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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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!

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During this horrendous winter, thought to share a little urban tip on one way to stay warm while you’re underground. The C train. The C train’s heating system seems to work on these little radiators hidden behind a steel fence with holes that run directly under your legs. It’s one roasty-toasty way to travel and worth all those local stops if you’re frozen. And it’s not simply warm. It’s heat you can feel seeping up, that’ll probably get you hot if you stay there too long. It’s bliss for the Antarctic weather of 2011.

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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.

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Part of Urban Confessions Week

Those in the confessional:

Nova is making a guilt-free declaration: She dances “on-two”, mambo style and makes no apologies. No, dears, it isn’t snobbery, I’m not part of the gang taking salsa away from its Nuyorican streets and “legitimizing” it in ballrooms with white academics. Dancing “on two” is a practice of cultural preservation of a distinct style of salsa dancing. It fits me like a glove, fills me with a joy of living, and does the same for others too. And practicing a certain form of salsa dancing sort of makes it an exciting hobby.

Does being an on2 dancer make it harder to spontaneously go out and be able to express your adopted art form? Sure… so you try to learn to manage to celebrate salsa’s other forms. But in your heart you ache… you can’t become one with that second explosive beat that drums along with your heart.

And for all you non-counters out there that think the passion of music is lost in numbers… it can be said that numbers are the fabric of everything- we forget or don’t realize this because numbers speak in different languages. And, as JPLogan so astutely pointed out to me one salsa night, the biggest counters are the ones making salsa itself: the musicians! Does this mean you need to go out and buy an abacus to bring along with you to the dance floor? No… after awhile the numbers are dressed differently, sort of like when you stop “translating” a foreign language slowly in your head after you have a fundamental command of it.

So take those salsa shoes out of the closet, get to Iguana, a social, whatever floats your boat and when the music starts, if you’re a lady, step out with the right on one, a man, break back with the left. Doesn’t that feel good?

For more about this, visit: salsanewyork.com

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We already talked about part of the secret to their great cup of joes, Cecilwares Fe 100’s. But here are more reasons I’ll take my coffee there over other places:

• sitting at the counter top is like being in someone’s living room. There is a feeling of hospitality. The people behind the counter are like mother hens to your needs.
• the cups are a heavy ceramic that retains the heat of the coffee. The feel of the china in your hands is real, not a flimsy disposable cup, a plastic nothingness that separates you from the world and implicates you as an eco-sinner. That ceramic cup is endless. It’s always hot, and when it is not, you’ll get a refill.
• the experience seems tailored just for you. You don’t have to speak a stupid branding language, you don’t have to order like a robot.
• they can make the cheapest bean taste good.

So ode again to the Greek diner and its coffee.

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The staff all have space uniforms. You’re given a choice of baby trip or full throttle experience from lift off to landing. Scared sh*tless, I choose the real thing. You go through a briefing (shut up who cares that I was screaming in glee and the 8 year old kid next to me was unphased). You are given an assignment in the ship (engineer, pilot, navigator, and something else). I won’t tell you my disappointment on being navigator since I can’t even drive a car and am told I fail even as co-pilot. Then you’re strapped in a space pod (claustrophobia be damned because you are trapped in that sh*t until the ride is over) with your three companions and BOOOOOOOOOOM. You watch a screen that f ing convinces you that you are lifting off, and you are stuck to your seat unable to move from the force. Apparently you are in a centrifuge but the screen tricks your body that you are where your eyes tell you.

Apologies for screaming Mother F*cker with that 8 year old engineer next to me (who might have been choking in his own vomit from the sound of it). The computer gives you prompts as to when you are supposed to push specific buttons for the ship to work. I made sure to yell to the 8 year old engineer to make sure he knew what to do.

I had two tasks- hitting thrusters to use the moon’s gravitational force to pivot to Mars, and then I think to redirect the ship to avoid an asteroid… I completed the first task…. but failed the second. I can’t tell you how traumatized I am from that. And here’s the other kicker. When we f ing finally crash landed the ride was over, leaving us… ON MARS! HOW CAN THEY DO THAT after convincing us it was real?

Mission:Space. If I’m ever lost, look for me on Mars. I’m somewhat convinced Disney left me there in their own Martian version of Disney World.

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Hail the hustle in Cuba! Done with a straight face, intelligence and craft, you got to respect it. Recognize and ascertain whether you should accommodate the hustle. How much is it for you to loose this battle? Can you acquiesce without being cheated and everyone’s dignity maintained? If not say, “I respect the Hustle”, then walk away.  If acquiescing you have a choice of either remaining a passive participant, or leaning close to the Hustler and whispering with a tilted head and squinted eye, “Asere. Don’t try to hustle me. I got you anyways.”

More to come on some specific hustles.

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Major check off urban odyssey bucket list: sing this song into the Miami skyline in your bikini.

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Nova’s odysseys begin again to other cities around the globe (thoughtfully avoiding the moon on Friday of course given how other things were landing there). The first jet graced with our presence on our first odyssey of October is Jet Blue- and I am taking the time to write this immersed in the upper echelons of night to pay homage to Jet Blue. The short is Jet Blue is finally one of those companies that figured things out. How our environment  contributes to our moods and behaviors, how you don’t just brand a product (in this case airline) you brand the totality of the customer’s experience. Travel begins the moment you walk out your home door. You remember your encounters with the check-in crew, security, and then the wasted hours inside an airplane hangar weighed down with luggage. The new Jet Blue terminal in JFK makes you WANT to leave early for the airport. You have abundant choices of dinners (from fine-ish to fast food) your snacks are healthier versions of junk (but still satisfying those cravings), you can shop for useful travel goods, get your shoes shined, plug your laptop in to email, play with your kids in the kid play pen area, charge your phone, then sit in one of their cool colorful, playfully shaped sofas (that aren’t gross with cloth hiding who-knows-what, but pleather) and watch the sun set behind our city in glorious reds and golds. No, Jet Blue is not responsible for such an awesome sunset that brought a smile to my face as I wondered briefly if it would be my last, but it is responsible for my enjoyment of a sunset by placing such a couch by the window and making it so comfortable.

So right now I say, Ode to Jet Blue! Thank you for appreciating the fine details of odysseys that give life flavor.

Where will Nova land?

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