40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty Five

I spent almost all of today walking around the Mission District taking photographs of the incredible graffiti murals in the neighborhood. It's funny to go on vacation and do the same things that you do at home. I took photographs of murals, went to some bookstores and when the rain got too heavy, ducked into a bar (Irish, natch) to wait it out.

Not that I needed any proof, but I also discovered that I am my mother's son. My mother is a fan of returning to the same restaurants where she had good experiences or food, even if she is one vacation. The best example of this is when she and my father were in London and they ended up going to the same restaurant (Ask Pizzaria in Belsize Park) each of the three Saturdays they were there.

Since having the delicious salmon sandwich at Triple Rock brewpub this past Saturday, it's been at the back of my mind that I've got to get back there and have said salmon sandwich one more time. Goal was accomplished tonight, though there's nothing wrong with, schedule permitting, going back one more time before I leave.

I don't have many photos of today's journey around the Mission District to share, as the pics are all in my camera and I have no way to upload them until I get home. However, I will share the below photos with you. At the end of the day, as I was making my way to the subway to go to Triple Rock (did I mention how much I like their salmon sandwich?) I stumbled on the below murals. I assume they were painted recently in memory of Moebius. They made me gasp like a woman with the vapors. They they made me happy at how well they were done, and shortly after, sad once again that he is gone.

40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty Four

Yesterday I went to see Abel Gance's epic silent film Napoleon at The Paramount, a grand movie palace in Oakland restored to its art deco glory.

The movie was accompanied by a live orchestra and contained footage long thought lost. I enjoyed wandering around the theater before the film as much as the film itself.

40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty Three

Triple Rock

The first place I went to in Berkeley after moving there many years ago was the Triple Rock brewpub. It may have been straight from the train to the pub. My friend Suzie picked me up at the train station in Oakland and I can't recall if we dropped my bags off at the apartment first or not.

I like Triple Rock and their beer, yet I don't think I went there that often, despite the fact that it was on the same street as the bookstore where I worked. I didn't go to bars much when I lived in California, possibly because I didn't have the money. Now I would be regular. Their beer is good, the IPA in particular quite tasty, and last night I had an incredible salmon sandwich: marinated in ginger, chili, tangy soy sauce and then grilled. It was one of those times I kept closing my eyes as I ate, to be concentrate on how much I enjoyed the flavors mingling across my tongue.

Triple Rock is also where I received a fast lesson in the gap between how things should be versus how they are. Suzie and I got our table and a couple of beers. We ordered sandwiches at the bar. Mine arrived first so I took it back to the table. While Suzie was still waiting at the bar, a guy, obviously down on his luck, whether he was genuinely homeless or not remains a mystery, came over to the table. He said he was hungry and asked if he could have some of my sandwich.

Well, I believe in feeding the poor and I'm more socialist than most, so I began trying to pull the sandwich in two. I wanted to help the man but not go so far as to let him take a bite out of something I would eat. I just didn't know how to say "no" to this guy. It's not that I was afraid. I truly believed that if somone is hungry and asks for some food, you give it to them. But whatever it was I ordered proved resistant to pulling apart neatly or evenly. Like the classic 98 pound weaklng, I had trouble pulling the sandwich apart. The man stood there, patiently, until someone who worked at the bar came over, told the man to get out and apologized to me. The man smiled - he had a "I was so close, I almost got ya" look on his face.

As the man walked away, Suzie came to the table.

"Welcome to Berkeley" she said.

40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty Two

SFO RPM

At the San Francisco airport there is an exhibit dedicated to the history of the vinyl album, showcasing classic covers and the evolution of record players over the last century. The exhibit was designed and curated by someone who knew what they were doing. Why doesn't New York have things like this?

40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty One

California's been good to me/
I hope it don't fall into the sea
- Tom Petty

It's after 10:00 and I haven't finished packing yet. I'm heading to California tomorrow - San Francisco to be exact. I've been feeling nostalgic for it lately. Not the place as much as the place at the time that I lived there. Revisiting places is the closest that I can come to traveling back in time. I don't necessarily want to be there; there's nothing wrong with where I am right now. But I do want to remember and revisit. It's a vacation in the past more than it is on the west coast of the country.

