An Unfortunate Trend

The same thing has happened to me the past two Fridays. I went to an event to see/show support for a friend...and ran into a girl I used to date but don't anymore (different girls women each night).

Seeing them wasn't unpleasant. I even had a nice talk this past Friday. However, I just want to say that this is a trend that I would like to end. Right now.

That's all.

Another Look At The Horrific World of Our Ancestors

A time of interspecies cooperation amongst our inferiors, unnatural mutations, breaking wind instruments and well-meaning ginks who don't write as often as they should.

Emails From 5 Years Ao

From: j h [mailto:jmh666@yahoo.com]
Sent: Tuesday, September 11, 2001 2:20 PM
Subject: I'm fine

Just wanted to let people know that I'm fine. I was sleeping in my bed when the planes hit the towers, and I was watching on tv when they collapsed. There's a "profit" outside my window yelling something about "everybody go home" and something about "booty," and I can hear the jet fighters fly overhead.

Now I'm gonna go give blood.

John

******
From: "Troy and Andrea Collins"
To: "j h"
Subject: Re: i'm fine
Hi, Glad you are fine.

I knew you guys were okey dokey cause I had emailed Stacey from work. I had told her I was trying to think were you all would be at that time o the morning.

we got sent home from work, I think because our building is next to the courthouse, which shut down and posted guards.

I guess some guys are thinking about booty even during terrorist attacks.

mrs collins


******
From: j h [mailto:jmh666@yahoo.com]
Sent: Tuesday, September 11, 2001 2:29 PM
To: Burk, Kris
Subject: RE: I'm fine


I don't think the awfulness of the situation has fully hit me yet. In my neighborhood, it's a beautiful Fall day, and that goddamn kid is riding his noisy motorscooter like always.

Then I watch tv, and it's like I'm watching someplace far away, instead of a couple of miles away.

You be careful--DC is as much a target as NYC...

John

******
Subject: RE: I'm fine
Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2001 14:39:21 -0400
From: "Burk, Kris"
To: "j h"

I know. It hit me pretty hard when I heard about it on the way in but then I didn't really let all of the horror in. I couldn't look at any of the photage until around noon. I'm also worried about what comes next.

I'm a kind of afraid to go home. Jeff says there are jet fighters flying around there, too. He's not as nervous for some reason.

And it's such a beautiful day.

Is the prophet the one riding around on the noisy scooter?

Yes, go give blood. Take a book. They told us here not to go until tomorrow because they are so backed up.

You be careful, too. And keep in touch.

Kris

******

--- Troy and Andrea Collins wrote:

Glad to hear you were asleep for it all, I was especially worried about Stacey.
We haven't heard from her since this morning. I guess Andrea emailed her right
after it happened and she said she wasn't sure when she would be able to leave.
I'm assuming she's in the process of trying to get home right about now.

If you hear anything let us know.

tr0y

******

j h wrote:

I talked to her on the phone this afternoon. Her office was evacuated, and she had to walk home across the 59th Street Bridge. Feelin' groovy, indeed.

But she is okay. She went to hang out at a friend's house (in Brooklyn, a few blocks from Stacey's apartment) tonight.

John

******
Forwarded Message
From: Offen4@aol.com
Date: Wed, 12 Sep 2001 10:48:40 EDT
Subject: Re: World Trade Center
To: IvaHan@aol.com, Jaecrn492@cs.com, robtafeld@yahoo.com

Iva, Bobbi, Juleann--we are fine, sort of. I'm sure Pete told you his whole story, closing the bridge, etc. Justin had the horrific event of walking south on 6th Ave.(in the Times Sq. area) from his office to his apt. when the second tower collapsed. Everything around him stopped, cars banged into each other. The people in the cars got out, people walking just stopped and stared, crying. And over all, just perfect silence. Nobody could say a word. Lines 30-40 deep at the pay phone he passed.

Justin's roommates work in the financial district. One escped form Building Seven (that later collapsed) and had to run down from almost the top floor. Another (Blake) arrived home competely debris covered from the collapse of the towers. Blake had a friend on the 103 floor of one the towers. He had to run through a fire to get out. He is hospitalized, but will be okay. These guys will never be the same.

