geegaw.com

Some leap day links

Post-mortem of the Dean campaign. Hey Sammy, this is the kind of internal strife I could never tell you about when it was going on at the Seattle level, mostly because I was trying to avoid it. Anyway, the story at the national level turned out to be much stranger. Sigh.

A. pointed out a book review written by Paul Krugman: The Wars of the Texas Succession. Now that I don't have my Dean volunteer work to turn to, I get depressed whenever I think about what it is we're up against.

This link is for Nari: Origami totoro!

Flickr: it's yet another social networking software site, and yet it's somehow, ineffably, cooler than all the others. (Maybe it's the live chat app.) You can befriend me on this one. My sign-on name is Eggy Eglantine*.

I signed up for the Mountain Goats List today.

Three horns, six legs, longer than a clove of garlic

I was taking down the curtains in my bedroom to pack them away when I saw a silverfish crawling along the reverse side of them, cool as you please. I freaked out, dropped the curtains into a sloppy pile, and immediately realized what I'd done and started combing through the pile looking for it. My whole bedroom wall is glass, a view over Seattle all the way down to Elliott Bay, so I had, I don't know, twelve feet of curtains, a hundred square feet to comb through and I combed through every inch and I couldn't fucking find the fucker.

So, I thought, calm down. Take a deep breath. Mentally ran down my cell phone's directory calculating time zones and trying to figure out who I could call to talk to about this fucking rogue silverfish on the loose in my bedroom. Gathered up the curtains to dump them into the washing machine and there he was! In my arms!

In a split second I had reached around and snuffed the fucking life out of him. He left orange crush marks on the curtains. And his little decapitated head fell down into folds between the curtains and I picked it out with a piece of Kleenex, but I don't know where the rest of his body went.

I hope it was the same fucker as the first one.

I cranked the washer up to hot, which given our water heater is scalding, and dumped in the curtains. I want his little corpse to blister and boil away into steam. I wish they had the technology to irradiate storage boxes. How I would fucking blast the fuckers with radiation. It would be fucking insect Chernobyl in there when I was through with them.

Quick injury update

Status update on the ankle - that R.I.C.E. advice worked like a charm, thanks J. The last time I sprained my ankle this badly, it hurt for three months; this time, with religious icing and compression, it felt better in a week.

The burn - looked a lot worse for a long time, but then I started applying liquid vitamin E from Duane Reade twice a day, and now it's mostly healed.

And the interview - I made it past this stage, and the last and final stage should be sometime in mid-March.

In the meantime, I've been transcribing stuff - a mango curry recipe and my notes from listening to that Mountain Goats album I can't stop writing about, We Shall All Be Healed.

Now back to packing . . . .

Drinking the dregs

A sunny day, hovering around 0°C. As I walked up 5th Avenue from the public library I felt at home here for the first time. Manhattan in winter is icy and pristine, its suspicious odors frozen over. The dog feces in the street hardens on top of sooty snowdrifts, and it's Ash Wednesday today, so people were spilling out of the big cathedral with that black smudge on their foreheads.

I went into a Banana Republic that was as big as some malls in Taiwan and thumbed through the new lemon-and-lime clothes they've laid out for spring. This was the winter of fur-lined hoods and oversized furry boots, so I'm totally looking forward to the graceful boots of spring. How the eye travels up a long white pair of them.

I'll be back in New York in the spring, spring, spring! I want to sit in Prospect Park and knit something green.

The air-conditioned zephyr of Flatbush Ave. is dead, long live the air-conditioned zephyr of Flatbush Ave.

Totally bummed at missing the NYC Photobloggers event at the Apple store in SoHo this Thursday (two days from today) at 6pm. My friend Mike from Satan's Laundromat will be presenting and it looks like it's going to be an awesome, totally memorable event.

I saw my first digital SLR this weekend and I totally want to learn how actual photography is done. . . someday when I have a spare minute. . . .

