Leaving Miami

I admit, i wasn't expecting to love it here so much.

. Miami is fun, sexy, and the people here are beautiful. The water is exquisite beyond description, crystalline sea green, making the sky look purple. Life on the street is full of little pockets of quirkiness. Walking along yesterday, i was passed by a little white dog carrying a bucket full of money. His owner dropped a bill on the ground, and the dog put down the bucket, picked up the bill, and repaired it to the bucket, and then resumed his march. There is a man on the street who has no arms and paints with his feet. Lincoln street, a pedestrian mall crammed with outdoor couches and the wonderous smell of food from around the world and cigars. I have had a chance to hang out and make art with my good buddy, Jonathan Blum, and tonight, Raya comes to town. We will paint the town red, and our cruise leaves tomorrow. Ciao.

Leaving West Florida...

...bound for Miami. I have been spending lots of time with my 93 year old grandmother, Marge. Yesterday, we went to a sing-a-long. I lasted 15 minutes before running out into the rain, flinging myself into the car, and then landing at a bar where i downed a beer while panting away my urge to kill myself. When i picked up Marge two hours later, she exclaimed, "you missed the yodeler!" Ah hell.

We have been spending much time in the yard, where Marge has proven herself to be, once again, bionic. While pulling weeds one morning, I was startled by the loud sounds of CHOP! CHOP! CHOP! I looked to the opposite corner of the yard, and there was Marge, chopping down a palm tree with an ax. Heaving herself into the motion, her humped back rose and fell with her swinging arms. When i ran over to help, she put her hand out, and said, "stand back, honey, you might get hurt". One morning later, while i raked, i heard a loud THUNK! Looking over, i saw nothing except a fallen ladder below an orange tree. I walked over to investigate. When i noticed the tree shaking, I looked up, and there stood Marge. She had been pruning the upper most limbs, and knocked over the ladder as she stepped up into the tree.

"Mom Mom! What are you doing in the tree?" I asked.
"Just trimming it honey. Can you please pick up that ladder?"

After hanging out at the Polish American Club one afternoon, we made the rounds to a bunch of different VFW outposts. At each one we sat down at a bar and knocked down beers while sharing the company of other debaucherous seniors. While Marge went on at length about how none of the men here were her type, I elbowed her and nodded toward an appealing 70 something to her right. As quickly as i could point him out, she swung around on her seat and said coquettishly, "Hey! You look lonely!" 

We wound up talking to him for a while, and although i was prepared to sit there being bored while Marge chatted him up, I was delighted to discover that he (Ian) owns a construction company in Canada that is currently drilling a channel behind Niagra Falls, which will carry water that will be damned and pumped, providing water power for upper new york. He was very proud of the fact that NY has to buy its power from Canada. He said that the bore which was used to drill the British side of the Chunnel had been shipped over to create the tunnel, but had proven too small, and therefor was sitting unused near the Falls, and a new bore, 45 feet in diameter had been created in the states. Unlike my grandmother, that is one big bore. (sorry)

we talked quite a bit about asphalt as well. One of my favorite subjects. He said dandelions are the only thing that combat the viscosity of asphalt. Interesting.  He also mentioned, not unsmugly, that Canada uses 6 inches of asphalt, while in the states, 4 is customary.

My car is in the shop now getting new motor mounts, but with any luck, i will be on the road tomorrow bound for Miami. My good chum Raya will be joining me on my cruise, and I am looking foward to the adventure.

Bye Dear Reader. More Soon.

A picture

I had planned on including a picture with each posting, but as no picture is available at the moment, i shall instead, include a small video clip from my brain.

The video clip is of me, sitting on the beach in Clearwater, Florida. The water swishes calmly, and i am smiling relaxedly while masticating a turkey and cheese sandwich.

I look like i am thinking about something, and the truth is, i am. I am thinking about Robert Moses, New York City Parks commisioner from 1928 to 1945--the mastermind behind New York City's vast freeway and parkway infrastructure, the great builder of bridges and mover of men...

I have been reading his biography, and marvelling about how much he accomplished in his life. I am contemplating my own state of sitting in front of the beach doing nothing, when surely there must be something more pressing that i could be attending to, some way to advance society, and I am chewing chewing chewing my sandwich. I am thinking about bridges swishing water and turkey and cheese, and then out of nowhere, a seagull swoops down with a loud screech, clutches my ear, my hair, and a bunch of my sandwich and flaps his wings spastically trying to leave with his swag. The only thing he really got was my sandwhich and some hair, which hampered his quick get away.  If I wasn't busy protecting my eyes, I could have grabbed him...

The old man sitting next to me looked over at me and said, lacksadaisically, "he wanted your sandwich."

Leaving new orleans

Okay, i've done the new orleans thing. these may be lake-torn suburbs, but they are suburbs none the less, and frankly, i am a little bored and sick of getting heckled by the construction workers. If only they knew, i am one of them! I dig holes and lug cinderblocks too! Aww hell.

