Life in the NohoDome

The Orphan Glove Project

2009-12-29T18:44:00.000-05:00

Union Street House Fire Photos

2009-12-27T16:40:00.007-05:00

I took a short walk over to the house on Union Street where my friend Glenn lives and talked to him and his son standing outside their heavily damaged house. His son Henry woke up at 2AM for some reason and heard glass break downstairs. He woke his dad up, saving both their lives says Glenn, and ran downstairs to find the back of the house in flames. The fire started on the porch out back and Henry said he wonders if the glass he heard was breaking due to heat or if some sort of molotov cocktail had been thrown through the porch window. Glenn said he thinks his record collection survived and was already talking about pulling some music for his show on WMUA this Friday.

Poetry amidst the ashes.
Local photographer Paul Shoul and a city worker survey the damage.
A helicopter circled the neighborhood for over an hour, seen here over Glenn's home.
Below, a city police officer posts an arson alert sign.

Singing Leonard Cohen songs at Joe's Pizza

2009-12-23T21:48:00.013-05:00

You'd get your ass kicked in West Virginia for this kind of thing. I was eating alone at Joe's, reading the profound new issue of Adbusters and sipping a Stella. Local artist/teacher Rick Gifford, his wife and friends sat across from me and somehow Leonard Cohen came up in their conversation. Rick started singing "Everybody Knows" and, at a loss for all the lyrics, someone pulled out their li'l blackberry-ipod-phone-a-majig and located the lyrics. He handed it to Rick and we all started into singing the whole song. We talked about Cohen and how many people have covered him, including Rufus Wainwright, one of the many who've taken on the song Hallelujah.

Rufus is on Sundance Monday night: "Aiming to be a documentary about a pop star (Rufus Wainwright) who composes and stages a classical opera, "Prima Donna," which airs Monday night on the Sundance Channel, instead winds up being a heartfelt 90-minute guide to the care and feeding of a young genius." Wainwright appears at Northampton's Calvin Theatre on Valentine's Day Weekend.

Rick said U2 covers Cohen's "Tower Of Song" and we all set into that one next, with an assist from the great lyric cloud in the digital sky.

"Tower of Song" by Leonard Cohen

Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song
I said to Hank Williams: how lonely does it get?
Hank Williams hasn't answered yet
But I hear him coughing all night long
A hundred floors above me
In the Tower of Song

I was born like this, I had no choice
I was born with the gift of a golden voice
And twenty-seven angels from the Great Beyond
They tied me to this table right here
In the Tower of Song

So you can stick your little pins in that voodoo doll
I'm very sorry, baby, doesn't look like me at all
I'm standing by the window where the light is strong
Ah they don't let a woman kill you
Not in the Tower of Song

Now you can say that I've grown bitter but of this you may be sure
The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor
And there's a mighty judgement coming, but I may be wrong
You see, you hear these funny voices
In the Tower of Song

I see you standing on the other side
I don't know how the river got so wide
I loved you baby, way back when
And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed
But I feel so close to everything that we lost
We'll never have to lose it again

Now I bid you farewell, I don't know when I'll be back
There moving us tomorrow to that tower down the track
But you'll be hearing from me baby, long after I'm gone
I'll be speaking to you sweetly
From a window in the Tower of Song

Yeah my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day

"Everybody Knows"
by Leonard Cohen and Sharon Robinson

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That's how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows that the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died

Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
And a long stem rose
Everybody knows

Everybody knows that you love me baby
Everybody knows that you really do
Everybody knows that you've been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows you've been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

And everybody knows that it's now or never
Everybody knows that it's me or you
And everybody knows that you live forever
Ah when you've done a line or two
Everybody knows the deal is rotten
Old Black Joe's still pickin' cotton
For your ribbons and bows
And everybody knows

And everybody knows that the Plague is coming
Everybody knows that it's moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But there's gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows

And everybody knows that you're in trouble
Everybody knows what you've been through
From the bloody cross on top of Calvary
To the beach of Malibu
Everybody knows it's coming apart
Take one last look at this Sacred Heart
Before it blows
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Oh everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows

Saturday Morning

2009-12-12T11:30:00.003-05:00

"Gonna buy me a case."

Josh at Turn It Up! said that Ian's goal is to find a picture of the artist for every divider card.

Artistic activity in the alley by Northampton Wools.

Even the porta-potty people understand something about symmetry.

Annual Hot Chocolate Run to Benefit Safe Passage

2009-12-05T10:14:00.004-05:00

What's a hot chocolate run without mashmallows?

DJ Bex Zumbruski and WHMP's Bill Dwight. Bex hosts a monthly dance party at The Rendezvous and you can sometimes catch her on the airwaves bringing the jazz on 88.5 WFCR.

The ubiquitous Monte from WRSI 93.9 The River.

"Safe Passage provides non-judgmental support, shelter, counseling, and an abundance of resources to women, children, and families affected by domestic violence. Join Safe Passage in working to create a community where violence is not the answer."

