Archive for April, 2015

April 26, 2015

mann-1983-1985-sherry-and-baby-p-47 (the glorious sally mann)

Picky eaters wouldn’t enjoy percebes. Like all sea creatures expensive and tough to eat, they taste like sea and not much else. A shot of lukewarm tide pool water might be just as delicious if you haven’t been raised on these Nordic goose barnacles. Eating them requires tough finger nails and a bib, a tray for the rejected, sucked-on, juice-less shells once the single cubic centimeter or so of meat has been consumed. You must break off the pale mint dinosaur scale on top of each barnacle, and then slurp at the wrinkled tube-like flesh to find the reward. I don’t think it’s all the work that would dissuade the picky eater (I’ve always thought working while you eat can be one of the most fun aspects of consumption), but rather the appearance of the percebe. Nobody has ever explicitly said it around me –which is surprising because Spaniards are vocal about nearly everything from the chinos that run the dollar store empires, to the rumored coital health of disliked neighbors– but percebes look like little crinkled dog erections with a shell on top.

Bord De Mer, Champ Rouge  Pierre Bonnard (pierre bonard)

The resemblance is so obvious to me (a person who has never had a dog, and has only those childhood memories of a best friend’s dog getting “horndoggy” and sticking out it’s penis-tongue to base my comparison on); and I can only imagine that a dog owner, or someone who has a penchant for terriers and small dogs will notice the erectile resemblance. Maybe Spaniards don’t talk about it because they’re newer to dogs as pets; for the most part, dogs there have served as pastoral guards of land, incessantly barking and scruffy. It wasn’t until the 90s that they became leashed and cute.
The only other thing, I think, that doesn’t come up over jovial lunches, albariño abounding, is the civil war.

Edgar Degas (1834-1917), Young Girl Stretched Out Looking at an Album (degas)

a little ana maria shua i translated for you:

the lovers
they always talked about a reincarnation that would allow them to kiss in public. they died together in an accident, in one of their clandestine dates. he reincarnated into a circus elephant and she into a petunia. an unfortunate lack in synchronicity resulted since the life of a petunia is quite brief. in the next phase of reincarnation both were humans, but with a 63 year age difference. she became a pope and he, a cheerful little girl who was chosen from an audience to approach him and kiss his ring.

pre-easter saturday

April 4, 2015

this video made me understand something i didn’t know before.

Sam turns 3. Super hero party. Six little boys in capes, three red, one green, one’s a blanket, and one’s a tea towel. It drizzles in the backyard but Sam doesn’t feel it. The nannies with crossed arms and warm doughy skin stand in the corner of the garden and sip Capri Sun between strings of gossip in Spanish.

Sam knows it’s his birthday and he knows there’s confetti cake. He spread frosting on it in the morning with the help of his 5 year-old brother. The two spelled out his name with sprinkles.

Sam rides his trike all over the yard and his friends orbit around him like little super planets. Sam! Sam! Sam! He looks up and sees the pigeons that swoop and cloud over our neighborhood, and the squirrels that trapeze on the electric line. In his head, Sam talks to them and they talk back and wish him a happy birthday, and say Boy, Confetti Cake Is the Best Choice! Sam’s so glad they think that, too. Chocolate gets boring.

He doesn’t know that the pigeons and squirrels are saying other things to themselves, that they’re wondering if there will be sunshine tomorrow, that they don’t know, and quite frankly don’t care, that it’s Sam’s 3rd birthday. He waves the animals goodbye. It’s starting to rain harder now, it’s time to go inside, time to sing.

Misha Dontsov2 (Misha Dontsov)Henri Matisse – Les Pivoines, 1907 a saturday matisse.

we went to long island to a place called sunken meadow. i’ve never seen such a grey, still sea. the ocean looked like underneath it there had indeed been, long ago, a meadow. it was more still than stone, except for a single cormorant that dipped in and out, mining for nuggets of gold or silver or oysters..

we touched a horse and a mule and a st. bernard named hans. we went bowling and we didn’t know any of the pop songs. we ate sushi in a quiet place and the tuna, we think, was definitely dyed red.