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.

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Dante’s Inferno here has been a little icey lately. Well the heat is back on since someone sent me a newspaper clipping of DC Comics doing away with Wonder Woman’s costume and history on her 69th birthday (those are paper years, not human ones).

Here is why DC Comics Changing Wonder Woman goes into Dante’s Inferno Ninth Circle of Hell reserved for Betrayal: Honestly, the most revolting gesture is a change in her history. Instead of queen of the Amazons, she’s going to get a Superman-like history of an extinguished planet. What?! Her costume will change from a sexy-American flag to black New York tights. What?!

Sigh… I was preparing a piece about Wonder Woman before this… based on the 1970’s TV shows that I’ve been studying lately (so good).  Even though X-man artist icon Jim Lee (also Spawn) will be taking her on, I still say that the comic book gods need more scientific proof on String Theory and Alternate Universes before altering an iconic character like hers in such a way. The appeal of Wonder Woman is that a girl can feel she’s related to her. She’s our alter ego, she’s who we can’t be in the office, she’s a patriot, she’s a link to some real history (can’t a girl dream that she too, may be of the lost tribe of the Amazons?).   She is, as Major Steve likes to say, “the best of femininity without the vice”. Ok, that’s the original Wonder Woman, and a man’s dream. But still. I guess I ought to try it out (failed to mention this article is like 2 months old and the change is probably already out). And I guess I can keep my own version of Woman alive in my head. One more thing that’s changing.

For now, DC Changing Wonder Woman can go into Dante’s Inferno, along with the Veronica-marrying Archie.

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I have not been up all that much but when I have been fortunate to hear the sultry voice of the Late, Late show I’m catching the warning signs of a changing relationship. Toying with the formula? Flirting with an earlier spot? Say it aint so!

• the stage is better lit. Turn down the lights! You’re ruining the mood. Don’t you get that for a lot of women you’re doing more than simple jokes? You know that! Look at how every woman melts in the chair during an interview.
• a skeleton side kick? Ok sorta of funny, but hopefully not because you think you need one like the other hosts use.
• More jingles for recurring skits?
• a shorter haircut (and not the longer, floppy, just-f*cked you teased hair?)

Just pointing out some of the obvious signs that are tampering with a formula.

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I want to see Mickey and buy some mouse ears! I want cotton candy and to see the demonic dolls sing in maddening cacophony, It’s a Small World After All, because still it rings in my ears 20 years later…  Disney is a drug- a brainwashing homing device placed in all our American hearts, a surrogate parent that beacons you to return to it if you come too close. Start the petitions- we only have 1 day. Tell C-mixto to take me to Disney World!

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Finally, I’ve reached you after how many years apart? You were once an object of fantasy- an unobtainable tease that left me wanting. I was such a young girl then, let’s be fair. So now that I am a full fledged woman, what do my eyes see with eyes sharpened by wisdom, a heart less naive? You are flashy, dear Orlando. Flashy beyond your swampy roots. Once I valued how hot you were; nights with you were steamy and free… your tropical ways were a delight. Now? The truth is you are chilly dear Orlando… chilly because most of us never get to feel the real you. That’s right, us. I know there were others. Many. And this distance is your fault too.  Why have you constructed so many barriers around yourself? You have us peer from concrete pillars, high, encased and removed from the warm depths of your heart. How could I have been tricked by your majesty as a young girl? The Magical Kingdom promises, the role playing characters you liked to play, like the Mad Hatter with a trick of cards up his sleave. And did you ever make the journey to visit me? No! It was always about you- sending messages through your goofy friends like that short chap Donald.  Dear Orlando, I think you might be played out. I’ve said it. The magic is over, I don’t want to wish upon your star.  And with me gone from your life, with my absence, how quickly will you see how wrong you were, how vast the planet is without me, and that really it isn’t such a small world after all.

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Saturday night… 9pm-1am on PBS is an exciting part of my week. After some jolly British comedy (Keeping up Appearances, As Time Goes By) I await the classic film (will change the channel if it’s not black and white), a short film, and if I’m still up, an Independent film. So PBS is celebrating Hispanic Heritage month so it lines up “Stand and Deliver”, (a hilarious short animation “The Lost Tribes of New York City“), and then the independent film, “Manito” shot in Washington Heights. Celebrate Hispanic Heritage! Let’s watch two films that show just how fun it is to be poor and brown. Your schools suck, your teachers mostly suck except for that one that believes in all human potential and sticks it out in the system as long as he/she can, and even if you do get good grades you will be accused of cheating because you’re not supposed to achieve anything. (Stand and Deliver). Learn the necessity of being a hustler to get bills paid, male promiscuity, how the hood swallows you no matter your SAT scores or scholarship offers, and poverty is a viscous cycle that brings you down. (Manito). I look forward to Masterpiece Theatre tonight.

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I’ve been dancing long enough to start a list. That’s right, a list of salsa characters. This list will only continue to grow. Note that this is man-list. I am sure some of you can come up with an equivalent list of female salsa characters. But let’s start here. If I could come up with some cards of these characters like my Marvel Universe 1st edition ones, I would.