Heather's concern is for her students, many of whom have parents in the financial district. She was very upset both times we talked to her. I'll talk to her tonight, so I'll let you know what happened.

Bye for now,
Love, Ronnie

******
From: IvaHan@aol.com
Date: Wed, 12 Sep 2001 11:16:20 EDT
Subject: Re: Thank God
To: jmh666@yahoo.com

Dear John,
Take a good book and shut out the world as much as you can while in the park. I have been following the news too, and the way the New Yorkers have responded is truly magnificent. This city where people say that no one gives a damn about others, this city whose image is (or was) so bad that there are people who are "afraid" to visit, has put a whole new face to the world. It has shown the world that people are people; they care deeply about others, even if they don't know them personally, and they will go out of their way to help in any way that is possible. God bless New York and its people.

TJ's first question when he hopped off the school bus was, "Is Uncle John all right?"

For myself, I could not help but remember the St. Patrick's Day parade. All those "bonny" lads marching along; I wonder how many of those faces will be absent next year. To say it is tragic is to understate.

Well, enough of my ruminations. Do be careful, my love, and I will talk with you later on.
Mom

******

Date: Thu, 13 Sep 2001 19:04:16 -0400
From: "Troy and Andrea Collins"
To: bimbambaby@earthlink.net
CC: "Stacey Stambaugh" , "Ron Leik" , "John Hanlon" , "Cindee Rehm"
Subject: Re: Folks, Critters 'n' Varmints

K -

After quite a bit of domestic yard work chain sawing old, uprooted bushes into pieces and then doing some sanding/primering to my fragile old automobile ... I find my tender little fingers tired after my full work day and then some, but I felt the need to respond to your
email anyway.

First off, in general, I just want to say I agree whole heartedly with you, but of course.

It's been very interesting (read : scary) watching my red blooded co-workers get increasingly incensed by this thing as each day passes. Sometimes they partially listen to me when I try to explain to them the complexity of the situation at hand, like how this is the sort of event the rest of the world has been dealing with for years, and now it's just our turn to deal with it. Albeit naturally, on a hell of a lot larger scale (talk about baptism by fire), and with trying to find and deal with an amorphous and almost invisible enemy. (I spent three hours last night online reading about Bin Laden, quite unbelievable. I knew a little bit before, but man are we in for a difficult time)

Their response is usually something along the lines of hoping to see the entire Middle East on fire, "kill them all, then they won't have nothin' to fight about anymore", yes, that's right : Jews, Muslims, Niggers, you name it send 'em all over there and then kill 'em all. I even heard one guy talking about wishing they'd send Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton over ... and use all the countries' welfare money to rebuild New York ?!?!?!?

I'm not even quite sure how it is their brains function sometimes. If at all.

But I digress ...

Yes, Bush looks completely emotionless. Like a fucking robot even. I can't even figure out if he's annoyed that it's interfering with his formerly uneventful presidency or if this is some sort of "I'm gonna' finish this one for my Pa" type scenario. I can't seem to figure
out, or even develop a gut reaction as to whether or not he's going to blow it and just do a half assed job like big daddy did, or if he's going to start WWIII ...

His recent comments lead me to believe that we might be in for some really serious shit.
I certainly hope not, but all signs point to a major event. I think he might over step his bounds to try and make a point, and that's where it could all go wrong.

Although they did after all attack NY and DC, and that shit only happens in the movies ...

Not in real life.

Everything is so very different now.

I still have trouble believing it, it still seems so surreal.

tr0y

If Hieronymous Bosch Was God...

This is what our world would look like. Instead, they are just visions from penny postcards created by our fucked up ancestors.

Yes, I was bored at work today.

Now I'm a New Yorker

The old saw is that you're not a New Yorker until you've lived in the city for ten years. My anniversary passed last November 1st, while I was on a train from Naples to Venice.

The most obvious change is my impatience with the slow moving people on the subway platforms in the morning. Jesus, why can't some people move? Thank God I don't drive.

