fountain art and architecture.
There was also a lot of fun outside the water. This group took turns breakdancing beside the Benjamin Franklin Parkway:
Farther along the Parkway, which was closed off for a street fair with food, music, raffles, and more food, people danced, swayed, and waited for the singer to tell them when to put their hands up in the air:
Then there was this guy, who started off a series of gymnastic stunts by saying, "I want to make sure you're looking at me. Look at me. All eyes on me" - which went without saying, because it's kind of hard to avoid looking at a fierce bare-chested man with ripped abs and leopard print tights who can do handstand springs.
But eventually there came a time for rest and reflection.
Whether outside the Rodin Museum, or along a quiet stretch of 20th Street.
The Schuylkill River looked peaceful in the fading light. From its banks you could watch the sunset and wait for the fireworks show later on.
I spent this year's Fourth of July in Philadelphia.
Here's Independence Hall (the old Pennsylvania State House), where the Declaration of Independence was adopted by the Second Continental Congress, and where over a decade later the Constitution was ratified and signed. It was especially amazing to be here on the 4th; history was even more present and palpable.
On a lawn between Independence Hall and the National Constitution Center, a man in colonial costume smoked his pipe for a while, before the assortment of people around him sang God Bless America with a solemn tenderness.
Next came a stop at the Old City Hall, where the first Supreme Court met (6 justices back then); one of the earliest Associate Justices, James Wilson, who was also one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, is buried in Christ Church a few blocks north. Here two naval officers, after having paused to look at his grave, step into the church.
It's still an active Episcopal church today (and was once the tallest building in North America); its congregation back then included Ben Franklin, George Washington, and Betsy Ross.
I visited the Betsy Ross house too; she was an upholsterer famous for being a patriotic flag-maker (though there's a dispute as to whether she sewed the first Stars and Stripes flag).
That colorful tubby figure in the courtyard of the Betsy Ross House is the mascot for the Phillies baseball team; this one is painted in patchwork but in other parts of the city he shows up in different colors and patterns.
Another thing to note about the courtyard is how nicely shaded it is. It was a sweltering dry day, which tended to make a person sleepy.
Though to the little girl's credit, she was still holding onto that flag even as she slept. This was on the way to Penn's Landing, which overlooks the Delaware River.
You can see the Ben Franklin bridge. And on the 4th, the USS Bulkeley was docked at Penn's Landing and allowed visitors to tour parts of the vessel.
Another Penn's Landing treat was the Super Scooper All You Can Eat Ice Cream Festival (proceeds went to the Joshua Kahan Fund).
There was Turkey Hill vanilla with walnuts, Ben and Jerry's Phish Food, a Haagen Dazs sample that was a lot like the Phish Food but without the little chocolate fish, and there was strawberry Breyers, and then two spoons of Edys mint chocolate chip (I think it was Edys, it's all a haze now)... and that's when my stomach finally protested ("Have pity, Madam").
Good thing I walked a lot today. Including a stroll down the "oldest continuously inhabited street in the US" - Elfreth's Alley (I love that name, Elfreth - makes me think of elves and eldritch creatures).
A little offshoot called Bladen's Court:
There's that delicious shade again; it cooled the air somewhat.
But shade wasn't enough; I needed water. Not necessarily to drink, but just to be near. A portion of the walk west across Center City seemed to be in pursuit of water and was highlighted by some fountain hopping.
I spotted the first fountain across from the Arch Street Meeting House.
Ben Franklin - you find him all over Philly, for good reason. Though he spent years overseas and was born and raised in Boston, Philly is his city; it's where he developed and established a name for himself, plied his trade, and undertook and implemented many of his works, inventions and projects. He represents many classic American qualities - ingenuity, solid common sense, brilliant inventiveness, hard work and rigor, geniality, civic feeling and responsibility, entrepreneurship, broad-mindedness and free and open debate.
The next fountain was in Love Park, which is a great name for a park, though I never understood the 'Love' sculpture - which is just the word stacked on itself with a lopsided O, and made of what looks like plastic.
After that came the grand fountain at Logan Square:
Here the people were naturally a part of the fountain art and architecture.
There was also a lot of fun outside the water. This group took turns breakdancing beside the Benjamin Franklin Parkway:
Farther along the Parkway, which was closed off for a street fair with food, music, raffles, and more food, people danced, swayed, and waited for the singer to tell them when to put their hands up in the air:
Then there was this guy, who started off a series of gymnastic stunts by saying, "I want to make sure you're looking at me. Look at me. All eyes on me" - which went without saying, because it's kind of hard to avoid looking at a fierce bare-chested man with ripped abs and leopard print tights who can do handstand springs.
But eventually there came a time for rest and reflection.
Whether outside the Rodin Museum, or along a quiet stretch of 20th Street.
The Schuylkill River looked peaceful in the fading light. From its banks you could watch the sunset and wait for the fireworks show later on.
Friday, June 18, 2010
A bit of Boston
This week I took a few vacation days and headed to Portland, Maine (more on that planned for future posts).
I passed through Boston on the way back home and had enough time to walk around a little; these are some photos I took along the way between North Station and South Station.
Temple Street - a narrow, quiet lane, with lovely flowers and no traffic:
And at the southern end of the street, the State Capitol House:
Let's zoom out and make it more imposing:
(Though it can't be too imposing with a "Let's Go Celtics" banner.)
Nearby businesses with political themes:
and a bar honoring the amendment that made its legal existence possible:
A group of students on a historical tour, with their guide in historical get-up. Can history ever successfully compete with cold sweet desserts?
I rest here for a while. Boston Commons is a great place to crash and relax.
