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Ugh… Frappe Haven Closed for Health Violations
What’s going on? Made the trek to Astoria and was looking forward to a nice, sweet, caffeinated frappe and a souvlaki to go at the great Athen’s Cafe. First noticed that the seats weren’t outside. Then saw the big health department sign that the place has been closed for health violations. WHAT? Come on Athen’s Cafe. With what’s going on in Greece, you’re needed more than ever. What’s left if we don’t have our kafenenion culture to sulk in? And you make a mean frappe, though apparently not a necessarily sanitary one.
The Gastronomical Orgasm in Anne Zouroudi’s Writing
An odyssey essential, if one is partial to Greek odysseys, is the writing of Anne Zouroudi. I wouldn’t have stumbled upon her work if it hadn’t been for a good ol’ independent bookstore (Crawford and Doyle) that actually stocks interesting books. I was sort of surprised I bought the book; it’s a detective series and I’m not partial to that genre of literature. But… that’s why independent book stores do their part.
Anne Zouroudi writes much like a poet, and she writes much like a poet about Greece. About its romantic landscapes, about its less romantic realities, its cultural nuances and, what I find most enjoyable, the divinity of its food (in there is also a detective story, but it’s subtle compared to the cultural landscape of Greece, at least to me…) Her books are a very well versed outsider’s intimate knowledge and perspective of Greece. Back to the food…. the detective of her series enjoys life, (what archetypal Greek doesn’t?). So we get to savor each an every one of his meals. His coffees, the wines he favors (complete with the varieties of grapes). The processed food clutter of the periptero (newstand)–it still makes your mouth water even though you know it’s junk food. Because it is a nostalgia for Greece that anyone torn away from the land (forgetting its annoyances) knows… It’s not like she’s writing pages about the salami and kopanisti cheese the multi-purpose storeman’s slicing for you (I mean the detective); it’s about how it falls onto the wax paper, how the storekeeper wraps the package up with an elastic band… it’s the banter that goes along with it… Sigh, it’s as if you’re there in the kafeneion with our portly detective just taking in life.
Ode to the writings of Zouroudi! An author that brings back memories of Greece, the modern, the mythical, the gastronomical… The detective story is enjoyable too!
For a complete selection of her series visit the British version of the website, though not it’s not always updated (I had to do some detective work of my own to find out her new novel was out). You can order her books from sellers like Alibris or Abe books- only a few of her books are available in US bookstores- the rest you can order from overseas.
Paying Respect
Let’s pay respect to Broadway Restaurant at 101st street and Broadway, a diner that keeps it old school in the good ways (hot, hot coffee in a nice ceramic coffee cup, good company, familiar staff) and for the prize here: still having a cottage cheese omelette on the menu. Had to search far and beyond for that.
Ode to… Crawford Doyle Booksellers
With Borders closing, and the publishing industry (like all industries, it seems) in a bit of uncertainty as to the nature of its future, thought it good to note a lovely independent bookstore in NYC that continues to deliver fabulous fiction (and non-fiction). You won’t find many of the books here at the big chain retailers (or should I now say retaile-R… who is left in the area besides Barnes and Noble?) They have a small delicious fiction section which they seem to change every other day. And I rarely fail to walk out with a new book every time I visit. You’ll find a celebration of (gross term) ethnic writers and genres here, with of course a little bit more of French themed books (can’t forget it’s the Upper East Side)… Yes, I’m also biased by the fact that there has to be a philhelene working in the background of this store, or a very old-world wealth value of the Upper East Side that holds still the romantic notion of a classical Greece (or the golden years when Onasis made Greece sexy again): because I can actually find modern Greek authors here I don’t find elsewhere, and fell in love with Anne Zoroudi’s Greek Detective Series. Despite it being a detective series I found myself devouring each and every one of her books, ordering them special from England after being introduced to her by Crawford Doyle, because they aren’t all printed here.