C3 Public Art in Northampton

2009-11-29T20:10:00.007-05:00

On my way to Northampton Coffee today I saw what I thought was snow on the lawn of the Chamber of Commerce. It was 50 degrees so obviously this was not the case. As I got closer I realized it was plastic cups. Matt Winum was in the process of doing an installation, funded by the Chamber of Commerce (B.I.D.?) and conceived by Commonwealth Center for Change (C3) for the Winter Windows Project. The cups will be illuminated at night. Matt also did the 2x4s and sleds installation in front of Urban Outfitters.
This shot is from Matt's Valley Artshare page.

Chill Pill

2009-11-28T22:43:00.003-05:00

Claustrophobia Dream

2009-11-28T18:48:00.006-05:00

This morning I awoke in a panic. I'd had a claustrophobia dream. In the dream I am climbing the stairs to an attic room where my childhood friend Stuart Malone lives. Stuart died of a heroin overdose when he was 26. At the top there's some sort of wall abutment or architectural oddity protruding into the narrow stairwell. It requires bending and twisting into an unnatural and tight position to maneuver the final stairs and emerge into the attic room. I never make it into the room. There's a tense moment where I'm positioned almost upside down such that my arm is wedged and moving it will cause it to break when my full body weight lets go. My panic makes me want to jerk it quickly and escape, and it's from this bone-threatening position that I awoke this morning gasping for breath, freeing myself from the blankets and jumping out of bed waving my arms in the air to verify that I was not trapped. I was shaking and filled with a sense of deja vu and dread. I remembered this stairway squeeze vividly. Was it an actual memory or a memory of a dream? It had to be from a dream because the existence of such a thing makes no sense. Claustrophobia is not one of my big phobias. I had an MRI once and didn't panic. It was equipped with mirrors which gave the illusion that you were in the room and not in the tube. But all day today I've been feeling panic when I remember the dream. And here's the weirdest thing. An hour after I awoke I read this story in the Gazette over a bagel.

"John Jones, 26, of Stansbury Park, died nearly 28 hours after he became stuck upside-down in Nutty Putty Cave, a popular spelunking site about 80 miles south of Salt Lake City. John Jones was part of a group of 11 people exploring the cave passages. The 6-foot-tall, 190-pound spelunker got stuck with his head at an angle below his feet about 9 p.m. MST Tuesday. At times more than 50 rescuers were involved in trying to free him." The whole story is here. (The photo is not from this specific incident.)

Sunday in the Sixties

2009-11-15T17:19:00.013-05:00

It was a warm November Sunday in Northampton with temps reaching well into the sixties. I was a wanderin' fool with my camera and the idiot glee that comes from an unexpectedly gorgeous day. Below, left to right, a local musical icon convergence in front of the Woodstar Cafe on Masonic Street with Michael Gregory, Roger Salloom's 93 year old mother, Roger Salloom.

Looking for deals in the discount CD rack at Turn It Up! (umm....pull 'em up).

I often see some unfamiliar street musicians on Saturdays and Sundays; weekend warriors compared to the 9 to 5 guys who are out there every day.

Here's Adam (and friend) with his guitar on the front porch of the notorious "house with the red door" on King Street. Adam is also a virtuoso of the saw. Only the red door's hinged edge is visible.

A colorful bunch about to become pedestrians.

And they're off!

If you want this worm, it's going to cost you.

This is local boxing coach Djata Bumpus of Pioneer Valley Boxing School who's been a fixture in town for years. But he's much more than just a boxer as you'll see on his blog Djatajabs. The purpose of his blog is "for people to be able to recognize and understand cultural and social developments in the United States, based upon the lifelong journey of an African American activist, educator, artist, and retired pro boxer."

Who's zoomin' who?

Local girls agree to be immortalized on the Nohodome.

Sweet job for someone.

Hmmm. Is the B.I.D. behind this? They painted all the lamp posts black but you'd think maybe there would be an attempt to match the color of cement when patching the sidewalk. This looks terrible, and right in front of the Hotel Northampton too.

There's a planet on the roof of the hotel...
...and on the front stairs.

Trying on jackets at Roz' Place on Bridge Street. Note the amazing vintage radio collection. Bakelite!

Not sure I can rock the Ramones look anymore despite my admittedly bad ass rock and roll lifestyle that has me up as late as 9PM most nights.

A delivery truck hit the marquee right after the other side was repaired for the same reason. Grrrrr! Knocked the lights out too so it just glows VIN.

A zen moment with Ani DiFranco who plays the Calvin tonight. My friend Katie is taking me and insisting I will enjoy myself.

Lions and Bonnie and Femmes

2009-11-11T19:38:00.003-05:00

Gordon Gano (of Violent Femmes) and the Ryan Brothers with me and Sean from WRSI today after an in-studio performance. I am NOT shorter than Gordon. I'm hunched down so as not to obstruct Sean. In February of 1989 I was at a music biz baseball game in San Francisco and I hit, no lie, a grand slam off a Gordon Gano fastball. He said he remembered it well, still bears the scars, and that someone had just asked him about that 20 year's gone game a few days earlier! Why can't I get, just one strike....?