Or flirt beneath a fountain's cool spray.
The enchantment continues in South Station:
Where there's an unexpected string quartet performance, right in the train station; Mozart accompanied by boarding announcements:
I passed through Boston on the way back home and had enough time to walk around a little; these are some photos I took along the way between North Station and South Station.
Temple Street - a narrow, quiet lane, with lovely flowers and no traffic:
And at the southern end of the street, the State Capitol House:
Let's zoom out and make it more imposing:
(Though it can't be too imposing with a "Let's Go Celtics" banner.)
Nearby businesses with political themes:
and a bar honoring the amendment that made its legal existence possible:
A group of students on a historical tour, with their guide in historical get-up. Can history ever successfully compete with cold sweet desserts?
I rest here for a while. Boston Commons is a great place to crash and relax.
Or flirt beneath a fountain's cool spray.
The enchantment continues in South Station:
Where there's an unexpected string quartet performance, right in the train station; Mozart accompanied by boarding announcements:
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Week in Seven Words #5
balcony
We wear coats over our pajamas and have a drink on a balcony at night. This is a good time for talking, for catching up. A slice of the city is laid out before us - a lot of windows, some dark and blank, others allowing peeks inside to late dinner parties or flickering TVs.
complacent
Hearing the young boy ask "why?" makes me a lot less complacent about my knowledge of the world, how it works, why things are the way they are. Suddenly I'm struggling to find answers (or even just adequate words) for questions I'd foolishly assumed settled.
expectation
Over the course of the week I hear several different people exclaim, "what a beautiful day". The days are still cold; the wind can still be cutting. Dirty snow remains on the curbside. But there also seems to be a different quality to the daylight - stronger sunshine maybe. Or perhaps it's only wishful thinking, people wanting spring weather now without a moment's further delay.
hamantaschen
The tri-corner pastry traditionally eaten on the holiday of Purim. I eat a few over the course of the holiday - one with a raspberry center and a hard shell that I soften in a glass of milk. Another is apricot, an especially sweet filling that looks like topaz. And the third is full of poppyseed paste.
lassitude
In the morning, when the fever breaks, I'm tired, damp, and deliciously inert. I have no inclination to move, and even though I know I'll need to get up in ten or fifteen minutes to start the day, I feel as if those minutes pass more slowly, stretching out like putty.
lyric
She sits on my lap with a book of illustrated nursery rhymes; we're in the soft blue chair in the corner, near the lamp and her drawers full of teacups and dolls. We go through the book a few times; sometimes she leads, sometimes I lead, taking turns choosing the songs. She names the prominent figures in each picture, points to them, describes their colorful expressions; she sounds the words and melody of each song carefully, as if the rhymes will fracture if she's not gentle with them. Her hands turn each page with slow clumsy reverence.
senator
On the train the man sitting in front of me is a U.S. senator. He conducts several long cell phone conversations on the intricacies of law, the impact of proposed policies, and the need to battle government corruption and wasteful spending. Ok, fine, I'll be serious. What he actually discusses is several ways of staying afloat - how to raise money, how to write an indignant press release about an organization that just endorsed his opponent, how to zero in on his opponent's weaknesses. That, and when his driver should be waiting for him when he disembarks from the train. On the plus side, at least he's travelling by train (and not even business class!) rather than jetting around like a lot of his colleagues.
We wear coats over our pajamas and have a drink on a balcony at night. This is a good time for talking, for catching up. A slice of the city is laid out before us - a lot of windows, some dark and blank, others allowing peeks inside to late dinner parties or flickering TVs.
complacent
Hearing the young boy ask "why?" makes me a lot less complacent about my knowledge of the world, how it works, why things are the way they are. Suddenly I'm struggling to find answers (or even just adequate words) for questions I'd foolishly assumed settled.
expectation
Over the course of the week I hear several different people exclaim, "what a beautiful day". The days are still cold; the wind can still be cutting. Dirty snow remains on the curbside. But there also seems to be a different quality to the daylight - stronger sunshine maybe. Or perhaps it's only wishful thinking, people wanting spring weather now without a moment's further delay.
hamantaschen
The tri-corner pastry traditionally eaten on the holiday of Purim. I eat a few over the course of the holiday - one with a raspberry center and a hard shell that I soften in a glass of milk. Another is apricot, an especially sweet filling that looks like topaz. And the third is full of poppyseed paste.
lassitude
In the morning, when the fever breaks, I'm tired, damp, and deliciously inert. I have no inclination to move, and even though I know I'll need to get up in ten or fifteen minutes to start the day, I feel as if those minutes pass more slowly, stretching out like putty.
lyric
She sits on my lap with a book of illustrated nursery rhymes; we're in the soft blue chair in the corner, near the lamp and her drawers full of teacups and dolls. We go through the book a few times; sometimes she leads, sometimes I lead, taking turns choosing the songs. She names the prominent figures in each picture, points to them, describes their colorful expressions; she sounds the words and melody of each song carefully, as if the rhymes will fracture if she's not gentle with them. Her hands turn each page with slow clumsy reverence.
senator
On the train the man sitting in front of me is a U.S. senator. He conducts several long cell phone conversations on the intricacies of law, the impact of proposed policies, and the need to battle government corruption and wasteful spending. Ok, fine, I'll be serious. What he actually discusses is several ways of staying afloat - how to raise money, how to write an indignant press release about an organization that just endorsed his opponent, how to zero in on his opponent's weaknesses. That, and when his driver should be waiting for him when he disembarks from the train. On the plus side, at least he's travelling by train (and not even business class!) rather than jetting around like a lot of his colleagues.
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