souvenirs

In French, souvenir means memory. Here, it means memento —a keepsake that reminds you of a place you've been or an event you treasured.
That's why it's a little worrisome when you can't remember where the memento is from. Like this cork I found while tidying up for Thanksgiving (countdown starts today). Is it a Champagne cork? What was so special about it? Was it from Hannah's wedding or my 50th or last Thanksgiving? Who knows? Barrett? How about this rock? Is this the one from Mt. Everest? This sand, is it the sand I collected from Stinson Beach (with Janis Joplin's ashes in it) or is it from Jamaica, Hawaii, Florida, San Onofre?
Note to youth: Label your souvenirs while you still recall.

a tree grows in brooklyn

why there is noise in the hall

the bad news biz

Today I wrote a letter of recommendation for a young woman who is applying to journalism school. It was a counterintuitive exercise for me. I am writing this as several friends are waiting to hear whether theirs will be among the 600 jobs deleted at Time Inc. Also as it is announced that the AOL spinoff in a couple weeks will cost 2,500 jobs there. Nine years ago. AOL and Time Warner accomplished their synergistic merger that brought both companies low. Former honchos during the merger are now cooling their jets respectively on big tracts of paradise in Kauai and California. Internet business kaput. Magazine business kaput. Didn't even last a decade.
Meanwhile, my candidate. Journalism jobs these days are scarce and the few outfits that can hire have a bad case of who-you-know-itis. She feels stuck at her current yachting magazine job. And who could blame her—she wants to write about serious, important, or at least amusing subjects rather than about how to float your boat. (Come to think of it, the yachtbuilding biz could be in as much trouble as the magazine biz in this economy!) Perhaps as she gets her degree, the stormwaters will subside and we will be able to see what journalism will look like when we reach harbor again. Otherwise (to stretch the metaphor too far), we're all sunk.

who you gonna call?

You never know how things are going to come out. Take a gently nurtured child, pamper her and give her every material thing her heart desires, introduce her to proper society, send her to the finest schools in the country and you should predictably wind up with a Westport matron whose work life consists of a few days at the Minks and Sinks rummage sale.
Not a person who moves from working as a go-go girl wearing pasties to clubbing baby seals in Alaska to writing House of Horror comic books. But even knowing this history, I could never have predicted this most recent incarnation as a security guard on the set of Vampire Diaries. What's next? How the hell could I possibly guess?

more about animals

Some people still have pets. Some people have kitties which they keep by their fireplaces in Brooklyn while eating Italian pastries all day long and not having to go to work.
Some people used to have pets and now only have dreams about animals (or eat them). One of those people dreamt the other night that she was working on a story called "The Hunters of Green Comfort," about a new symbiotic relationship that had developed throughout the world between cows and monkeys. It was a pretty weird dream, especially because the cows (!) were The Hunters.
Cows? I could believe maybe pigs. Did you see the NYT article about pigs the other day? Stop me if I've told you the story of my pet pig. . .

alas

It is my sad duty to inform you that Mr. Squiggles has passed away. He was becoming increasingly, er, sluggish. And as far as slugs go, it's kind of hard to tell which end is which unless they put their eyestalks out. I did some research to find out what he needed in the way of food or environment and found this great pet slug site and moved Mr. Sqiggles to a new container with some fresh romaine, using spring water rather than NY Tap. Alas, the move seemed to do him (or her) more harm than good and that was kind of that. I laid his body to rest in the sweet potato vine pot in case he came back to life, but I don't think he (she) is going to.

still serving beer

The West Plains Daily Quill, my favorite small newspaper in the world, put the 200th anniversary of Thomasville, Mo., on the front page yesterday. Yes, it's the New Goose, turquoise eyeliner and glass blocks and all, but is there any reference to the fact that Old Carl is no longer the owner? Any mention of the newest taxpayer in this mouldering town? Any mention in the lineup of Famous People of T'ville that a world renowned journalist who has climbed Mt. Everest and canoed the Amazon, interviewed two Presidents Bush and countless movie stars now calls the Goose home?
This is the peril of talking to only one source for a story, oh Quill reporter whose boss I am likethis with.
And this diss, despite the fact that I know Frank Martin!

name that pet

Big excitement at the Dowling International, a.k.a. Claudia's Crashpad, and no I am not talking about Aymar!
I was just finishing off some watercress yesterday when I ran across a foreign object. Well, he/she (slugs are hermaphrodites) was actually probably native to the watercress, so you could look at it that he/she ran across a foreign object in his/her watercress, to wit: my finger.
Anyhow, he/she was too small (see fingertip) and cute to execute, so now he/she lives in a walnut meat container with the rest of the watercress. I'm not much on pets, as those of you who want me to buy a chihuahua may know. Any idea how long slugs live?
And please suggest a name.