This is obviously the Lion's Club represented by this old firetruck in today's Veteran's Day parade in Northampton, shot out my office window.

Bonnie's ghost cart continues to runneth over.

A Bushel of What?

2009-11-05T11:48:00.009-05:00

I read when I eat, a habit that began as a child reading every word on a cereal box, pupils fiercely dilated by sugar, hypnotized by that row of 25s in the nutritional info rectangle. Total and Special K had 100s. Quisp, well, I don't recall the vitamin and mineral percentages but it was shaped like little UFOs. "Vitamins" and "Minerals." The two words that perpetuated the ruse that this stuff was food. Do kids still save box tops or that magical childhood currency, the proof of purchase seal, that promised poorly constructed knock offs of real toys or licensed cartoon character figurines with lots of extra plastic left around the edges by the cheap molds? I never had the patience for those delayed gratification offers. If the toy was pictured on the box, it better damn well BE in the box. There were two kinds of families when I was growing up. The ones that allowed kids to empty out the cereal into a big bowl to claim the toy and the ones like mine that made us wait until the toy was birthed naturally during normal cereal usage rates. It was forbidden to conspicuously eat another bowl in one sitting just to get to the toy. I tried it once but it didn't come out on the second bowl pour and I just couldn't credibly ask my mother for a third in good conscience or health.

I was reading a copy of Edible Pioneer Valley this week while I ate dinner, learning all about eating local and healthy. I don't think the pizza I was eating from Pizza Amore on Green Street is what they mean by locally grown. But like going to the gym, eating right is on the list that I hope to get to before being instructed to do so by a doctor. To this end, I want to direct you to a locally grown cooking blog by Nicole Kutcher with lots of easy cooking recipes. A Bushel of What? "Nicole Kutcher lives with her husband and her dog in Easthampton, MA. She has no James Beard Awards, no culinary training, and no cookbooks published under her name. She does, however, like to eat." The latest post is a great (I bet) Curried Vegetable Soup recipe. She's "got one in the oven" herself as of late so forgive her any pickle and ice-cream based recipes that may pop up. Just click on the logo below.

I'm infected by awareness.

2009-11-03T21:10:00.009-05:00

Do you ever feel like what you might really feel like doing is too unsophisticated to cop to? I am so distraught by Fox News and so much of what's in the "news" that shouldn't be news and even more distraught at what the real news, reported or not, appears to be. I'm angry that people like Glenn Beck have a cable network at their disposal, like a cockroach with a megaphone. I like Rachel Maddow because she fights back, but lately that's all she's able to do. The bullshit-storm, by design, is so strong that the sensible people have to waste their time defending themselves against assaults from the idiots who destroy and don't create. There's rarely a chance to do anything else. You can't have a civil conversation in the middle of a locust invasion without going blind and swallowing big gulps of exoskeleton. Is it wrong to want to just turn it off and live in a bubble of my immediate reality more often? I'm infected by global awareness, and probably only scraping the surface of the truth at that. My innate optimism feels feisty but naive and either dependent on oblivion or subject to serious and emotionally expensive re-evaluation and compromise.

Mommy, what makes men drum in the back of a parked truck in downtown Northampton on a Sunday evening?

2009-11-01T17:42:00.018-05:00

And what makes a man videotape them? And what makes a man use the word videotape instead of whatever phrase describes shooting a movie with a digital camera? I slept until 3PM, well, 2PM, today and awoke to my door buzzer. Emily was returning the bag I'd left in her car last night containing a picture frame, an umbrella, and one warm can of Miller beer. The detritus of an evening of altered identities and mental states for morning-after forensic analysis.

I made a scrambled egg burrito and then headed to Northampton Coffee for a cappuccino and a lemonade at 5PM. I felt none of the usual guilt about sleeping away a Sunday, drunk with the heady luxury of that extra hour added to the day. This gift of an hour gives humans an illusory sense of power over time, as if we had any control. Sure, we invented these measures of time; minutes, hours, days, so we could have dentist appointments, and we can use our invention to pull this daylight savings time jazz, but sister this won't buy you time in the end. If your moment of death occurs right when the clocks go back, you don't get a reprive. Never mind the whole leap year racket. As the Beatles said, number nine, number nine, number nine. We're just monkeying with the instruments. Nevertheless, it's a great illusion and today felt long despite my scandalous sleep-in.

