Thoughts from the F Train

New York is never not beautiful to me. It was snowing all day yesterday and raining all day today but STILL New York is sublime: I love this city in all of its meteorological moods. Even if it’s not always picturesque, New York is ALWAYS cinematic.

Best Panhandler Sign I’ve Seen Yet:

“Britney’s sister is pregnant and I need money to buy a nice gift.”

–Times Square, February 7th, 2008

Moleskines

“The impulse to write things down is a peculiarly compulsive one, inexplicable to those who do not share it, useful only accidentally, only secondarily, the way that any compulsion tries to justify itself.”

“I imagine, in other words, that the notebook is about other people. But of course it is not… Remember what is was to be me: that is always the point… [Our] notebooks give us away, for however dutifully we record what we see around us, the common denominator of all we see is always, transparently, shamelessly, the implacable ‘I.’”

–Joan Didion, On Keeping a Notebook

I finally bought a new Moleskine this week. I’ve been without a proper jotting space since the end of last semester, which translates to many scraps of paper strewn about my person. I keep, if I may say it, a very nice, neat Moleskine. (In fact, this may be the only orderly thing about me.) The fastidiousness of my notes makes me look like a product of the French education system, which probably isn’t a good thing since it destroys me a little every time I have to cross something out.

I would love to keep a fantastical, unconstrained notebook like Guillermo del Toro (my notebook idol) but I fear that I lack the requisite sleeping condition (and drawing skills) to come up with such inspired monsters.

Computer-font-like penmanship is my one consolation…

I was once* a keeper of journals but this seems very difficult to me now. I can’t commit to the task (I blame New York)–months lapse between entries, each one beginning with “it’s been so long since I last wrote” and ending with a renewed promise of fidelity. I’ve had the same pretty brown leather book for two years now and it looks like it has about another year or so in it. Poor, neglected thing… Notes seem to better suited to my current lifestyle: notes from lectures, from books, to myself, etc. I just need a gathering space–I can’t be bothered to form anything coherent.

*There is actually only *one* journal that I kept successfully and that is the one I wrote while I was in Guadeloupe. (The loneliness of an island is conducive to plumbing one’s thoughts.) I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to write a better journal–my age and location were PERFECT for the task. As a 25 year-old resident of New York, I can only foresee constant (but often wonderful) interruption.

Rebel Juices

I was having lunch at the Whole Foods in Union Square today when I noticed that the young woman seated across the table from me was drinking a juice called “Mango Uprising.” Such an appellation inevitably conjures images of fruit warfare. Because it was too difficult to read my book and eat soup at the same time, I began to entertain myself by coming up with alternative names for warmongering juices. Here is a sampling:

*Coconut Coup
*Soursop Surge
*Blueberry Détente
*Edict of Nanking Cherry
*Strawberry Martial Law
*Pax Banana
(I also wanted to use banana for “Banana Blitz,” both a terrifying image and evocative of banana splits, but I thought that this would make the “Banana” character too confusing. Does Banana want peace or not?)

It’s fun to come up with your own–I recommend it–though you have to weed out the obvious ones like Agent Orange and Apricot PTSD.

PS There’s a real blog post in the wings, complete with quotes and pilfered images. I’ll probably write it tonight or tomorrow.

“Let’s make litter out of these literati!”

Lenny: “That’s too clever, you’re one of THEM!” –The Simpsons

As you may (or very well may NOT) have noticed, Minneapolis was recently named America’s Most Literate City. Yet another reason why the lakey city is so great: laudable reading habits. (Note: Whereas most publications say something like Minneapolis “bumped” or “ousted” Seattle for the number 1 bookworm city, the Minneapolis Star Tribune says supplanted. Why “supplanted?” ‘Cause we so literate.)

On a related note, my parents and I went to Garrison Keillor’s bookstore (Common Good Books) during my visit home. It’s a charming enough place but I found the vanity relics (“This is the desk at which Garrison Keillor wrote [some books], in his New York City apartment”) a little off-putting. Also, the Javier Marias selection was woefully slim.

I give them points, though, for prominently displaying books from local publishers, like Milkweed’s Cracking India and Coffee House’s Firmin. Also, there’s a very reading-and-writing-conducive coffee shop upstairs where they hold readings with local writers. My mom and I totally slayed a New York Times crossword puzzle there.

While on the subject of Minnesota and books: I miss Minnesota Public Radio’s Talking Volumes. I know that I could listen on the web, but that’s not as good as actually attending the tapings at the Fitzgerald Theatre. Watching a writer speak in that antique little gem of a theatre is a fun night out. (Rumor has it that Isabel Allende was enchanting.) And while I know that famous writers are easy to come by in New York, it is so much more special in small, unassuming St. Paul.

FRIDAMANIA

While home for the holidays, I took a field trip to the Walker Art Center for the Frida Kahlo exhibit, conceived in commemoration of the centennial of her birth. My first attempt to see the exhibit was (foolishly) on a Target Free Thursday Night–the line looked to be about 2 hours long. Not feasible, given that I had dinner plans at 8. The second time I went was on a Friday afternoon and, while there was still a queue, I only had to wait about half an hour. I’d like to interpret the crowds as evidence of the Twin Cities’ commitment to the arts but, let’s face it, Frida could pack a venue in Topeka. (Maybe?)