property taxes in the ozarks

bonding

An expedition can bond people—and the more brutal, the more lasting the bond. High altitude is pretty brutal—especially after the first month. I went to 22,000 feet in the Himalayas with Russell (left), and Jeremy made it to the top of Mt. Everest, 29,000 and change. And even though we see one another only every few years, it's always a pleasure.

strong men

Rabbi Abraham, a man who goes for extreme cold-water swimming at Coney Island, poses with another Brooklyn fixture, now recovering from abdominal surgery. They both look pretty damn healthy, considering.

artist at work

Peruvian-American artist Aymar Ccopacatty put on a bitchin' show at Tribes Gallery. Called Recycling Urgencies, the show is comprised mostly of work Aymar made by spinning "wool" from plastic trash and using it to form weavings or knits. A video and display shows the artist at work. There are also paintings. Buy one today! The show will only be up for another couple of weeks.
Aymar is onto something important about flotsam and jetsam. A recent NYT article says that there is a trash whirlpool twice the size of Texas in the Pacific.

a little ditty

About Frank and Dianne: They bought yet another property In Missouri, including forty-something acres and this lovely John Deere room, with matching fan blades and wallpaper! There is also a horse room with matching fans and wallpaper. . . They were so charmed by the decor that they are considering a move from their current palatial abode, pictured above post Halloween. . . while they were otherwise occupied at the cafe in T'ville.

day of the dead

On the Day of the Dead, an exhibition of the life work of Ann Sims Rath Dugan opened at the Harlin Museum in West Plains, Mo., complete with Tower o' Tupperware and a Mexican Day of the Dead altar with sugar skulls made by Ann's daughter Jessica Rath (top) and admired by Ann's granddaughter. A wonderful tribute to a wonderful artist. Up for two more weeks and well worth the trip.

three down

I shut down the Goose yesterday.
Dale came out to drain the pipes. Hopefully Bear has shut down the squirrels' quarters in the roof, too. He did not want to, but he did climb up and stuff steel wool in the nest hole. I shut down Claudia's before California, and Hannah and Chris shut down Hannah's after Halloween. So the real estate empire has been winterized, and a New York rent stabilized apartment is it now. Spotless, thanks to Kathleen, who also laid in my favorite food and drink.
And by the way, I left the Goose at 8:30 ayem and got home, via planes from St. Louis and Chicago, at midnight or so, about the time the Yankees won the World Series. Hell, I coulda practically driven home in that time.

road trippers

An unexpected stopover at the Goose by a mother-daughter cross-country in-transit pair! So fun! Eat your heart out, J!

a sad story

The river was rising fast and darkness was falling as I pulled into the Goose. I unlocked the door, and all seemed well. But then I noticed a pile of wood chips next to the sink and then the gnawing at the window. Upstairs, a piece of the ceiling had been chewed out, and it looked like something had tried to use the Venetian blinds as a ladder. Something had been desperate and trapped.
Behind the bed was was the unhappy victim. I put the body in the yard, but before I could bury it, Yoyo trotted off with the remains.

why they built the new bridge

And just for reference, my house is at the left center of the bottom picture. Or was, when I left it three hours ago, with the water still rising. . .
Drove through the tempests and fogs and winding roads and flooded roads for five hours from St. Louis to get to the Goose yesterday and found—death and disaster.
Stay tuned and I will explain next time I'm in town.

duh

I am an idiot.
Not that I didn't always know it, but I had the opportunity to realize it again yesterday morning at 6:45 when I arrived at LaGuardia for my flight to St. Louis and couldn't understand why I couldn't get the damn machine to spit out my boarding pass.
The lovely gentleman at the counter explained it to me: "Your flight is tomorrow."
Yes, I could get another flight that morning, for approximately $300 more. Even i could do that math: "Taxi!"
So off I go again now.

it's not a cancer

"We don't give this news to too many people too many times," said the doctor. "It's not a carcenoma. It's benign. It's not cancer."
Ed struggled to understand that the knowledge he had been dealing with for two weeks, that he had colon cancer,had proved erroneous. "I had stopped thinking about the future," he says.
Now he has one. Still, we want you all to have a colonoscopy, as he will have to again soon. Ed, who has been joking about semicolons, asked the doc, "Given the size of the colon, do I get half off?

tribeca trees

not that itsy bitsy

This is a picture of a brown recluse. They are everywhere in Missouri. Frank and Dianne have lots living in their attic, and Frank captured this one so that Chris Garrison could photograph it. You can see the characteristic violin shape on its back that has also caused it to be called the fiddle spider.
Last week when Ed was in hospital, his roommate had a baffling skin ulcer. The flesh was being eaten away, and doctors did not know why. Ed suggested that it might be a brown recluse bite, even though Brooklyn is well out of the spider's range. The doctors treated it as such, and the man, a construction worker, was released the next day.

i am sick

I mention this because a Certain Person tells me I always have a cold in the fall, and I can't remember. So here's a record of one time that I do. Now.
Also it may explain some flakiness in posting.