Usually I feel like I've robbed myself of life's precious and finite weekend hours. But lately I realize that I needn't see the weekend as separate from the work week because A. they frequently bleed together and B. why not just BE all the time wherever I am instead of framing some time as mine and some as "on the clock?" I've read about taking this approach with "waiting" in line or in traffic and it makes plenty of sense. Don't think of it as waiting. Don't focus on getting to the cashier and twitch and fidget. Try to be in line. BE in line. Look around. Listen to what people are saying. Monitor the culture. Gather some anecdotes. It makes me feel powerful not to allow a situation to get the best of me and look around at all the willing victims who have yet to reach CVS-line enlightenment. I think about elevators and stairs this way too. They are not merely a means to an end. If life is about the journey and not the destination, then what better metaphor is there than a staircase, an escalator, or an elevator? The epitome of a failure to grasp this idea is those ridiculous segueways (ala Paul Blart: Mall Cop) that rob us of our walking.

The video below evokes the concept of transport as its own reward (as well as offering a clever tool against obesity.)

Waiting rooms. The name already sets people up for annoyance. What is this need we have to divorce parts of our lives into chunks, half spent reminiscing, the other anticipating? Or doing too many things at once like George Costanza and his dream trifecta: eating, having sex, and watching television all in bed simultaneously. Jerry calls him "Caligula" after this incident. George says, " I flew too close to the sun on wings made of pastrami," and Jerry replies, "So, she didn't appreciate the erotic qualities of the salted cured meats?"

Personally, any moment on this planet that I'm not in pain, have no broken bones, I'm not in jail, I can breathe and scratch my elbow, etc., I am in a state of potential joy. The real test I guess would be keep my cool in an airplane that is going down. And really, what is life but that?

Richard Glaven and I used to paint houses for Joe Callahan in the '80s and when we'd finish and he'd assess our work he'd point to places on the house where we had missed a spot and say "Holiday!" He'd find another. "Holiday!" Pointing his finger at spots across the span of the house, "Holiday! Holiday! Holiday!" Richard made a point of answering Joe's critiques with meaningless non-sequiturs. "But Joe, it's different for domeheads." Joe would stare at the two of us, first Richard, then me, then Richard again and shake his head. He'd say, "Nevertheless...." We'd get back up on the ladders and paint over our little mini-vacations. Then we'd all go to Delano's for beers. I had a job as a short order cook at Delano's after college. It was my first employment coup with my English B.A. from UMass.

After Northampton Coffee I came home feeling ideal bio-chemically and inspired to create. This feeling doesn't happen often enough. It's a full moon so maybe I'm feeling a lunar tug on the tides of my creative juices. Sometimes it's the result of caffeine and is oft accompanied by a flurry of resolutions and the use of words like oft. I proclaim that I will get up at 7AM and go to the gym for the second time this year after buying a two-year membership last January. Then I'll go to Northampton Coffee or the Haymarket to read the paper, maybe scribble down some of the more promising fly-by thoughts, and go to work on time rather than sleeping until 9:45 and getting in at 10:30. Eric, if you're reading this, the times are purely hypothetical....

I tried to make some headway at my collage table but lost interest and, as always, I end up talking and writing about being creative rather than doing it. I love ideas and inspiration but wow does my discipline and follow-through suck.

The recycling bin is always interesting when you share a building with the TMNT's company Mirage. The renowned local enterprise was just bought by Nickelodeon.

Halloween in Northampton- Day into Night

2009-11-01T02:14:00.004-05:00

Halloween in Downtown Northampton - Daytime

2009-10-31T14:19:00.017-04:00

"You've got mail!"
Photo above taken on Pearl Street behind the nightclub. Speaking of guitars, I saw "It Might Get Loud" this week at the Pleasant Street Theatre. It seemed like the "summit" hadn't yielded as much magic as hoped so there's very little actual chat between Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack White. What conversation exists is awkward and the jams are odd, especially The Band's "The Weight." How about asking Page to play "I Will Follow," Edge to attempt "Icky Thump," and Jack to try (obviously) "Hat's Off To (Roy) Harper?" The film is edited together into thematic and biographical parts. I was thoroughly engaged all the way through despite its shortcomings. It's fun to see Page in his record room using a turntable, the staircase where Bonham kicked off "When The Levee Breaks," the old new wave hairdos of U2, and hear the story of Jack and Meg's red and white peppermint motif and Jack's favorite song ("Grinnin' In Your Face" by Son House.) (Click to hear it!)
Above: The scene at Kathy's Diner; a place where hipsters and almost off the rails townies have always co-existed in a scrambled sort of harmony with Patsy Cline on the jukebox speaking to any generation within earshot. I used to eat there after a night of beer and music at Sheehans's when it was still the Red Lion Diner and that crazy ol' Big Mike(?) used to cook there. I pointed out a cockroach in my omelette to him once and he plucked it out and said, "there." Below: This is the flesh of a telephone pole.
I ran into John Allen after breakfast with Dave and he (Dave) took this photo. There may be an identical photo taken 25 years ago back when we were wee lads.
Alice and perhaps Sir Gawain on their way to meet the Mad Hatter and the Green Knight on an anachronistic double breakfast date at the Green Bean.
I must notify Sesame Street immediately about this find.
State Radio play the Calvin tonight and they played an acoustic set at NBO this morning prior to a 5K road race to benefit Darfur.
These two cats have both lost their way. Do you recognize either? Call the numbers below.
Written on the wall in the Thornes Market men's room.
Bonnie Ascher tributes continue. Below, the window of Yes Computers on Pleasant Street.
A sign seen around the Market Street neighborhood, here affixed to an angelic white "ghost-cart" outside of Roz's Place, inspired by Bonnie's vehicle of choice. This is a beautiful and inspired shrine in the tradition of "ghost bikes" for fallen cyclists. There is a website dedicated to these bikes and their pilots, but no ghost-cart site as of yet. Here is the site's page for dear Meg Sanders who lost her life on her bike at Smith College in 2005. Meg's ghost bike was leaning against a tree near the scene of the accident. Blake Goodman, a cyclist killed in Amherst recently, had his ghost bike vandalized. Who would do this? There is a reward offered by Blake's dad for info. Here is Larry Kelley's post about Blake's bike.
Here's Paul Shoul's photo of Bonnie, who did ride a bike on occasion which as you can see had a bin for bottles and cans strapped on the back. It's hanging inm the window of the fabulous vintage store RETRO GENIE. Click here to read the whole story of this picture.
Here is a delightful video shot in Northampton by World's Greatest Dad for their song "Jacqueline." Click the collage. This was shot around Market Street, Bonnie's 'hood.
Here's a short video clip I shot at the Iron Horse of Sup Pop band Dum Dum Girls who have a '60s girl group meets Jesus and Mary Chain magic that made me tingle all over. They opened for King Khan and the BBQ Show. P.S. Fuck Buttons tomorrow night (Sunday) is now at the Iron Horse, not Pearl Street.
I am Son Of Man by Magritte for Halloween.