It's not that I was happiest there, though I was happy. I think it's because I learned and grew so much out there. The atmosphere seemed full of ideas, the culture seemed so fertile. It was different from what I experienced going to college in PA with the occasional trip to NYC. It was the first time I lived in a city and discovered how much I loved being around cafes, bars, movie theaters, bookstores. I was also dirt poor despite working two jobs and while it's a stretch to say I didn't care, I don't recall that being a time of deprivation. I somehow found the wherewithal to do what I liked.

So it should be a trip of "remember when" or more likely "where was it that I...guess it's gone now." Hopefully not.

40 Days of Lent: Day Thirty

Pop Up Mysteries of the Rosary: Part II The Sorrowful Mysteries

What are the Sorrowful Mysteries? They are the second set of five Hail Marys said when saying the rosary. They recall the suffering of that Mary's divine Son underwent for our redemption.

Intro: Visitation from Our Lady at Fatima


I have been to Fatima. I liked it.


I. The Agony of Our Lord Jesus Christ in the Garden


As it doesn't look too bad in pop-up form, Rev. Coerezza adds this editorial:

The Eternal God suffered for you, ungrateful, sinful create that you are! Will you not for the future try to love Him more and serve Him better? Think what grief of soul your sins caused your Divine Savior!

II. The Scourging of Out Lord at the Pillar



III. The crowning of Our Blessed Lord with Thorns



IV. The Journey of Our Lord, Carry His Cross to Calvary



V. The Crucifixion and Death of Our Lord

40 Days of Lent: Day Twenty Nine

This Friday will be the first anniversary of Elizabeth Taylor’s death. I didn't dislike her, but I was never a big fan either. Like Elvis Presley or Marlon Brando, the groundbreaking star quality she possessed in her youth was gone by the time I was around, replaced by little else but a sad spectacle. “A tad overweight, but violet eyes to die for” as Doonesbury put it. It’s backhanded and mean but accurate. Granted, she never became the complete mess that Elvis or Brando or her pal Michael Jackson did, but the second half of her life retroactively casts a shadow on memories of her youth.

That odd sensation of both remembering and being surprised: that’s what I felt when I saw photographs of her at her peak, as a young woman, online and on television during remembrances and memorials. She was radiant. “Oh, now I get it” I thought. But rather than watch any of her movies or read gossip about her life, I was drawn to a work that would probably not be how Ms. Taylor would want to be remembered, even though it is a testament to her when she was most famous. Hearing about Elizabeth Taylor, I felt compelled to re-read J. G. Ballard’s novel Crash.

Crash opens with the death of Vaughn, a man whose ultimate fantasy is to die in a head on collision with “the film actress Elizabeth Taylor.” Vaughn is only the most extreme example of the pathology shared other characters in the book, that is, they are all sexually fixated on car accidents. When I first read the book twenty years ago, I grew tired of it but thought that was the author’s point: the boredom of fetishes and obsessions. This time, however, I was intrigued throughout. Whereas before all I noticed was the repetition, this time I noticed the variations as the characters try to find new ways to satisfy themselves within the context of car accidents.

But more surprising was discovering how little the film actress Elizabeth Taylor is actually in the novel. I had always remembered her presence as looming large throughout the book, as Vaughn’s (and Ballard’s) crazed celebrity worship is an important theme. In actuality, she’s mentioned in the first chapter, along with celebrities who did die in car accidents, such as Jayne Mansfield, James Dean, Albert Camus…even JFK, whose death is considered a kind of car accident. She's only mentioned sporadically afterwards. But on the page as on screen, her presence fills your thoughts even when she is absent.

The fact that the celebrity fixation was dropped from David Cronenberg’s film version of Crash is also a testament to Taylor. What actress in the 1990s had the same stature as Taylor did in the 1960s? Madonna? Sharon Stone, for a couple of months? There really wasn’t any one. “I wasn't that interested in the actual actress,” Ballard said “but she stood for the last of the great Hollywood stars.” They really don’t make them like that anymore.

As I said, I’m sure her appearance in Crash is not how Taylor would want to be remembered, even though it demonstrates her impact on the culture better than the most well meaning eulogy. I rarely re-read books, even favorite ones. I'm thankful that the film actress Elizabeth Taylor indirectly lead me to re-read Ballard.