Another reason its time for me to get out of here is one of the people i am staying with is God-fearing, and i think she wants to save my soul. Such futility! i did have a dream the other day that judgement day arrived. i was lying in a feild, and suddenly the sky opens up, and this blaze of light shines down (all super cliche-like) and the people around me started having discussions about whether or not they thought ol God was going to take them in or not. I immediately knew i was screwed, and had that sinking feeling you get when your getting fired or get caught stealing a pack of gum.

I will be off tomorrow to visit my mom mom in New Port Richey Florida. She's deaf as hell, and fixates on my presence, which I find infuriating. but she is a very remarkable woman. Mom Mom Marge is 93 years old, and still goes out and parties every night. And she doesn't just go out, she is the bell of the ball at the Knights of Columbus, the Irish American and Polish American Club. She dances with every man that will give her a spin, and she gets marriage proposas constantly to which she replies, "I don't want to be held down". She gets up every morning and does a battery of excersizes that would put a marine to shame. she gets bored of me fast because i can't keep up with all her. I admire her because she enjoys the hell out of every little thing she does.

I will also be visiting the amazing Ramy Ramjet Superhero, my very debaucherous friend from college. We wil sit in her swampy yard and drink mint juleps and sing karaoke.

good night.

February 15, 2007 Mud and boobies

My inaugural blog! What an exciting experiment this will be...and how bombastic of me to think anyone wants to read about my life! Welcome, i will try not to bore you.

getting you up to speed in a nutshell, i arrived in new orleans two weeks ago in a wicked storm that made the Mississippi look black. i moved into my accommodations in Lakeview, new Orleans, which is two blocks away from where the levee broke on the 17th street canal. the visage of tragedy was in the beginning, and continues to be gut-wrenching.

since my arrival, i have partied with pimps and thieves, danced to Cajun punk, and ridden my bike in a parade, and drawn caricatures on Bourbon Street, and most recently obtained a job jacking up houses with "Jim" (above driving).

   One of my contacts here is linked to a gang of theives. Most of them are about my age but look like they are fifty with their teeth like old corn. They hang out at the coffee shop where he works that is run by the workers for the workers. sitting on the dimly lit edge of town, it is open round the clock, and the line between who works there and who is reading, playing chess or sitting outside puffing a joint is blurred. They are a tatooed, peirced, dreadlocked, leather-wearing group making even me feel like a soccer mom.

Above is a bar that houses the local Klezmer Cajun rock scene, and I had a most fabulous time with the Zydopunks. there i met some fellow New Yorkers, who are hitchhiking, couch surfing and dumpster-diving cross-country. they believe that money should be removed from society and that our economy should run on social currency. hmmm.

After the show, around 2AM, stopped by someone's house where the floor was strewn with costumes, and we rode our bikes in a parade called the Krewe du Jieux, which is comprised of Jews dressed up as non-Jews impersonating Jews, adorned with big prosthetic noses, devil horns, and fur coats with gaudy jewelry, they parade through the streets in the wee wee hours of the morning, banging on drums made from kegs and strutting to the harmony of the Hava Nagila. Being in a parade one learns that when you wave to people, they wave back, and they will dive to catch just about anything you throw to them-even if it is just a prosthetic nose..


   I drew caricatures on Bourbon street where i made good cash, and acquired many beads and feathers, even without showing my boobies to anyone. but there was much boobie showing going on and the Mardi Gras scene is every much a caricature of itself as you can imagine (see picture of drunk man at top). its a sea of drunks, barely able to stand looking for excuses to disrobe. i found a great spot in front of a jazz club where no one bothers me about setting up. One night a woman doubled over in front of my easel as if she was going to puke on it, and i swiftly moved my set up out of the impending projectiles. it pays to have cat-like reflexes in this line of work.

I think if i ever go to Mardi Gras again, i will have a prosthetic monoboob made. that should earn me some good beads.

In less sexy news, i am now back in Lakeview where i have obtained a job helping "jim" jack up houses. It is grueling unskilled labor involving hours of digging holes and dragging cinderblocks and steel jacks under houses. wearing waders, we wallowed in mud up to our knees and spent hours removing sand, mud and clay from around footings of houses that were up to seven inches higher on one side than the other.

when i first met jim who is about 60, i thought, has this dude ever had a shower? He is covered in dried mud all the time and and his long greasy hair and beard are tangled and beaded with more dried mud. after working with him, i see why he always looks like this. he is the strongest man i have ever met. he is not that tall, but his torso is like a lead pillar and his fingers are cement blocks. his favorite phrase, which he recites at the most indignant muddy moments, is "ain't life grand?".

he worked in the corps of engineers for seven years, and so i was excited when he offered to give me a tour of all the levees, pump stations, and canals. this city is an engineering marvel. and now, i know what a levee looks like after hearing about them with such frequence on the news.

more soon to come....

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