R.I.P. Bonnie

2009-10-26T21:52:00.007-04:00

I saw my neighbor Bonnie carted away with an oxygen tank in an ambulance this weekend out my window and an anonymous poster here on Nohodome told me she died this weekend. Anonymous said...Sad news in the hood.... Heard today that Bonnie passed away. She was a tough old gal and a good heart. October 26, 2009 4:39 PM. Bonnie, like Timmy Young, was a downtown fixture. She seemed to have worked out barter arrangements with assorted restaurants, bars, and stores whereby she would sweep in front of the store in exchange for a meal or a drink. When she drank, sometimes I would hear her wailing in the night from her apartment across Market Street from me. "Why God Why Me!!!" I heard once. I don't know how she paid for the apartment. Bonnie DiCarlo (different Bonnie) who used to work at the antique store told me she had money but chose to live the way she did. "She has a daughter." To the casual observer, she was a "shopping cart lady" rounding up bottles and cans. She worked hard, and I always respected her, especially contrasted with the guys under the bridge that sit on the sidewalk and beg daily. "Brutha spare change?" 365 days a year. Morning and night. Bonnie was enterprising. She was hellbent on sweeping up the town. I saw her cleaning along the curbs, sweeping up gravel and dirt that didn't really need to be swept up. I didn't know Bonnie but she is another in the long line of people who have carved out an existence on the edges of downtown Northampton, recognized by all, known by none.

Old Sunrise

2009-10-17T19:37:00.009-04:00

This sunrise over Market Street out my window is two weeks old. I didn't remember taking it when I emptied my camera onto the computer and it appeared amidst the conscious shots. I forgot it like I would forget a dream. Look, I captured two ghosts on Hawley just past the crosswalk. I had to tweek it to get some contrast thus the robust gold tint. Robust is a popular word in business and politics lately, you noticed? Robust legislation, etc. You used to never hear it but it's everywhere now "Language is a virus," as Laurie Anderson said.
I used to live right on Main St. looking out over downtown. At 4 in the morning the streets and sidewalks are deserted. You can see how wide the street really is; the way it looks on the old pre-automobile postcards. A few cars linger...perhaps left by responsible folks who caught a ride home with a sober friend. These cars are the meter-people's first stop at 8AM. Gotcha! I wonder if horses and buggies were ever ticketed back in the old days. I can imagine someone contesting a citation. "The horse ate the damn ticket."

Lately I've adopted a more aggressive cherry-picking motif in my life. I find the good song or two on a record and rescue them from the rest. I put them with all the others on an iTunes playlist, currently called Wedding/Funeral Playlist. Mediocre songs can eat time alive. I also have no problem skipping chapters in a book if they're not holding me. In younger days I'd just stop reading the book for good. It applies to many situations. If I realize I'm not going to be able to finish a pizza (I hate leftover pizza, so a pie gets just one sitting) I don't just eat as many full slices as I can manage and then stop. I eat the good parts of each slice that have the pepperoni on them and leave a pile of scattered "pizza bones" as Bill Stepchew's son used to call them. And for the record, those dough tumors that bubble up on a pizza piss me off. They rob perfectly good acreage from the pie. When those damn bubbles are on a pizza, they shouldn't serve it, god dammit.
Here's a piece of a Franz Wright poem (Wheeling Motel). How persnickity is this? Like the pizza, I don't just pick the poems I like from the book, I pick the parts of the poem. "Egads" as my grandmother used to say.

