A Berry Bonobo Birthday

Well kids, in the words of the famous Charles Brown, "Christmastime is here." Actually, I don't know if ol' Charlie himself coined that phrase, but I do know that I associate it with him.

Christmastime is here. And Beverly, our lovely tree.

As many of you know (or likely, none of you do), the approach of Christmas means the approach of Tiffany's birthday. This year we once again celebrated her survival and her ability to thrive into her 28th year. And thrive she has! Tiffany decided to have somewhat of a joint celebration with Baby Jesus, who's birthday is also fast approaching. For those of you who are not in the know, Baby Jesus is no longer thriving, nor living. But we continue to celebrate nonetheless.

But that's not my point. My point is that Tiffany lives, and for her birthday party she decided to have tree-trimming party. This is something that New York hasn't seen much of since the Victorian era, when people still enjoyed a good figgy pudding and yule log (or, as Wikipedia would have it, "Great Ashen Faggot") while small British paupers gaze in longingly from outside of the frosty windows.

Never one to be outdone by her forefathers, Tiffany resurrected this tradition of days gone by which produced a welcoming "pip! pip!" from the party guests.

Where is that dang Ashen Faggot when you need 'em?

It was a gay old time! I was very pleased with the tree trimmings as well as the various cordials and liqueurs that were on hand for consumption. That Tiffany certainly knows how to entertain a crowd!

Tiffany and the crowd, entertained.

Peanut butter jelly time

Its funny how every now and then, you get those days that you welcome with really high expectations, but then just kind of somehow...slip away from you.  Black Friday was one of those days.  I was kind of thinking Taki would want to, I don't know, go shopping...go...shopping, or maybe even go shopping? But no, she was pretty indifferent to my suggested activities, so of course we ended up at 7B.

It was probably around 3:30 or 4:00 in the PM, which is never really a good time to go out for a drink.  It really means you're setting yourself up for disaster.  But, then again, it is sometimes fun to ride the wave for a little while. 

Amanda and Jelly enjoying his lovely Pucci poncho.

The problem with that particular time is that its too far from lunch, but too early for dinner.  So, your belly is just naturally primed for optimal enjoyment of a refreshing beverage.  However, after a few hours, those rumblings of hunger in your tummy begin to be silenced by the drink rather than food.  This is not as Mother Nature intended.

The Beast, unleashed.

Its funny that the camera took the picture blurry, because I thought it was just my eyes.

That weird milky stuff was unfiltered sake - which tastes just like candy but much easier to ingest and therefor probably better suited for infants or small children.

Being as I am an old grandmotherly type, our little happy hour soon got the best of me and they say that Meeks was gentleman enough to escort me home.

Upon reaching home I quickly drifted off to dreamland...with visions of rice wine dancing in my head.  

Giving Thanksgiving Thanks

In the jungles of Kinta, the mind switches gears very quickly. The Thanksgiving holiday was preceded with many nights of cleaning, shopping, and food prep. But on the eve of the big day, we were preoccupied with the most important item on the agenda for the day: Booze.

You see, my buddy Takako was in town from Michigan for the weekend, and she needed some ding-dang entertaining! Of course, Mike and I humbly obliged.

Now, THAT's entertainment!

Now, being as I am lady, I don't dabble in idle gossip.  But I will indulge that we did indeed trip the light fantastic 'til the wee hours.  Of course, the next morning it was - chop! chop! back to work!  The turkey needed basting, the salad needed dressing, the football needed watching!  Everything turned out just as dandy as candy, I have to say, and we had a very pleasing time!  And for that, I give thanks.

I forgot to take a picture of us at the table before we started, but you can kind of see the bird carcass in the background (with Francesca picking at it).  I swear it looked much better before the feeding frenzy!

King Slagle loves himself some salty meats!

Jen, diligently guarding the crock of hot apple cider with rum, cheese and onion platter, and pumpkin empanadas.

Meeks, Tim, and Paul, clearly overwhelmed by the Thanksgiving spirit.

A brunch grows in Brooklyn

So, the morning after Ikea, feeling fully recovered and reenergized, Mike and I headed down to Bushwick for a Thanksgiving brunch and Jonathan and Nikki's place.  They have a fabulous loft in a not-so-fabulous neighborhood.  

And a fabulous view!

The food was OUTRAGEOUS.  So good.  They made a pomegranate parfait thingy that was absolutely fresh and delish, and baked root vegetables with candied pecans (that had something called "black salt" in it, which Jonathan said was some sort of MSG?), baked eggs with cream cheese, turkey sausage with apple shittake gravy, and pumpkin waffles.  And fancy champagne.  I'm drooling just thinking about it. 