40 Days Of Lent: Day Twenty Eight

Graffiti Murals From My Neighborhood

40 Days of Lent: Day Twenty Seven

Walking The Long Mile Home

One of the things that New York City residents are used to, along with people singing for their supper on the subways by performing close four part harmony a cappella ("I'm Gonna Let It Shine" being a particular favorite), are groups of young hassidic kids cornering you and asking "are you Jewish?" This has happened to me a number of times and while I'm not offended (I know someone who gets very angry when it happens) I usually am puzzled. Not to deal in stereotypes, but when I look in the mirror, I see Johnny Michael O'Hanlon From the Emerald Isle Don't Ya Know, though to be more honest, lately it's been more Johnny O'Hanlon Lately Gone To Seed If I Say So Myself. Being mistake for a member of The Tribe always gives me pause. Do these kids really think I'm Jewish or are they just playing the numbers game? In any case, my startled "uh, no" always brings forth a polite "okay, sorry to have bothered you" as they rush to question someone else; doubtlessly they're on a quota system. I should ask them if they know about something big going down and should I smear lamb's blood on my doorway just to be safe.

But on the way home tonight, I was stopped by a pre-teen who asked if I knew about God as a female. This gave me the pause you get when you not only formulate an answer but you also analyze the question to make sure you understood it correctly. All my reading about fertility cults, earth mothers, pre-Christian goddesses danced through my head. "You mean God as a female entity rather than a male power?" I asked. Was this kid really asking me, a random person, about...what? Gnostic theories about how the true creative force is female, a mother figure, and the God that organized religion prays to is a male usurper who thinks He created the universe and rules over the world but is mistaken and we on Earth are sort of trapped under His rule until we can transcend and experience Her directly? A nice myth, but as a theory I always thought it was a cake-and-eat-it-too explanation for why we can have a loving God that allows horrible things to happen to us. It's the good "real" Goddess that created and loves us: it's the deluded "false" God that lets bad things happen to us no matter how much we implore Him. It's not too far from the psychological dance abused children do to justify that the parent who loves them is the same one who sometimes hurts them.

Was that what this kid was asking me about? Pre-Nicean Council Mystic Christianity? In Brooklyn?

"You mean God as a female entity rather than a male power?"

"Well, yeah, if you read in the Bible..."

Enough said. "Okay, thanks, but if that's what you're talking about, then you really have to step off." I actually did say "step off" to a kid who was not only two feet smaller than me, but was with an adult who was even shorter than that. I said it as nicely as I could, apologizing and saying I just wasn't interested. The kid said okay and he and his petite adult went on their way. I would have stood there for over an hour discussing arcane Christian theology, but the Bible? No thanks. It's like wanting to discuss more esoteric ideas in film structure and theory and then someone brings up Steven Spielberg.

40 Days of Lent: Day Twenty Six

Martyrs!

Hard to believe that the series has gone this far without any mention of martyrs.

Saints Vitus, Modestus and Crescentia


Saint John the Evangelist
(Saint John survived this.)

Saint James the Greater


Saint Simon The Apostle


Saint Bartholomew

It should be noted that we have little that can be verified regarding martyr's deaths; what we do know is the stuff of legend. But as legends they were well known enough top become part of the iconography of the saints, such that Michelangelo could depict Bartholomew holding his flayed skin in The Last Judgement.



All these images come from A Rome Art Lover's webpage. A great site.

40 Days of Lent: Day Twenty Five

Palm-of-the-Hand Stories
Yasunari Kawabata

A birthday present from Andrea Collins last year, Palm Of The Hand Stories is a collection of miniature tales written by Japanese author Yasunari Kawabata throughout his career, though most of these stories date from the 1920s, leading one to think that these stories are how Kawabata learned his craft. After making my way through the heft and density of Thomas Pynchon’s Against the Day, I needed something lighter, smaller and more focused.