But last week I received the strongest symbol of my new persona. I had an anxiety dream about not being able to get a cab when I needed one.

It's official. I am now a New Yorker.

Turkey Club = Gift From God

I've started going to church again. Yes, I can hear all my non-believer friends (who are legion) groan, roll their eyes and shake their heads. Okay, I can't hear them roll their eyes or shake their heads, but you get the idea. I remember once when my friend Bob was talking about a poll that revealed most Americans believe in God. He was offering the poll's results as proof of how alienated he and his friends are from the mainstream. "I don't know anyone who believes in God" he concluded. I sheepishly (though not in the "Lord is my Shepard" sense) raised my hand. I explained that my belief varies from day to day. Monday; peaceful existentialist. Tuesday: hopeful mystic. Solomon Grundy has nothing on me.

My return to church is not due to a spiritual reawakening but rather to a matter of honor. I am my nephew Eric's godfather, which, in the Catholic Church, isn't just an honorary title but a commitment. I agreed (without knowing it at the time) that I would bring up Eric in the Catholic faith should anything happen to his mother or father. Since Eric's mother and father are both alive, this is a fairly easy obligation. The only time it is a problem is when Eric is of age to receive any of the sacraments. Then his Godfather is expected to be a Catholic In Good Standing, complete with a letter from a priest testifying to the fact.* When Eric was to be baptised, I had to go to the priest at the groovy multi-faith center at American University (where I was in grad school) and ask him to write a letter on my behalf. Basically I lied. When he mentioned that he didn't recognise me from services, I assured him that I was a faithful member of the parish. He wrote the letter, and proof that I was a true Catholic, I felt very guilty about it after the fact.

Within a year or two, Eric will be Confirmed in the Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Faith. As his godfather, I hope to "stand" for him, and towards that end, I have begun going to church again to establish my Catholic credentials. I just don't feel like lying to a priest again.

I found a church in my neighborhood that has English-language Mass on Sunday's, albeit with an accent I can't quite place. I've gone the last few weeks and while it's not as satisfying as the church in Spanish Harlem (which had a congregation of Hispanic families that would pack the hall, overseen by a fiesty Irish priest who made a point of commemorating the 20th anniversary of AIDS and its victims, as well as writing angry letters to city councilmen about the rat problem in Spanish Harlem), it is not as soul-draining as the church I grew up in. I like it. It's peaceful...and while I was walking to church this past Sunday, I found a $20 bill on the sidewalk! Proof that the Lord rewards those who honor Him/Her. After mass, I rewarded myself with a turkey club at a local diner. God it was good.

Now, that would be the end of my "do well and you will be rewarded" theory, but tonight, while I was walking home, two girls asked if I would help carry their heavy tv up two flights of stairs to their apartment. I said sure. We then had to wait for them to ask another unsuspecting guy walking down the street. She had asked some guy sitting on the stairs to his apartment building, but unconvincingly said that his back couldn't take carrying a tv up a flight of stairs. I suspect the real reason is the he was an asshole. Even if he had carried the tv upstairs, his striped rugby shirt (which no man should wear once they're old enough to attend a prom) would have signaled him an asshole. Happily, a pleasant gentleman soon wandered down the street, and before long, he and I were soon lugging the tv up to a second floor apartment.

I think one of the main reasons I was so willing to help out was that I was once in a similar situation. When I bought my present tv (flat screen, beautiful image, heavy as lead), one of my neighbors (who I didn't know) volunteered to help me carry it up to my third floor apartment. So it was the golden rule in reverse: do unto others as others have done unto you.

After lugging the tv upstairs, one of the girls thanked my and pressed $20 in my hand. Despite my protests, she insisted I take the money for helping out. I fough the temptation to wave it in front of the face of the stair-sitting, rugby-shirt wearing asshole. Instead I reflected on what seems to be a new spiritual law: Do the right thing for other people, without any expectation of reward, and you'll get $20!

And to think some of my friends don't believe...



*Happily, stigmata is no longer a requirement.