Mike gives the Slagletown Seal of Approval

Oh, and another fun thing is that Jonathan and Nikki's cat looks just like Morris!  Spitting image.  But I forgot to take a picture of their cat, so you'll just have to take my word on this one.

Ikea, thou art a cruel mistress.

Every good holiday deserves a trip to Ikea.   This year, like last year, Mike and I decided to host Thanksgiving.  In years past, I would often go to friend's homes instead, only to find a fancy meal, a hodge-podge of people I didn't know all gussied up in their Sunday best, and no football.  Sacrilege!  Thanksgiving is for gravy! Thanksgiving is for sweatshirts and elastic waistbands! Thanksgiving is for the Detroit Lions!!!!

So, Mike and I decided to set things right in the world.  We hosted a Thanksgiving that would make our pilgrim forefathers proud.  This, of course, meant a trip to Ikea.  

We set off on a brisk Saturday afternoon.  Freezing, by New York standards, but we nonetheless decided to take the water taxi over from the Seaport.  It was a nice ride, kind of choppy but the cabin was warm and the 4 o'clock sunset was at its peak. 

A pretty view through a DIRTY window.

Despite having just eaten our fill of pizza and coffee at a lunch counter, we felt obliged to sample the local fare (as one tends to do).  The Swedish meatballs were just as I remembered, and my belly somehow found room for a whole plate of them (well, maybe Meeks helped a little).  Mike got some crappy ice cold buffalo wrap that totally sucked balls.  I have no idea what possessed him to order that.  When in Rome, Michael, when in Rome...

I do believe I'll pass on the vomitorium today, Giles.

So, early dinner ended up being the best part of the trip.  Because, after that, the shopping began.  Personally, I'm a big fan of spending money on fun kitchen and home decorating items.  Meeks....not so much.  To be perfectly honest, he kind of shuts down...emotionally.  Stops talking.  Rubs his beard.  Spends too much time staring at his phone.

Shutting down in 5...4...3...

Long story short, we ended up being there for about 4 hours.  That's pretty much 4 hours of me mulling over serving platters and table cloths, picking out curtains and putting them back, and then a long discussion with myself about decorations.  Finally, we ventured back onto the B61 bus and headed home, exhausted, mildly triumphant and yet somehow feeling defeated.  With a serving platter in hand but sans a gravy boat.

Then I got carsick from the bus.

Ahh....Ikea!

Yes! M!CH!GAN!

Slagletown, USA briefly relocated to Michigan this weekend.  Funny how things happen like that.  Meeks and I figured it would be cheaper/funner to drive than to fly so we rented a car and made our way the 11 or so hours to Michigan from NY.  The original intention had been to leave the city on Thursday night and spend the night somewhere in Pennsylvania (yes, the idea of visiting Punxsutawney on the off-season was briefly entertained), but in the end we decided to just drive straight on through.

I won't bore you with the details, but will instead list the highlights of our trip, in chronological order:

1.  The Budget Inn - the finest lodging establishment this side of the Mason-Dixon.

Fine and dandy.

2.  Oh. Hi! Oh. 

3. The Diego Rivera mural at the Detroit Institute of Arts

4. Rallyburgers at Checkers (Mike liked his Big Buford so much that he went back up and got a double cheeseburger to wash it down)

5. Korey's wedding

6. Standing almost 4 hours in the rain, snow, and sleet with sopping wet feet just to watch Michigan get its butt beat by Northwestern from the first row at the 45 yard line.

Mike channeled his inner viking to survive The Perfect Storm.

7. The Michigan Marching Band (no explanation necessary)

8. Buying a $6 sack of kettle corn on the way out of the stadium

9.  The Heidelberg

10. A 4 hour dinner with my sister and brother in law

11.  Drinking organic wine with Kala out of dixie cups

12. Kala's Santa Claus sack of weed

13. Jack Tar's Wii

14. Mike spilling red wine on Jack Tar's cream colored armchair.  Twice.

15.  Going to bed and laughing hysterically for a full 10 minutes over Kala's Santa Claus-sized sack of weed.

16.  White knuckle driving through the snow and rain in the Pennsylvania hills

17. Enjoying delicious giant dill pickles at 70 MPH.

Mike, in a pickle.

12.  Surviving the Lincoln Tunnel

13.  Home, sweet, home.

Assassination!

He is dead! 

For the first time in this century, and the second time in history, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin is dead.  In a shocking departure from his first peaceful passing, this second more public death shocked residents of New York's Lower East Side by its extremely violent nature.  