Then the moon will rise
like the word reconciliation,
like Walt Whitman examining
the tear on a dead face.

Awesome. I also like this line from Daisy Fried's review of Wright's new book, also called Wheeling Motel, in the New York Times Book Review.

"Franz Wright is uningratiating, bumptiously witty, inexhaustibly joyless, and routinely surprising."

Bumptiously! And how about this one. When's the last time you saw the word cotton used as a verb?

"...those who are strenuously traditional or strenuously hipster won't cotton to Wheeling Motel."

I like the review better than the book I think. Hell, who needs books with robust reviews like Daisy's?

Book Sale at Troubadour Books in Hatfield this weekend

2009-10-17T12:18:00.011-04:00

Troubadour Books, one of the best bookstores in the area, arguably in the country, is having a 35% off sale this weekend. Dave and I just drove out there and I picked up some beautiful art and photo books for Xmas presents. Bob Willig has been the man behind the counter for years now. Chris, who you may know from Pleasant Street Video also works there. Here's a great review of the store which is right on route 5 in Hatfield just shy of the Whately town line. There's no website which is just fine. There is a massive collection of modern poetry as well as 1000+ art and photography books. It's a store with no junk books. No filler. Every edition is a treasure of some sort. Free coffee and snacks from Trader Joe's and great music sets the mood for a good two hour browse.

Today Chris was playing Death Cab For Cutie and jazz saxophonist Joe Henderson. As I looked through some Ben Shahn illustrations I realized Death Cab derives a lot of inspiration from Elliot Smith, especially the vocals and arrangements. He was on my mind because my old friend Mary Lou Lord was commenting on Facebook last night about an old cassette she found of her and Elliot playing songs together in someone's living room. I wonder if that's something others might like to hear. I should ask her.

Notebooks

2009-10-03T18:31:00.037-04:00

As much as I like to write, I have never had much follow through or patience. I like the concept of being a "writer" but I tend to wallow in the idea more often than doing the work that would make it a reality. I'm quite pleased with myself for actually maintaining this blog for two years now. If it wasn't public, I doubt I would have stuck with it. Nothing like blogs existed in the 70% of my life that was pre-internet. But what is the modern definition of a writer? It used to mean a novelist or newspaper columnist. Maybe all this time that I have aspired to be a writer, I've actually become one. I suppose being paid is a good indication of writerdom. My friend Dave doesn't get paid but he is among my favorite writers. I have all his old pre-internet letters and they would make a hilarious "collected letters" book. I wonder if the equivalent of "the collected letters of author name here" will be replaced by "The Collected e-mails, Tweets, and Facebook posts of author name here." What would Shakespeare's tweets have been like had the technology been there or Bukowsi's or Virgina Woolf's? I lost a thousand or so emails exchanged with an ex-girlfriend (due to old Yahoo mailbox limits) written during the two worst years (in hindsight) of my life. (See "cakewalk of pain" below). I know there were some answers in there that would shed some light on what the hell I thought I was doing, but I'll never see them again, perhaps for the best.
What I do have is dozens of notebooks I bought whenever I was finally going to sit down and start my writing life. True to form, each has maybe 20 pages filled, and the rest is blank. Why was it so important to start a new one after abandoning the previous one for a year or so? I just love a crisp new notebook and not some old used one that's already written in. Silly but true. Sometimes I'd just flip the old one over and upside down and start writing from the back. SO. I am now paging through some of them and I thought I'd share some of the more notable entries. They are mostly short phrases. I know this is somewhat vain, and disciplined writers (especially Stephen King, whose On Writing I'm reading now) would scold me for dumping these nuts and bolts out on the floor. I have no defense. At some point I should cull all the worthwhile stuff out and consolidate it. Much of the contents is captured thoughts for use in "the novel" or memoir that will probably never be written. If I can even decipher my atrocious handwriting (example below.) Some of this I have no recollection of writing at all and I can't figure out what I was getting at. Some of it isn't even interesting so just for fun and to tempt buried meaning, the illustrations I've included are random images I found by googling the various scribblings (or parts of them) that precede them. I'm addicted to juxtapositions.

Rough draft of a poem read at my sister's wedding. (Pic is random, not us)
My sister Sarah is the son my parents never had.
She's got a lot of sand in her, and guts and lily pads.
When I tried out for Little League I couldn't play the game,
But Sarah led the Lassie League to slow pitch softball fame.
I've loved her since the 60s when she was a little baby.
When she grew up and guys would ask, I'd say I'm not sure...maybe.
When she came out her stymied suitors voiced a knowing Doh!
They should have seen it all along, the girl was indigo.