rushing the season

Actually saw this yard in Van Nuys about two weeks ago. Some people really know how to have fun! What are you going to be for Halloween?
I think I'll be a New Yorker in the Ozarks. I guess I'll wear a mix of black and camo. Any other thoughts?

bellyfull of war

If you happen to be in West Plains, Mo., for the Big Read of Tim O'Brien's book about Vietnam, The Things They Carried, be sure to check out the exhibit of photos and memorabilia from local veterans at the West Plains Civic Center, mezzanine. It is curated by my Thomasville neighbor artist Bill Dugan, himself a Vietnam vet. He will also show his "Mouth Full of War" and other pieces from November 1 through 21. On November 12 author Tim O'Brien will speak.
And lest we forget, along with daughter artist Jessica Rath, Bill Dugan has organized an even more personal Day of the Dead retrospective of the art of Ann Kay Sims Rath Dugan, his wife who died last year of Parkinson's disease. Reception November 1 from 12 to 4 with Tower o' Tupperware and Mexican Day of the Dead altar. To order the catalogue see Dancing Through Life.
I, for one, plan to be there.

pigeons roost in palm springs

That was the day before yesterday. Today I am in New York, where there are also pigeons, and naturally mine have already come home to roost and need to be attended to before much more time passes.
Which reminds me, better open the mail.

not child centric

Hoping for R-rated plane flights today as well.

dislocation

It's in the 90s in the desert, and dry. It's hard to imagine that elsewhere, in my real life, it is raining or even snowing. Likewise it's hard to believe that friends are in hospital or at war, fighting foreclosure and bankruptcy, falling in love and finishing a sculpture. How can you resolve all these places and weathers and people and emotions and situations into one picture?
You can't. But we try. And at least—even if I can't really believe that it is cold in Block Island—I did call the plumber to ask that he shut down Claudia's Surf City.
Uh oh. What about the Goose? Better check Missouri weather. . .

view from the pool

Sorry about yesterday. I was so distracted that I wrote but did not publish my post.
However, Ed's son called to say that the surgery (although it was rather long) went fine. Phew.

open air touring

There's nothing like a convertible in beautiful Palm Springs, with hostess-to-the-world Ruby at the wheel. Even a visit to her storage locker is fun. And then there was the postprandial (and I'm talking prandial with 13 people at Davey's) drive through the dark downtown, past the neon lights and back to the pink motel in the desert.

somebody got a puppy

My niece. Yesterday. Or was it the parents who got a puppy?
Me, I don't do puppy. I'm headed for Palm Springs where all are full grown dogs the size of puppies. Well, about half the size of this puppy.

they did

family events

The night before the wedding, a delightful gathering was held at an old book store with a taco truck serving up tamales and etc outside, a fruit stand serving up tropical frutas with chili pepper inside and ice buckets of Mexican beer (how do people in L.A. where everyone seems to drive solo handle this? do they all drive drunk or just not drink at parties?).
Anyway, the night before the night before, the bride (left) was up all night at the emergency room with her sister (right) who swallowed a vitamin pill that got lodged in her throat. So was the groom. And the sister's boyfriend. Not a lot of sleep by the wedding party was had.
They did not wake the mother of the bride, a New Yorker, because she was sleeping off the effects of a scenic drive up Topanga Canyon during which she became very carsick.

sepulveda

It's great to be back in the greater Los Angeles area. The weather and the tropical foliage are beautiful, yes, but it also feels so manageable. Traffic, sure. But it's so easy to find your way around. Hills, ocean—you're oriented.
Also, thinking back, I guess I've spent quite a lot of time here. In the old days as a movie writer at People in Hollywood and Beverly Hills, on studio lots and at Academy Awards, by the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Then there was the Life era. That was aging surfers and full moon raves and celebrities like Jay Leno and Julianna Margulies, lunches at the Shutters and walks along the Santa Monica pier, watching the surfers in Malibu. Then for Oxygen, I spent months out here at orgies and in nudist colonies (check it out in reruns: Sex Lives on Videotape). And then, of course, my bro and family live here. Anyway, feels wonderful to be back.

trash day

. . .in Van Nuys. I love L.A.

the next generation

Shut down one house, left the other for the children.
Off to L.A. tomorrow.

i have transitioned

. . .to New York.

full moon/full house

before it rains

Better get that trench covered.

i found it

There was a lake behind Hannah's Hideaway this spring. Global warming? All I know is that the rains were tropical, torrential. Or as, Danny would say, "it fell aflood." And the water table was so high that the ground couldn't absorb the inches of precip.
I vowed to find the culvert (as I call it) where the overflow pipe from the freshwater pond feeds in to channel the water to the salt pond.
And I did! Without much digging! Now all that remains is to dig a 20-foot trench for the drainpipe I plan to feed into it. Today.