Immortality Is Mine

That's a panel from my friend Bob's new book Recess Pieces which you can buy here. I'm mighty flattered to have a character named after me, although the character based on Bob gets to ogle a dirty magazine and is later kissed by a girl, whereas I get beaten up by the school bully. Hmmmm...

Recess Pieces is best described as Little Rascals meets Dawn of the Dead, or Peanuts trapped in an old EC horror comic. Bob got the idea during a conversation he and I were having, talking about how contemporary horror movies are just a series of elaborate set pieces demonstrating clever ways to kill people. The audience is primed to enjoy the victims' deaths rather than feel any empathy or horror. The real subversive horror movie would make you care about the victims so that when they died, you would feel sick. "Yeah" Bob said. "It would have to be about monsters threatening someone that no-one wants to see hurt, like little kids and puppies." You could almost hear the click go off in his head. "Yeah...monsters attacking little kids and puppies..."

So it's been cool watching the book grow from his initial idea. Every time I went to his apartment, Bob would have new pages done and I got to see the story shift from nostalgia about the horrors of grade school to real horror at a grade school. Now it's a book. A pretty gory book, I should point out. Zombies eat people, and that entales lots of entrails.

Why a boy scout? Well, I was late meeting Bob for dinner once because I was literally helping an old lady cross the street. I was walking through the East Village, she asked for help and I was happy to oblige. However, it took her so long to cross the street (I have never seen an upright person move so slow) that I was noticably late for dinner. Bob had mentioned that he was going to name one of the kids in the book after me. When I told him why I was late, he said "Then your character will be a boy scout!"

Congratulations, Bob. Looking forward to a sequel.

Subway Anomaly

While riding the packed L train last week, I noticed a guy wearing a ball cap that depicted a stick figure with cartoony large hands and feet. "Big hands...big feet...You do the math!" it said above the stick figure. After rolling my eyes, I noticed that the man wearing the cap didn't have particularly large hands - in fact, his hands were on the average to small size. So what exactly is his hat trying to tell us?

Coney Island

Coney Island, land of abundance where nothing is real, except for the condom that I found floating on the surface as I got out of the water. I'm pretty sure that was real. It was not one of mine.

Many Homers, lots of Patricks. We saw a cop eating three hamburgers, one after the other. We saw not one but two little girls who got separated from their guardians. Giant hamburgers, "alive" chimps, Miss Coney Island under glass who, for a quarter, will dance to "If I Fell" by the Beatles, and a display where past and present mingle and olde-timey beach goers ride swings, cheerfully oblivious to a human sponge on his back, staring at the sky.

Mined

A thunderstorm last Friday seems to have knocked out my internet connection at home. Through process of elimination I am slowly figuring out the source of the problem and hopefully how to fix it. (The ethernet connection on either my computer or my cable modem is fried - I just have to determine which one). I mentioned this to my friend Karl, bemoaning the fact that I can't get online at home.

"Well, let's see," he said. "You only update your blog once a month or so..."

Alright, alright. What can I say? I'm someone who's quite content keeping his thoughts in his head rather than on display for the whole world to see. Right now I'm reading 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl by Daniel Pinchbeck, which uses the fact that all Mayan calendars end with the year 2012 (which means that, you know, the world might end then) as a starting point (as opposed to end point) to consider crop circles, ufo culture, quantum physics, shamans, evolving human consciousness, etc etc. I'm enjoying the book a great deal, but who can I talk to about it? All my friends are committed rational materialist existentialist non-believing skeptics. I, however, don't need to believe in something in order to enjoy playing with it in my head.

I definitely have a Stoner's Consciousness: an interest in ideas for their own sake, particularly the "oh, wow!" effect of contemplating something new. This is as opposed to a Teacher's Consciousness (value ideas because you can share them with others and help them) or that of a Politician (use ideas so you can tell others what to do) or Businessman (use ideas to make money!).

Those who can only see ideas as a resource to exploit annoy me. To wit: the skits on Kanye West's College Dropout album mock those who pursue knowledge for its own sake rather than as a way to get rich. Granted, skits on hip hop records always suck (OutKast and Dr. Octogon being the exceptions) and Kanye is trying to prove (and prove and prove and prove) that his dropping out was the right decision. But his skits are so obnoxious, and just plain wrong, that I had to copy the disc, edit it and burn a copy sans skits if I ever wanted to listen to it again.