In general, the tone is evocative and minimalist, dreamlike either overtly or subtly. For Western referents, think Kafka sometimes, James Carver other times. But Kawabata’s work never bores me the way Carver’s does. As with any collection, some stories are going to fade as soon as you finish them, others may have an impressive element or reveal an unique approach to fiction, while a few rank as some of the most impressive short stories I’ve read. I suspect any reader would agree, though I doubt any two readers would agree on which stories fit which categories. For what it’s worth, my favorites may have concerned the ghost of an old man walking with the ghost of a young love. The two talk, realize that they are ghosts, discuss a bit about their lives, and then decide to inhabit a tree and are never seen again. Another evocative story concerns a woman remembering a shopping trip with her mother and her mother’s indecision over what cheap umbrella to buy, a memory made bittersweet by the ensuing destruction of WWII; a man driving a cart who befriends a little girl who attempts to hitch a ride.

Kawabata relies mainly on setting and mood to capture a moment in time or feeling, but he avoids huge changes, cheap twists and epiphanies. His theme seems to be relationships between men and women, the gap between what they want and what they have: arranged marriages are a recurring element. His characters are mostly quiet, slightly repressed and dreamy. Watchers and thinkers, rather than doers. They reflect on things and have feelings, but rarely are there life changing moments. This realization without much action serves to lend a mournful quality to the stories.

40 Days of Lent: Day Twenty Four

More Images from The Joyous Mysteries Pop Up Book


What are the Joyful Mysteries? Rev. Coerezza writes that the Rosary

consists of 150 Hail Marys, which with the recall the life (sic) of Our Lord in 15 mysteries, form a beautiful crown of praise to Jesus and Mary, His Mother. The first five mysteries are called "Joyful" : these show us the Virgin Mary as Mother of the Child Jesus.

The Five Mysteries are:
I. The Annunciation
"Surprise! You're pregnant!"


II. The Visitation of Our Blessed Lady to St. Elizabeth
As soon as Mary visited her pregnant cousin Elizabeth, the child in Elizabeth's womb was cleansed of Original Sin and Sanctified. He would grow up to be John the Baptist.


III. The Birth of Jesus in a Stable in Bethlehem


IV. The Presentation of the Child Jesus in the Temple
A man named Simeon made accurate predictions about the life of Christ, adding that sorrow was going to break Mary's heart, which is exactly what every new mother wants to hear.


V. The Finding of the Child Jesus in the Temple


I have to admit, I didn't know any of this. I had no idea there was a structure to the Rosary apart from certain beads meant Hail Mary's and certain ones meant Our Father's.

40 Days of Lent: Day Twenty Three

Doggie On The Subay



Photos from my ride home tonight.

40 Days of Lent: Day Twenty Two

The Mysteries of the Rosary Pop Up Books

It was one of those finds that I knew I had to have, even though I knew I shouldn't spend the money. Sitting on a wooden chair in a used book store in Margaretville, NY, were three large (18" x 13") pop-up books detailing The Mysteries of the Rosary: Part 1 The Joyful Mysteries, Part 2 The Sorrowful Mysteries, and Part 3 The Glorious Mysteries.



I couldn't stop flipping through the books, taking in the rich colors on their thick pages which melded Catholic and greeting card art. The more I looked the more I wanted but they were only available as a set - as should be - and the price was too high. I'm terrible at bartering, one of the reasons I felt overwhelmed by Morocco. I'm more of a feel sad the price is out of my reach and walk away. I showed the books to my friends and said sotto voce that I really wanted them but couldn't justify the price but probably would. I knew I would never see them again.

I talked with the owner of the bookstore expressing my amazement and asking for more information about the books. She didn't really have any. What was the Salesian Catechetical Centre? Why in Hong Kong? Indicia seems to say they were published in 1967 but who knows? While talking with the owner, as I was getting ready to try and bargain, my friend Michele joined us. "What's that?" she asked. I showed her the books. "Oh, you have to get them. You have to!" So much for the strategy of acting like I wasn't that interested and buying them was doing the owner a favor. However, the owner did knock quite a bit off the price. Still expensive but much easier to justify.

The mysteries behind the books hasn't been solved. When I first bought them, I did a google search for the titles, author and publisher and could not find anything. No copies available on amazon or abebooks or ebay. However, when I began writing this entry, I did a quick google search again and managed to find a webpage but little real info for The Salesian Catechetical Centre.

Regardless, I'll be posting some of the images from these books during the 40 Days of Lent. For now, here is Our Lady of Lourdes. I like how from an angle you can see the stagecraft of Mary standing on her paper pedestal that matches the background.