And what is an independent bookstore without good staff? They give you recommendations, wrap your books ever so elegantly if you wish (no charge). It’s just so darn great to be in there. Save the coupons and magazine, accessory and stationery buying for the mass market products you can find in the big chains. If you want some serious good reading and to support those who supply a market for them, take your business here.
Ode to Crawford Doyle Booksellers!
Summer Musings: Urban Waterfalls
Stumbled on a little urban oasis by Lincoln Center. It was a hot day and we wandered into a shaded area. The scene took me by surprise. These folks know how to do an urban summer, thanks to the courteous entity that still values open, public space. People lined their chairs up, backs faced to the rest of NYC, and were simply watching a man-made waterfall (aka water fountain). An endearing site. It’s how we do summer.
The Eternal Robin Byrd
Have a basic cable TV question for you (those who are up at ungodly hours of the night or early morning). How on earth is Robin Byrd still on the air? The question doesn’t question the Queen’s throne of hosting the Sesame Street equivalent of sexual health for many of us growing up in the 80’s who were able to sneak a peak. C is for… Clitoris, of course! Do you know where your clitoris is? Here let me show you… And so on, goes her show, offering the same type of diversity as the innocent PBS counterpart. There is something for all tastes there: gender preferences, body images and fetishes. But my Lord, breast implants have come along way since the jugs you see on the show- two stiff orbs with as much space between them as the north and south poles. Brazilians (as in the haircut down south) have become the staple of today’s porn, but at Robin’s you’re sure to see a bush. Yet her shows continue to be aired, with a phone number to call into to boot (the original 970 number?). And the commercials (advertising hotlines and escort services) are the same ones from back then too. So I guess my question is, is this a cult classic? Is it supposed to appeal to that generation who grew up with it and still find those hairstyles and lack of airbrush and make-up titillating? I guess I could google it, but afraid 0f what else I’ll dredge up and’ll hijack my computer. She really means to teach you something, not just get you off. Ever see the musical orgy endings? How isn’t it Sesame Street? I’ll take a cookie, you little monster. With a tall glass of milk. She shows love to each and every one of her guests.
When Salsa Kicks your Butt
It was inevitable. Nova has her first salsa related injury after blogs joking about the dangers of the dance form. But this one didn’t involve a salsa character partner. It was a pearl that did me in. For those not in the know, a pearl is the last half of a diamond, a shine that ends in basically two quick squats. To be fair, it wasn’t the source of the injury, but it did make it worse. Stretching was the match to the straw and gasoline. Out of salsa commission for a few weeks, I’m turning to sports techniques to prevent loosing my Jedi readiness of being an 0n-2 follower:
- Mental visualization. They say it helps athletes to visualize over and over a certain play, jump, free throw… So why not turn patterns and shines? So far, I find this useless. Putting on music and staring into the ceiling trying to conjure mental images of dancing with a partner doesn’t work as a follower for me! And truthfully, I’m afraid that such deep concentration will will myself into some parallel salsa dimension that I won’t be able to get back from.
- Dancing in place. Sort of. Related to above, but with a slight attempt to mimic the footwork. Inherently dangerous of retriggering the injury. And you might scare your spouse that you’re having a stroke, shuffling like that.
- Indoctrination through videos. I do this anyway, and it does work. Watch turn pattern videos over and over, rewinding to specific moves. Memorize. Memorize. Memorize. Experiment on unsuspecting leaders when the time is right. Risk? Same as mental visualization-willing yourself into another salsa dimension with no way back.
- Mediate to the music and become one with the count. We’re back to the risks of #1. But I actually think this is the key to obtaining the holy grail of on-2 and becoming an almighty Scissor. I think I’ll focus on the music and the count, and try to figure out how I can break its barrier and master it. How to make my feet dance around the count of the flute and not just the clave.
So that’s how Nova will see things. She’s on a mental salsa retreat, a recluse in the hills and caves of Inwood. Who knows, I might return a better dancer! If it’s been awhile since you’ve heard from me, someone look for me in another dimension. Bring your dance shoes. You might want to stay.