Something else that annoys me is boredom, which probably explains my interest in ideas, not matter how outlandish or far-fetched they may seem. So long as I am not bored. Which also explains why I miss have internet access at home.

On Good Authority

Holy Christ, I am so unbelievably bored at work right now that I am seriously considering filing. That's how slow it is. I've read all the internet I can stand, so without anything else to do, I thought I'd share the below with you. Apologies extended to those who have already heard this story.

When I was flying home from Texas recently, our plane hit some powerful turbulence. I've been on bumpy flights before - I remember a flight through a storm in which the sound of thunder played percussive counterpoint to the score of passengers throwing up. But this was different. This was the kind of turbulence you see in movies or tv shows. The plane shook, then dropped about five feet. People screamed, stuff flew off the beverage cart. The plane continued to shake. It's a bit like an earthquake: it's not the unexpected rumble that's unsettling. It's the fact that it doesn't stop.

I was sitting in the window seat of the last row. The rest of the row was taken up by a family: father and son next to me, mother and two daughters across the aisle. When the shaking began, the son made a worried noise and turned to his father, who told him with a calm and matter of fact tone of voice "It's okay. Don't worry. It's okay." He turned to his daughters and said the same thing. Hearing him say this immediately calmed me, too. I thought "Yeah it's scary, but I can deal with it."

I'm not someone who inherently respects or trusts authority. Part of this may come from growing up during the Viet Nam war. Part of it may be my loner nature, and part of it comes from being a recovering cynic and smart-ass. I decided a long time ago that the rules an authority gives you are for their benefit, not your's. Once the shaking stopped, I found it funny that an authority figure saying that everything was okay was what I wanted and needed, even though I knew he was no better informed about our situation than I was. But he was right. His role of "opinion leader" completely changed how I felt about the plane's rocking. It kept me from going into full Jerry Lewis mode.

I was glad he was there. As a "thank you" I gave his kid my Skittles.



Gosh I hope the above posting is grammatically correct! Okay, maybe my recovery from being a smart ass will have to be a one-day-at-a-time proposition.

Enron Founder Ken Lay Dead of Heart Attack

HOUSTON (Reuters) - Enron Corp. founder and chief executive Ken Lay, who was convicted in May for his role in the in the Houston-based company's downfall, died of a heart attack on Wednesday at his vacation home in Colorado.

"Ken Lay passed away early this morning in Aspen," Lay family spokeswoman Kelly Kimberly said in a statement.

Lay, 64, was awaiting sentencing later this year and was expected to face a lengthy prison term for his convictions in the Enron collapse.

Lay and former Enron Chief Executive Jeffrey Skilling were convicted of fraud and conspiracy for hiding the financial ruin at Enron, which collapsed into bankruptcy in December 2001.
---

I must not take pleasure in the misfortune of other's.
I must not take pleasure in the misfortune of other's.
I must not take pleasure in the misfortune of other's.
I must not take pleasure in the misfortune of other's.
I must not take pleasure in the misfortune of other's.
I must not take pleasure in the misfortune of other's.

...God, this is killing me.

"Everyone Gets A Trophy" Day!

This past weekend I was in Lancaster, PA, as a stopover on my way to a wedding in Baltimore. While in Lancaster, my friends Andrea and Troy took me to an exhibit of work by local artists -- any work submitted was accepted so long as you paid the entry fee. This meant the quality of work displayed varied greatly, tottering between good and bad like a child walking in her mother's high heels. There was also work so "interesting" that it completely transcended notions of "good" or "bad."

In addition to the work itself, the titles the artists chose were an indication of how seriously they wanted to be taken seriously. My favorites are below. I should point out that just because something had a bad title doesn't mean it was bad art, although the odds are pretty good.

All titles are genuine. I am not making any of these up.