The former Soviet leader's beheading appears to be the distinctive handiwork of Mexican narco-terrorists, though such incidents are undoubtedly unusual this far north.  While the NYPD does not appear to have noticed that such a gruesome crime has taken place on its roof, the Soviet nation once again mourns his passing.

Memento mori

Obama for MY mama!!!

Ours!

Yes, yes, YESSSS!!! What a glorious evening Election Day turned out to be.  Personally, I was worried.  Everybody kept saying that Obama would win but all I could think of was don't celebrate yet...he hasn't won yet...don't jinx us...I mean, this is the same country that elected the baby Bush.  TWICE.  You can't expect too much from a country like this.  There's too many people for whom race is an issue.  Too many people who are afraid to challenge the status quo.

So, I waited until after work and then briskly made my way down to the Lower East Side to vote.  I had expected the long lines I had seen on the telly all morning, but no, there was nobody.  I just walked right in, gave my name, signed and was directed to my booth.  

I love voting in NYC.  Its always a crap shoot.  I'm never sure if today's the day that this 100 year-old antiquated piece of work is going to finally quit.  Right in the middle of my vote.  Well, yesterday was not that day.  The machine was true.  My vote counted.

Cheering and tearing.

So, now we have a new president and a new future in the form of a black man with a muslim name.  Talk about the weight of the world!  When the election was finally called, the streets here in Brooklyn erupted in cheers, and tears.  People were out hootin' and hollerin' and high-fiving strangers and people were literally crying tears of joy.  Tears of joy.  Now, I was happy when Clinton was elected in '96.  I was crazy 

happy when Michigan won the national championship in '97.  I hooted and I hollered with the best of them.  But I didn't cry.  And I'm a total cry-baby.  I cry at everything! 

So, needless to say, I cried last night.  Oh, but last night, EVERYBODY was a cry-baby! Cry babies in the street, cry-babies in the bars, cry-babies crying on the couch.  Never in my life have I seen so many people crying at once over the same thing.  And they were all crying out of happiness! 

It was a beautiful thing.

Lenin Lives!

Vladimir Lenin, founder of the Bolshevik Party, mastermind of the October Revolution, and most recently known for his permanent mummification in wax, is ALIVE. I know, seems wrong, doesn't it? But I trust my own eyes do not decieve me.

A while ago, while parading over the Bridge one morning, I noticed the appearance of what looked to be a deer blind on the roof of the 7th Precinct on Pitt Street (viewable from the South side of the bridge). I thought it was strange, since I had never seen ANY wild game, much less a deer, in lower Manhatttan. But whatever, I figured if our city's finest had found a new liesurely pastime it was not my place to pass judgment.

And then one morning - like a dream - He was there. It was a sunny morning and I was high-tailing to get to work. I had glanced over to see if there were any deer on the trafficway below and I did a double-take at what I saw. There was Lenin, standing there, in the deer blind. Now, granted, he's been encased in wax for a long time now so he was understandably a freakishly pale shade of white. He also had on a pair of cheap, gas station sunglasses. But the likeness was....unmistakeable.

Bear with me now. So, here's what Lenin looked like pre-waxing:

Handsome, I know. Now remember, he's been dead for about 84 years. Add in a pair of these:

And voila! Hence the apparition I saw on the roof of the 7th Precinct!

Now, I know it sounds crazy, I mean, this guy was a friggin revolutionary - what's he think he's doing hunting for deer on top of a police station in probably the most deer-devoid island in the world, when clearly it is nowhere near deer season. But then I realized - of course! Nobody expects Vladimir Ilyich Lenin to be hanging out in a deer blind on the Lower East Side. That would be CRAZY! And Lenin was known to be a very clear thinker. Therefore, its the perfect disguise!

I walked by the next day and noticed that he was now wearing a very unflattering policeman's cap. I guess maybe too many people were recognizing him. I didn't want him to think it wasn't working so I pretended not to notice him and kept walking. My precious little secret!

(Farm) Sharing is Caring

Had to DRAG ourselves out of bed this morning and down to McCarren park for our distrubution shift this morning.  See, earlier in the year, Meeks and I signed up for a farm share which included a mandatory work shift at the distribution site.  We didn't think anything of it since we're both generally early risers.  But after a looong week of commuting to Jersey and a late night last night (and an AMAZING dinner at Miranda), Saturday morning came much too soon.  