Fragments:

Malignant magic

Yawning earth

Thimble rigging
Old blind visionaries

Top and bottom shelf of the soul

Living but no longer longing

Pegged by a cupcake
http://www.scribd.com/doc/3230/Robert-Crumb-The-Religious-Experience-of-Philip-K-DickSports is beer.
I feel like it's worse now. Everything is worse. Things aren't even things anymore. They've lost their very thingness. Things have to sell things now.
My cakewalk of pain

Look upon all circumstances with the gratitude of a pupil.

Why no bus baggage security or bag scans etc.?

Live neither in the present, past, or future but in the eternal.

How could I end it?

Amputees disarm me.

Taking potshots at the hotshots and the bigwigs at their shindigs, free trade organic torture, minty fresh bloodshed, universal wealthcare, trim the hedge funds, risk profile of a salad bar, anti-retroviral pro-biotic carcinogenic Tuscaloosa pancakes.

Look out baby that shit's about to quintuple and leave us surfing with the cannibals.

People who bought this title also bought: The Tipping Point, crack cocaine in a public park.

That's nonsense? Nonsense!

Does the face look uneven, does one arm drift down, does their speech sound slurred.

What can your body do to your body?

Duck Duck Goose is like Russian Roulette for kindergartners.

George Bush should be challenged to take the SAT test. If he said no, he'd look scared,and if he took it, well, we'd see. I'd bet he'd get 400s.

I want to see an iMac in the Oval Office.

Do presidents really work at the Oval Office desk like we would at our jobs? What's in the drawers. Does the White House place Staples orders? Do they ever make copies? Replace toner cartridges? I mean, what isn't delegated? Do they staple?
Nixon was a character in MAD magazine to me. McGovern was a sticker on our family's van.

How long have you been her?

Lazy Post. Foto-Funnies.

2009-10-02T00:39:00.001-04:00

Crime Wave! Amherst Police Blotter (with and without comment)

2009-09-30T23:08:00.012-04:00

CITIZEN ASSISTANCE

* 6:17 p.m. - A downtown resident told police that her neighbor has been placing caution tape and stakes around her vehicle and notes on the vehicle in an effort to prevent her from parking on grass outside her home. The neighbor said he was concerned the woman's vehicle is damaging the beauty of the neighborhood. Police warned the neighbor to call parking enforcement officials if the woman is parking her vehicle illegally.

LARCENY

* 6:38 p.m. - A UMass student who stole a pregnancy test kit from the CVS Pharmacy on North Pleasant Street was issued a trespass order by store management and advised to use services available to her at the UMass Infirmary. (Her boyfriend should have stolen some condoms.)

* 6:54 p.m. - A bicyclist who may have been struck by a vehicle at the intersection of Amity Street and Sunset Avenue flipped over the handlebars and landed on the ground, police said. (May have been? Was he a mime?)

WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 16

SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY

* 3:57 a.m. - A homeless man sleeping inside an ATM on Amity Street was sent on his way. (He has no way to be sent on. Can we just be honest and say kicked out?)

* 1:31 p.m. - A baby was reported left alone in a vehicle parked in the Amity Street parking lot. When police got there, both parents came back to car and told police they were watching the baby from the area of the Amherst Cinema. (They were taking turns running in and out of the theatre.)

ANIMAL COMPLAINTS

* 10:07 p.m. - A skunk which got its head stuck in a bottle was heard wandering around a Fearing Street yard. (Honey, does that sound like a skunk with its head stuck in a bottle to you?)

TRAFFIC

* 6:46 p.m. - A man crawling across North Pleasant Street was warned about his behavior. (But then they realized it was actually a very large escaped baby!)

THURSDAY, SEPT. 17

DISTURBANCES

* 5:02 a.m. - Police kept the peace at a South Amherst home where a man was being loud and refused to quiet down. The man was fine after his wife convinced him to resume taking his medication.

ANIMAL COMPLAINTS

* 8:16 a.m. - A squirrel was found inside a janitor's closet at the pre-school on Spring Street. The squirrel seemingly fled, but the animal got back inside the building at 11:37 a.m. (That looks like fleeing Dave, but things aren't always what they seem.)

FRIDAY, SEPT. 18

SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY

* 9:24 a.m. - A homeless man located with his belongings in a South Prospect Street yard was sent on his way. The man told police he had slept in a box overnight. (But the box was gone when he woke up. Even the homeless are facing foreclosure on their boxes.)
DISTURBANCES

* 10:46 a.m. - A woman kicked a vehicle passing the corner of College Street and Boltwood Avenue when it didn't stop for a pedestrian. (Damn right!)

ASSAULTS

* 12:17 a.m. - A man suffered a cut to his ear, but refused treatment, after being struck with a bottle while walking on Phillips Street. (He initially agreed to treatment for the cut to his ear but, after being struck with the bottle, refused it. Mind your commas.)

NOISE COMPLAINTS

* 10:54 p.m. and 11:50 p.m. - Police cleared out a party with 75 people at a Northampton Road location and a party with 10 people at a South East Street home. (Well, now we know where the better parties are likely to be.)