1. The Apparatus of Self-Evidant Truths
2. Flash Bulb Girl Daydreams About Her Boyfriend
3. The Sacrifice of Rationality Commodified
4. Angela's Favorite Past Time
5. Walk Towards The Light
6. Hands of War
7. Transcendental Tulip
8. May The Gourd Bless You
9. "Sam Sara," Attached to Illusion and Delusion, He Sees Not The Light
10. Clowns On Parade

Giant Presidents' Heads

Taken while on a recent trip to Houston, TX. Photos courtesy of Kris Burk.





You'll notice that Lincoln is missing the top of his head. I don't know if there are plans to add an enormous stove-pipe hat, or if it's supposed to be post-assassination.

Also: my sense of history isn't the best in the world, but I don't rememeber President Phone-Head. But the other giant president heads seem to respect him.

Goodbye To (Almost) All That

Despite some of the requests in the previous posting's "Comments" section, I don't think I'll be sending too many drunk emails in the future. No, I'm not giving up email. I think I'm gonna phase out the other thing. The drunk thing.

I wasn't drinking a lot. Just a beer or two each day, either with dinner or in a bar on the way home from work. In addition to the inner glow that a nice drink provides, I enjoy pub culture. Relaxing with a book and a beer in a dim, cool bar, waited on by a bartender who is pleasant but keeps a respectful distance...each day I anticipated the pleasure of not doing anything. Of course, this period of "not doing anything" would pretty much stretch out until I went to bed because after getting home after a beer or two, I didn't feel like doing anything. Look at a book (as opposed to reading), maybe. Watch some tv, definitely. Anything constructive? Nah. Maybe tomorrow.

But the big surprise came one Sunday morning. There was a Saturday in which I didn't have any beer or wine. This occurred by happenstance rather than by design. I was working on something, didn't feel like drinking, and when it came dinner time, I just had water with my meal. No plan, no big deal. But when I got up the next morning...I felt great. Rather than my usual groggy creaky morning self, I felt bright, rested, and awake.

"Uh-oh" I thought, remembering a friend who had quit drinking. One of her reasons was that she was tired of feeling like shit every morning. I decided to test that theory so I didn't have anything to drink that day...and felt good when I woke up the next morning. "Oh damn" I thought.

So I've reduced my alcohol intake to social occasions only and find myself surprised at how little I miss it. When I walk past a former favorite haunt, I think "I don't want to feel crappy tomorrow" and keep going. It's kinda like Indian food. I used to love Indian food and ate it at least once a week. However, every time I had Indian food I would wake up late at night with a stomachache that rolled between nausea, bloating and cramps. So Indian food is now a rare treat, enjoyed only in careful portions. It is no longer a consistent part of my life. Same with alcohol. Out of curiosity, this past Sunday I had dinner at Mug's Ale House and had two and a half pints of one of their delicious specialty ales. Guess what? I felt crappy the next morning.

I write the above knowing that I'm going out with friends tomorrow, will be out with co-workers on Thursday, and have a wedding this weekend. Despite all that, I feel a small change has come. I'm also aware that if I do send another drunken email, everyone will think "Oh no, John has fallen off his (training) wagon!" Not at all. In the end, I suppose that if I want to send entertaining mass emails, I will have to find another way other than getting drunk.

I'll probably drop acid instead.

Last Week's Drunk Email...

is this week's journal entry.

I've actually been pretty good about not emailing while drunk, although last week I fell off the wagon. Since my friends like to post my drunk emails on their websites (ahem!), I've decided I might as well just post it here.

I do not think that this will become a regular feature.

Yeah so it's only 8:36 but appearantly I'm drunk already and when I was at the bar tonight having Sierra Nevada Scotch Ale (Yumm!) and a grilled chicken sandwhich I thought it had been a long time since I had sent a drunken email probably because I only do that when a celebrity has died and none have died recently although God knows I've been doing my evey-other-nightly-voodoo dance PRAYING for the death of GeorgeDonaldCondaleezaDick and why haven't they died already but then the scotch ale hits and I have this moment where everything comes together and I actually understand how the personal, the biological, the sociological and the aesthetic all fit together in one central structure that makes sense (and is fun!) but is also mystical in a way but as soon as I try to explain it I start tripping over words and the meaning and sense evaporate...