There is a veritable cult of Frida Kahlo and I feel a little cheesy claiming my membership. But like any person with feminist principles, a passion for art history, a soft spot for 1930s-style Communists and a fascination with Latin America, I am a sucker for Frida. (We both love skulls.)

My experience buying my ticket was bizarre. It was a perfectly normal transaction until, handing over my ticket and admission badge, the attendant blurted out a complete non sequitur: “SLAIN BHUTTO BURIED,” she said forcefully, as if it were a password or something. “Oh, wow,” I stammered, and wandered off dazed.

Waiting in line, I got to take in the igloo-chic Herzog and de Meuron* expansion. Winter is an ideal time to visit the Walker, actually. The building has a glacial feel: walls like giant slabs of ice, glass installations that resemble clusters of hale, a long sheet of horizontal windowpanes that look out onto Hennepin Avenue and a snow-covered Loring Park. I’m biased, of course, but I think the Walker is fabulous.

*Speaking of Herzog and de Meuron, check out 40 Bond in New York. I love ogling this building.

Ko a la

I’ve been thinking about my favorite créole phrase that I picked up in Guadeloupe: Ko a la. Le corps est là. The body is there. (It’s used in response to “Ka ou fè?”/”How are you?”)

I love the complete, suspiring exhaustion contained in those three monosyllabic words, the intimation of a fugitive spirit. That’s how I feel when I’m overwhelmed with work, with my own inefficiency, by a lack of sleep, by an excess of anxiety: le corps est là.

Ko a la: It would be an excellent title for a harrowing autobiography (which I hope to avoid) or for a metaphysical novel in the vein of Kundera. The body is there. Just barely.

Gimlet-eyed

I love the term “gimlet-eyed” but I think it’s something of a misnomer:

After a few gimlets I definitely don’t feel so gimlet-eyed.

CANDY LAND!!!

I went to the Barnes and Noble tonight to pick up a book for a school and made an important discovery–Classic Candy Land!!!! I can scarcely communicate how excited I am about this. (And, yes, I know that this + my sample post + my Cozy Cookie post makes me look like I’m approximately 9 years old…)

I was raised playing Classic Candy Land and have many fond memories of cheating at it. At some point (probably when I was in middle school) my mother, who can typically do no wrong, threw away this technicolor cornerstone of my childhood. I was crestfallen when I became aware of it. I bought the modern version around the age of 18–attempting to retrieve a fragment of une enfance perdue–but this was a mistake: Modern Candy Land has no resonance for me. Mr. Mint and Queen Frostine are kitsch. Classic Candy Land–with its Gumdrop Mountains, Lollipop Woods and Ice Cream Floats–is sheer elegance.

 

There is nothing retro or ironic about my love for Candy Land. I just really like thinking about confectionary landscapes. Seriously.

 

Some people argue that Candy Land is boring or that it requires no skill. To them I say: “Why do you hate candy?”

 

The Sample Scene

I am, admittedly, a sample-fiend. My obsession began, typically enough, in childhood, when going to the grocery store with my mom on sample day was better than a day at the park. My sisters and I would visit sample stations multiple times, disguising ourselves by swapping jackets, changing our hairstyles, etc. Unlike most people, I never outgrew the novelty of being served free food in tiny plastic cups. Not only am I delighted by the experience, I actively seek it out. When I am in Minnesota, I make a special trip to Byerly’s on Saturday morning to feast on their sample banquet, which, to my chagrin, seems to have declined a bit in the past year or so.

One of my first missions when I moved to New York was to suss out the sample scene. (What better way to make myself feel at home?) Living in the East Village, I was lucky: Union Square is a great place for samples. I quickly learned the benefits and drawbacks of the area’s two major grocery stores: Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods. Whole Foods may have multiple samples at one time or none at all (few things are more disappointing than leaving empty-stomached); Trader Joe’s is more reliable, with on-going service of both a morning sample and an evening sample. (Sometimes, when I lived on East 12th St., I would go for a run at NYU’s Palladium Athletic Facility on 13th St. and then stop in at Trader Joe’s for a morning thimble of coffee and a bite of whatever they were serving with it.)

Last Friday at Trader Joe’s I tasted a sample that was so delicious that I feel compelled to share it. “Grand Sample Station” (puns and samples!) was serving wee cups of a peppermint mudslide, made with chocolate pudding and crushed Candy Cane Joe-Joe’s.

I don’t have a precise recipe but I think that this is a pretty re-creatable dessert. I encourage you to experiment. Here’s what you’ll need:

*chocolate pudding mix

*Candy Cane Joe-Joe’s

*peppermint sticks for garnish (optional)

(And if you’re allergic to pudding, try just the cookies with milk or cocoa. They’re delicious and cheap.)