Maybe it's the wind...

I'm up here in Midtown on the 35th floor, and the snow is falling upwards at an angle, like a video being played in reverse...

Geegaw Eats New York part 3

Tomoe. Waited quite a while to get into this amazing, authentic Japanese hole-in-the-wall. I had a light yet richly flavored hikiji salad, an intriguing ume-shiso roll with a strip of yamaimo or mountain yam, and a surprisingly delicate spicy hotate roll. We had baby hamachi nigiri (transcendent) and A. had an eel roll that looked wonderful.

Murray's Bagels. Really nice, crispy-chewy bagels. I had an everything bagel with okay lox and an okay tofu cream spread.

Rice to Riches (rice pudding) and Ray's (pizza). Neither of these places have a non-dairy option. A. had some snacks here while I watched and wept!

Dojo: spacious, cheap dive near NYU. I loved the nourishing soy burger patty with a crispy breaded crust served with some kind of wasabi-ish tahini over soft, fluffy brown rice and it was only $3.50. A. had a BLT.

Florent: 24-hour funky French diner in the meatpacking district. I had a kir and an English muffin, A. had a screwdriver and croque monsieur. The drinks seemed pretty strong, and the food was decent.

Tartine: waited for a while to get into this tiny French brunch place with really sensational fried potatoes with caramelized onions. I had the Eggs Florentine, the spinach sauteed almost like Indian saag, and A. had pain perdu.

Cafe Habana to go: a packed tiny storefront serving up yummy cheap Cuban. I had the chicken mole (finally!), shredded chicken swimming in a spicy dark chocolate sauce, and tostones, thinly sliced fried plaintains dipped in garlic sauce. A. had the Cuban, a grilled pork panini. Though it's supposed to be some of New York's best Cuban food, I think Paseo and the Mojito Cafe might be better. . .

Jurassic Park

1) Yes, it was the Lia B., avec Jarvis -- oh yeah, and also the Alec Baldwin!

2) A. and I signed the lease on a Brooklyn apartment today! So, soon instead of photographing the park on Prospect St., I'll be photographing Prospect Park. (By the time I move in, it may be almost as green as Seattle over there.)

3) I've written two brief blog articles summarizing the info I gathered: A few no-fee Manhattan landlords online and Brooklyn Realtors.

OK - now to spend the next week telecommuting to my day job (which I've sadly neglected during the last 4 days) and studying for the GoG interview. . . .

Cockroaches and the Baldwin brothers

- Chandler took Kentucky!

- Dean dropped out of the presidential race. (Thus I am now an Edwards supporter.)

- Alec Baldwin sat next to me and Lia at Cafe Lalo and, after staring at my Kristall soda, commented to Lia that he thought it was sad that I was drinking a soda when Lia had a strawberry milkshake. His skinny, glamorous half-Asian girlfriend leaned in and told Lia, "Please tell me she's getting a dessert at least. Otherwise she has to leave." Then we talked about Seattle vs. New York and Lia got Alec to say "You have to move here. I think everyone should live in New York for some point in their life, at least for two years or so."

I guess that's a sign to stick with it, even though the apartment hunt is really starting to grind me down.

(P.S. I wasn't spending time socializing instead of apartment hunting, honest - I was on a neighborhood scouting trip of the UWS. Heh)

G.E.N.Y. pt 2

The apartment hunt is depressing hard work, I'm taking a few minutes vacation to chill out to "sci-fi wasabi" and blog about food. . .

Ino's: delicious, creative and fresh panini, but menu is not designed for the lactose intolerant. Last time I tried their naturally vegan options which were lackluster; this time I had an artichoke-fennel-fontina sandwich sans fontina, which was great. A. got the prosciutto panini with sweet onions, an old favorite of his.

Sammy's Noodle House: we had decent xiao long bao, very good American-style orange chicken breaded and stir-fried in a dark honey/orange peel sauce.