Stolen Images
Apologies if this was already covered by Seinfeld on Nueva-Centric living. Among the abundant subway characters that pack into our steel cars twenty-four hours a day lurks a silent being that can be viewed in two different ways, depending on your mood: When you’re not in an exactly “collective love New York state of mind”, these people are like little stalking Gollums slithering through the tunnels on a mission to possess something. It aint a ring. In better moods, they serve as a flattering mirror; you might immediately fix your hair when you lock eyes with them, smile, or even give a bashful blink. I’m not talking about Shutterbugs, the people who steal an image of you with a camera’s lens, then scuttle away like a Peeping Tom. Hard to justify that type of image mugging. I’m talking about the person in the seat diagonally across from you with penetrating eyes that switch every five seconds or so from a soul-gripping lock on your face and the small pad and pencil cuddled atop their knapsack. When a sketch artist, art student, artist–whatever it is you want to call these subway characters–chooses you out of the rest of the sardine gang commuting alongside you, it’s sort of flattering. Unless of course they chose you because you just look so darn strange, but hey you’ll never know the truth. But the act also evokes a level of intimacy that was never asked for and requires nothing from you except submission. Suddenly you’re aware that someone is taking in all the fine details of your face, a beauty mark on your cheek, they way a strand of hair curls along your neck. You begin to feel their pencil tracing the contour of your nose, outlining the shape of your lips. What probably makes the experience a little confusing (do I sit still, do I smile, do I wickedly roll my tongue across my upper lip?) is that you were never introduced, never did you give permission to sit for a portrait that can stay locked in a drawing pad, be part of a stalker series, be displayed in a classroom or serve as some inspiration for something that hangs in a museum (did I mention how flattering it can be?) It is both a wicked and innocent act. Should they catch you in a not-so-loving mood, then your solace is remembering this: Some things aren’t owned- people’s impressions of you are not yours, though you may exert influence. They are something people take with them, sometimes in number two pencil on the pages of a sketch book.
Where have all the comic stores gone?
What’s a girl-nerd to do? Some people take to booze, some drugs, some a little bit of both, others chocolate… Comic book stores used to offer a paradise of fantasy for those who need a little something more than the life of an urban odyssey. You’d save your allowance, or blow your measly first-job paycheck on X-Men, X-Force and Excalibur, crossing over to DC territory only for a Supergirl or Wonder Woman. Inside the pages of a comic book, bodies are perfect, men are heroes, you can sore through the sky and toast people who are bad. But now… now where are all the comic book stores? Big Apple? All that’s left of you are the markings of of where your bricks were ripped away to give way for the building of a new race of condos on the Upper West Side. Oh, the agony of seeing what is left of you advertised on the streets like a billboard: lines and lines of scratches against the building where you were once nestled, like a trail of scratches from bloodied fingernails.
I suppose the comic book stores have went the way of all small mom and pop shops, the predecessors of the plight of independent bookstores… No, don’t comfort me with the selection at Barnes and Nobles or Borders… I don’t even care for the comic book store near Union Square (if it’s still there) not because I have anything against it… it’s just not my hood.
Ode to the comic book store! A recently rejected-by-a-literary-agent- nerd-girl’s strip club, drug den, and escapist paradise.
When the Holy (Salsa) Spirit Leaves You… And Returns
Bianca and Nova have been in a bit of a salsa rut this past month. Not so much in sucking, but low in the spirit that beckons you to the dance floor and takes over your body with a partner. Which reminds me of Star Trek, The Next Generation Episode 166 when Doctor Crusher was regularly visited by an alien ghost that entered her body, and well, did delightful things to her from the inside out. But I digress slightly off topic.
The Holy Salsa Spirit had left us and I was prepared to lodge a complaint in the lost and found department of salsa dancing or go to a salsa church, consult the salsa priest, or perhaps consider giving up some of it (to an addict that means trimming down from three classes to one, plus going out once a week instead of maybe three), and whine here on this blog.
BUT THE HOLY SALSA SPIRIT HATH RETURNED. When the Holy (Salsa) Spirit Leaves You… And Returns – continue reading …