I feel like at this point I should mention (like Isabella Rossilini in "Blue Velvet"): "I'm not insane. I know the difference between right and wrong." Which reminds me: I saw a fun/heartbreaking short movie written by Isabella and directed by Guy Maddin called "My Father is 100 Years Old" about Isabella's father, Roberto Rossilini. The movie is worth seeing for Isabella imitating Daryl Zanuck and the fact that her father is represented by a big bloated belly. But the ending is heartbreaking: Isabella (playing herself) hugging her father's bloated stomache and saying "I don't know if you were a genius, Dad, but I love you."

Has everyone heard the new Neko Case record? It's good, but it should be 10 minutes longer - it never quite bulids to a climax the the way it should, yet is a sold pleasure throughout.

Cheers everyone. I'm not a bad person.

John

happy easter

[picture removed as requested]

(if you celebrate that kinda thing)

In case anyone is wondering, the picture used for the logo for the 40 Days of Lent postings (below) was taken in the Prado Museum in Madrid. All major museums have their less favored sections, rooms with beautiful collections that just aren't as popular with the public. The Metropolitan has several areas that would be highlights at almost any other museum, but are sparsely attended. The Islamic tile room, and recreation of a Japanese garden and a high ceilinged room full of Buddha statues come to mind.

Similarly, the basement of the Prado contains the cafeteria and three small rooms filled with beautiful objects, including a mosaic of Christ at Gethsemane. This isn't a painting, but a mosiac made up of small marble and stone shaped and fitted together. Even more incredible was the fact that it was about 12" x 12" - those were mighty small pieces of stone. The entire piece glowed beneath the lights.

Enjoy the holiday Sunday, everyone.

40 Days of Lent - The Apocrypha Part Three

Feets, Get Movin'!

God, I wish I had thought of this, but sadly, I did not. Special thanks to Carol Sulcoski for bringing to my attention the Ten Plagues of Egypt Footware Collection.

40 Days of Lent - The Apocrypha Part Two

A Good Friday

I went to get my hair cut at the Beehive Salon today, which despite the name, does not specialize in beehive hairdos. Even though I was 15 minutes late, they still kept my appointment. The Beehive is in my neighborhood, but I still managed to get lost. I had consulted mapquest and thought I detected a shortcut - God, was I wrong. Another reason I was late was because I had run into Chris, a friend of a friend. I had told him about someone I knew who recently had her car towed because she misread the street signs. Chris told me about the time that "Law and Order" needed the space his car was in, so they towed it and reparked it a block or two away. It took Chris almost a week to find the car.

At the Beehive, I was pleasantly surprised to see my friend Clare there, getting her hair done in the chair next to mine. My preference for no-one I know being witness to my tardiness was outweighed by the pleasure of seeing her. Leaving the salon, I saw a crowd and police cars with their flashers on a few blocks away. It was a Good Friday processional, complete with a band playing funeral music, a kid dressed as Jesus who was having trouble with his crown of thorns and more fortunate kids who got to dress as centurions.

Originally this posting was going to be about "I wish I had my camera with me." But as I was writing, I heard the funeral music outside. I grabbed my camera (as always, thanks to Fenway Partners for the camera) and my keys (surprised that I had the presence of mind to take my keys) and went outside to take a few shots. A good Friday.



I couldn't figure out why the little kid in white had fake blood running down his head. He couldn't be any of the apostles; none of them made the long walk to Calvary. Then it struck me: he's the replacement Jesus in case the other Jesus gets tired. The runner-up. The Vice-Saviour. The pinch Messiah. It all makes sense now

40 Days of Lent - The Apocrypha Part One

The Alpha

This is a photograph of my first memory.


My first memory is when this picture ws taken. I remember my mother placing me in the tub between my two sisters. I remember my confusion - this had never happened before. I remember putting the washcloth in my mouth and sucking water off of it. I remember Ann laughing, and my mother's joy, standing above us, and the flash of light coming from her head.