Labor-wise, the morning wasn't too bad.  Chris, the farmer pulled up with his truck and Mike and I helped unload (with 3 or 4 other people) and set up.  Then we were assigned posts.  I was lucky enough to get the flower distribution, and Mike got the eggs.  Basically, what this entailed was when somebody came up, you find their name on a list and mark 'em off.  Easy as pie.  

The hardest part was the unexpected smells.  See, there were three smells competing for our affections this morning:

1. The outhouse-like poo smell of the nearby compost project

2. The extreme sandalwood incense the compost project was burning to cover up the outhouse-like poo smell, and

3.  The food cart

The food cart was by far our biggest threat.  It was positioned directly in front of where Mike and I were stationed.  We hadn't had time for breakfast, and all morning the fellow was right in front of us frying bacon, sausage, burgers and eggs.  Sweet Baby Jesus, it was INTENSE.  Mike broke down after about 7 minutes and went over and got a bacon, egg, and cheese on a baguette while I watched his post.  I managed to hold off until we finished at noon, but man, it was a struggle.

All in all, it was a very good time.  Talked to a lot of great people and even found a couple of freakishly large chicken eggs and one teensy-tiny baby-sized one.  Once we closed up shop and cleaned up (and attacked the food cart) we hung out for a little while with another of the volunteers, then hiked over to Enid's to drop off the leftover flowers.  They were quite appreciative.  Then, on the way home we stopped at a parking-lot garage sale and got a copy of Evil Dead 2 on VHS for a buck! 

It was the perfect end to a perfect morning.

Mike, the food cart, and my flowers

Ran into the Playgirl van parked on the way home.  It smelled okay so I had Mike pose for a picture with it.  He was not amused.  (But I was!)

Things to see from a moving train.

I've been commuting to Princeton the past couple of days and have found that while riding the train I tend to neglect my reading materials.  This is not something new, as I often take the Amtrak up to Albany and spend the time gazing out the window at the picturesque hills of the Hudson Valley.  That's understandable.  

But...New Jersey Transit en route to Priceton...not as picturesque.  I couldn't figure out what kept drawing my eyes out that window, but at any rate, I decided to snap some pictures.  You know, because they last longer.

Also, on the same topic, was some fascinating graffiti that really was photo-worthy, but whizzed by to quickly to capture.  My favorite was one spraypainted on the back of a transformer and read:

"The rumors about my Denise

have been greatly exaggerated."

hee hee hee

Trees and other shrubberies

Wooden shanties

Other trains

Shadow puppets

New Brunswick

Watery graves

My own reflection in the smudgy glass

Bridging the East River

One of my daily duties (self-appointed, of course) as a Mexican-American Michigander and, more importantly, a Nouveau Brooklynite, is to monitor the goings-on of the Williamsburg Bridge.  It is the pride of the East River.  Well, my favorite bridge, anyways.   

Lately, I have noticed an increased police presence around the entryways onto the bridge.  Traffic entries.  A makeshift checkpoint set up on the north entrance of the bridge from the Williamsburg side (off the BQE), with no actual traffic stops.  Just a lot of milling around and looking very well put together in their navy ensembles.

Then a couple of nights ago, a rougue police car ventured onto the bridge.  And not just on the bridge, but on the pedestrian level of the bridge.  In their CAR.  I admit, I was mildly disturbed.  But then I saw what a lovely sense of festiveness the colored police lights added to its spraypainted mural backdrop and that welcoming shade of rosa mexicano.  I have to say, it really tied the bridge together.

¡Que belleza!

Sunday, Bloody (Mary) Sunday

Sunday.  Oh dear lord.  Sunday.  On Sunday morning, the three of us (Meeks, Ed, and I) blearily headed over to Jeremy and Erin's for a homemade bruncheon (my second of the morning after meeting Mary Jane for brunch earlier in the day).  It was a bloody good time.

Everything was going great until the Napkin Bandits showed up

Smokers

Stairwell Portraits

Searching for the rest of Ed's arm.

Ed, reunited.

Storming out, Huxtable style

Pausing for the Gun Show

And here he thought he was all alone

Ed stumbles into some divine lighting

Rooftopin.'  Curiously, I just noticed that there appears to be a little man at the bottom of this photo.  I believe he is waving.  How I wish I had seen him when I snapped the photo so I could have waved back!  Waving to strangers is a dying art in modern America.  We wavers must preserve our friendly culture!

Spirit fingers.

Blood trucks.  

Galavanting

A potty portrait.

Schmancy riverfront condos

This reminded me of this Dali photograph with something like a dude jumping, some paint being flung through the air, and a cat being tossed.  Only better.  Because Ed was NUDE.  (Well, sort of.)