Narcissus: Let’s start with you, Narcissus, as you’re so easy to spot. You are the not-salsero who asks a girl to dance, but spends the entire time watching yourself dance in the mirror. You are fond of the side-step because it allows you to position yourself at an angle where your dance partner doesn’t obstruct your view of yourself in the looking glass. When you do remember you have a dance partner, it is only for a moment, because you adjust the girl’s grip on you as a queen would rearrange a diamond bracelet so that it better highlights her wrist.

Predator: As vulgar as the one in the movie, you don’t salsa to dance. You salsa to get a quick feel and three minutes of hand-holding. Your favorite target are the beginners, not so much because they are your choice; the more advanced girls don’t have to dance with you anymore. And besides, those girls already got your predator number. You come in all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and ages. Guys, it’s less frustrating on all of us to just drop the money on a good lap dance at Hustler. They have a taxi stand right outside their doors to take you home when you’re done.

Frog to Prince Charming: Oh, you’re a delight! You are the guys whom most would least expect to be great dancers. Either because you’re no Fabio in your outer shell, you emit a rhythmless vibe off the dance floor, or you’re straight out of Revenge of the Nerds. When the clave sings, POOF! You bedazzle us with the smoothest moves, showing us, indeed, there is such thing as Clark Kent and Superman.

Romeo Don Juan: Ahh… you are dangerous. You have a mix of moves, sultry eyes, a sexy smile and good looks. Dancing with you is not just a dancing pleasure… it’s a woman’s fantasy. Your dancing plays a narrative in our minds. Don’t burst our bubble by opening your mouth or telling us of life off the dance floor. Keep counting with us, and next time, can you wear an all white linen suit and straw hat?

Fred Astaire: These are the salseros who are just outright dancing demons. Fred Astaires: All other categories you may fall under melt away because your dancing is that good. That’s what we think about during and after the dance. Fred Astaires can also be Frogs and (a very deadly combo) Romeo Don Juans.

Zorro: Who was that masked man? That’s what you’ll ask yourself if you should find yourself dancing with a mystery man who wow’s you during one dance (or evening of dancing), whom you never see again. You can spend the rest of your life going from social to social, wondering if you’ll ever see him again. He leaves you only with memories.

Rag Doll Boogier: These guys are pretty annoying. They are the ones that are just plain rough and uncouth. They throw you around the dance floor left and right, almost dislocating your arm from its socket. They are not gentle in any way, and forget that the woman should be the highlight of most of the dance. See also Predator, Topsy-Turvy, Borracho and Have no Rhythm-Don’t Count-Don’t Care.

Topsy-Turvey: These are the spinners! Most of the time these are the guys that like to spin YOU, and nothing more. Take a Dramamine, ladies, before taking their hands. Rarely though you’ll get ones that like to spin themselves mostly. In this case, brush up on some shines and women’s styling so you have something to do while they’re into the fourth triple turn.

Borracho: The drunk. You are almost automatically dismissed from most ladies’ dances, except when you mask it until it’s too late (for us). You are dangerous because like an octopus with many arms, in each move you have us do, you can be so many other characters. See Predator, Topsy-Turvy, Rag Doll Boogier, and Have No Rhythm-Don’t Count-Don’t Care. Being tipsy is fine. It’s just flat out dangerous to be drunk and salsa-ing. 

I Really Despise Women, and That I’m Not a Woman: Just pretend while we dance.

Have No Rhythm, Don’t Count, Don’t Care: You best get off the social dance floor too. You can do your thing at parties and family events, and maybe even clubs. But don’t ask a real salsera to dance with you! I’m all for inventing your own salsa dancing if it is in synch with the music. Maybe you’re the next Eddie Torres for your own count. In this case, clarify this first with your dance partner (or at least make an attempt to work with her own feel of the music).  But don’t feel shuffling here and there constitutes salsa at salsa events with serious dancers. 

That’s it for now. Let’s expand this list and make SAT cards out of them… who’s first to add to this list?

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NYC’s free newspapers, Metro and AM New York, have resurrected a chummy memory of the 1930’s: the talking newspaper, or the paperboy. Newspapers usually remain mute, sitting on newsstands, bookstore racks or milk crates outside a deli or bodega. They lost their human liaison of the 1930’s, a time when we relied more on human interaction to learn of local and global events, to discern our individual and collective experiences, and when information downloads were less a private affair than a community one.

But walking out of the subway in the morning recently, I’m hearing not just the hustle of Metro versus AM and the advertiser of the day who happens to be sponsoring the news… Now I’m hearing clips from what you read inside. And I time travel back to the 1930’s. I feel a momentary connection to the news bearer. It is pleasing because besides reminding me of the chumminess of the old newsboys, it forces me back to the collective world of news and not just my office-based and personal one.

For a history of newsboys, the Depression and the marketing scheme that helped bring it to be, read: Masculine guidance: boys, men, and newspapers, 1930-1939 Postol Enterprise Soc.2000; 1: 355-390 .

For an early history of newspaper publishing in New York, “The Early History of Newspaper Publishing in New York State”

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This Miami sign was submitted by JPLogan, passed along from others… More smart urban planning. 

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