Geegaw Eats New York, part 1

Flew into NYC very early this morning, severely jet-lagged, due to a sudden change of plan. Not sure I have time to see anyone socially on this trip - I need to spend all my time apartment-hunting or job-studying. But when A. and I force ourselves to rest and grab a bite to eat, I'll try to blog our meals.

Yama in Greenwich Village. Black cod kasuzuke: best I've ever had, broiled till the outer skin was completely charred, the white insides tender and not at all fishy. Special roll #5: five ample pieces overstuffed with salmon, scallions, and a delicious "spicy mayonnaise" that seemed to have sesame oil and some other intriguing ingredients as well. The I Love Eel roll: strange blood-orange-colored tobiko (food coloring?) garnishing pretty good unagi, wrapped in an only moderately thin cucumber crepe.

Please don't fit me for that orange jumpsuit

Hopping around the apartment and Tylenol keeps wearing off -- searched on drugstore.com for "tape" to find out what the athletic tape that you wrap a sprained ankle in is called -- found their new S&M section(!) complete with "bondage tape", and a subsequent search for "ankle" turned up "Japanese love ropes," blech. It turns out it's an "Ace bandage" that I was looking for, which Yukino and Jet delivered to my door, and the closed basketweave seems to allow me to put a little weight on it without feeling the sensation of the ankle turning painfully inward. Thanks very much.

Anyway, jackpot! Neighborhood health profiles compiled by the NYC department of health. So in terms of overall health, with special attention to pneumonia, influenza, and asthma, here are the best neighborhoods:

1) Upper East Side (by a pretty large margin)
2) Gramercy Park and Murray Hill
3) Upper West Side

I wish I was a hole in the ground

Laura came over and helped pack, and we got a ton of stuff bundled away, with nary a glimpse of silver scales. The burn is starting to lightly speckle brown at the worst parts, like barely visible clusters of microscopic scabs.

Apropos of the Mountain Goats song 'Mole', Desultor sends this link to a similarly themed banjo tune by Bascom Lamar Lunsford, I Wish I Was a Mole in the Ground.

Sorry that the photolog is down - I don't know when I'll have time to install it. Maybe April?

minor first degree burn

Photo taken about 36 hours after the styrofoam cup I was holding cracked, spilling boiling water down the back of my hand. I haven't had time to go to the drugstore for Neosporin but I may if it still hurts tomorrow.

Decaf Tall Soy Double Caramel Macchiato No Whip Time

A friend forwarded me this great little story that I would typically classify as "mom mail" except that I actually like this one. How come they didn't teach this stuff in my philosophy classes? Teh tarik is Malaysian sweet milk tea.

Teh Tarik Time

A philosophy professor stood before his class with some items on the desk in front of him. When class began, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and filled it with rocks, rocks about 2" in diameter. He then asked the students whether the jar was full. They agreed that it was. So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the rocks.

He then asked the students again if the jar was full, and again they agreed it was. The professor picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He then asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous yes.

The professor then produced two glasses of teh tarik from under the table and proceeded to pour their entire contents into the jar - effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

"Now," said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The rocks are the important things - your religion, your family, your partner, your health, and your children. Things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else. The small stuff."

"If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the rocks. The same goes for your life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. There will always be time to go to work, clean the house, give a dinner party and fix the disposal.

"Take care of the rocks first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the teh tarik represented.

The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for teh tarik!"

house pests of mass destruction

I have a confession to make. The so-called "silverfish farm" was ONE silverfish and a jittery and hypersensitive me.

The too many goddamn books tantrum

So it turns out A. -- who is sick today, so I want to stress that it's not his fault -- has been tending a fucking silverfish ranch in two of the old boxes of stuff he's been keeping in his closet and I really don't want to have to vacuum each of his cassette tapes and put them in sealed baggies into a new box, because they're covered in dirt and grime already, and eww! I'm allergic to dust mites and I have trouble breathing around this stuff, but I can't just ship off these boxes with the others, because if the infestation spreads they'll chew up all our beloved books. I can practically feel them crawling all over me. Fuck! I hate moving! I wish we were moved already!