SATURDAY, SEPT. 19

SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY

* 7:23 p.m. - A man sitting in a lawn chair at the Kellogg Avenue entrance to the parking garage trying to charge people $5 to park there was warned to stop the activity. The man had not collected any money. (Freelance toll collection is frowned upon.)

ANIMAL COMPLAINTS

* 5:32 p.m. - A moose successfully crossed Route 116 near the Sunderland town line. At 6:50 a.m. the following day, a moose was seen near the Department of Public Works barn on South Pleasant Street. (Same moose? Must have taken a bus.)

SUNDAY, SEPT. 20

ASSAULTS

* 1:55 a.m. - A Sunset Avenue man told police his novelty hat was stolen during a fight in which he was assaulted.
Thanks to the Amherst Bulletin.

Northampton State Hospital Photo Galleries

2009-09-28T22:59:00.004-04:00

I found the postcard above at the monthly stamp and postcard show at the WWII Club on Conz St. when I went to vote a couple Tuesdays ago. Then I came upon a fantastic website with several photo galleries of the old Northampton Lunatic Asylum here. Sample image of the estate's morgue below.

"The morgue lies in the back of the central administration part of the hospital, and is oddly located underneath the cafeteria if my perception was correct.

The hospital did have a burial ground, and was used from 1856 until 1920. After 1920, patients without families would be used as medical school cadavers. At least 181 people are still resting here, and since there are no grave markers, the grave site was actually rediscovered by archeologists after it closed shortly after a similar burial site was recognized at Danvers State Aylum."

Recent Odds and Sods

2009-09-26T12:22:00.006-04:00

Mural detail from wall of Food For Thought Books in Amherst.
Same mural, different detail
Budget cuts have resulted in some DIY style funerals.
Local band World's Greatest Dad execute an extremely clever promotional stunt with a clear sticker placed across the masthead of the display copy of the Valley Advocate, conveniently their Big Music Issue. WGD opens for Mumiy Troll, "the Rolling Stones of Russia" at Pearl Street in October.
Found art, Hallway, 245 Main Street
Jordan brightens up Jakes.
Louie Falcetti's button hits a little too close to home.
ADK at Lookstock, man.
The Unusual Suspects.
Brendan and Tim execute the exploding knucks at Mountain Park in August. We'll miss you Timmy.
The GDP is fine in Norhampton. Gross Domestic Poetry anyway.
North End, Boston, Festival of St. So and So.
North End, Boston. Festival of Saint Whats-his-name.

North End, Boston. Saturday Night Fever.

A Speech to the Garden Club of America

2009-09-22T22:04:00.001-04:00

A Speech to the Garden Club of America by Wendell Berry

(With thanks to Wes Jackson and in memory of Sir Albert Howard and Stan Rowe.)

Thank you. I’m glad to know we’re friends, of course;
There are so many outcomes that are worse.
But I must add I’m sorry for getting here
By a sustained explosion through the air,
Burning the world in fact to rise much higher
Than we should go. The world may end in fire
As prophesied—our world! We speak of it
As “fuel” while we burn it in our fit
Of temporary progress, digging up
An antique dark-held luster to corrupt
The present light with smokes and smudges, poison
To outlast time and shatter comprehension.
Burning the world to live in it is wrong,
As wrong as to make war to get along
And be at peace, to falsify the land
By sciences of greed, or by demand
For food that’s fast or cheap to falsify
The body’s health and pleasure—don’t ask why.
But why not play it cool? Why not survive
By Nature’s laws that still keep us alive?
Let us enlighten, then, our earthly burdens
By going back to school, this time in gardens
That burn no hotter than the summer day.
By birth and growth, ripeness, death and decay,
By goods that bind us to all living things,
Life of our life, the garden lives and sings.
The Wheel of Life, delight, the fact of wonder,
Contemporary light, work, sweat, and hunger
Bring food to table, food to cellar shelves.
A creature of the surface, like ourselves,
The garden lives by the immortal Wheel
That turns in place, year after year, to heal
It whole. Unlike our economic pyre
That draws from ancient rock a fossil fire,
An anti-life of radiance and fume
That burns as power and remains as doom,
The garden delves no deeper than its roots
And lifts no higher than its leaves and fruits.

Hungry Ghost Sixth Annual Wonder Not! Bread Festival and Parade

2009-09-20T14:54:00.010-04:00

It's a gorgeous day in Northampton. Every year The Hungry Ghost bakery has a harvest festival on their lawn, commencing with a parade around the block. Your roving Nohodome reporter was there.
The baker feeds the hungry ghost.
Jonathan Stevens, owner of the Hungry Ghost, led the band, sheet music clipped to sax. Jonathan also plays guitar and shares a love of the UK singer/songwriter Roy Harper with me.
No time to loaf! Let's get this party started.Valley citizenry.
Ghost and bread become one.
I believe this is the moon.Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo doo.
And I say, it's all right. Sunning outside La Veracruzana......where I ran into Karen Andrade and her son.