Cf antipixel entry - the too many books comments thread is a charming tale of men with a compulsive attachment to their filthy paperbacks and the women who try to keep the proliferating, vermin-ridden stacks in check.

Thank god Laura helped me run errands on such an otherwise shitty day, and thank god Graham is coming by tomorrow to pick up three machines, of which two used to be "geegaw.com" at various stages in their life cycle. Little does the poor guy know that I'm going to attempt to fob off a 15" monitor and switch box as a "bonus." I'll be cackling like mad tomorrow, yes I will!

P.S. If I ever borrowed something from you and haven't given it back, say, a videotape of Glenn Gould playing Bach for example, now's the time to stop by and get it, so I don't skip town with the loot the way a certain *ahem* cut and run with my Carolyn Forche books (a relief, to be honest, since I know they're safe and I don't need to pack them).

OK, now I'm gonna take a scented Alan's Deep Bath, and think about how beautiful the fog is going to look tomorrow morning, and nothing else better fucking go wrong today. Don't be too surprised if future updates to be sporadic and grouchy.

(Update: TECHNOCHOCOLATE! Whoo-ee!)

TypePad, I hardly knew ye

Welcome to the select group of people who can see the new Geegaw. I migrated off of TypePad to Dreamhost for primarily financial reasons (i.e. TypePad wasn't providing a full web hosting solution, I needed email forwarding and http://hostname.com support for the three blogs I was hosting, and if I'm going to pay for an ISP anyway, I might as well just run Movable Type from there), but doggone it if I don't miss it already. If I was less of a power user -- if I hadn't built up years of legacy features -- I'd be back there in a second, because of the photo albums, TypeLists, better UI, unbelievable tech support, etc. Sniffle...

P.S. Metameat is back! And he's a programmer now. Welcome to the dark side, Paul.

blueprints for geodesic domes

I guess I spent too much time today reading about tweakers on the web and crying. That "I took it before I knew what it was" line gets me every time, and I also saw some statistic about how 94% become addicted to meth after six months of use - isn't that worse than crack?

For some reason it really hits me harder when Chinese people talk about it. You know, 'cause then I can't rationalize it as something that happens to "the other."
From Hong Kong: crazed emails from a tweaker.
Time magazine photo of a Chinese man shooting up into his leg.
From Malaysia: an amusing story about his idiosyncratic dealer. This Castitas guy saddens me with his precision digital photography and his insatiable greed for pills of all kinds.

And of course, there's We Shall All Be Healed, which is behind the sudden curiosity about crystal meth of course. Right now "Mole" is my favorite song. I'm still trying to figure out that line "I am a mole / sticking his head above the surface of the earth." When I first heard it I automatically parsed it as "I am furry and cute." The next morning it seemed to be more of a silent upon a peak in Darien kind of thing, and then later, something about being awed and silenced by the presence of mortality. "I want information" seems like a Prisoner reference. Is the girl in intensive care handcuffed to the bed because she's a junkie? After listening for long enough the whole album seems to be about drugs - "When I get off the wheel I'm going to stop / and make amends to everyone I've wounded" - "And nothing you can say or do will stop me / and a thousand dead friends can't stop me." Strange because it's so pretty.

concession speech

I've done the drive back from the airport three times since this year began, and hated it for a different reason every time. The first time the freeway was lined with shallow ice, the second time I was gripping the wheel while my noisy parents both talked at me at once. Tonight, at almost-midnight, the nighttime lamps glowed with the orange of plastic pill bottles, and I listened intently to the new Mountain Goats album and tried to stay awake.

I dreamt of a factory / that manufactured what I needed / using shiny new machines / and the headstones climbed up the hills

Buddhist nun = terror threat. Welcome to 2004.