Our Urban Odyssey » paradise

The Gastronomical Orgasm in Anne Zouroudi’s Writing

Nova — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 17:54:41 +0000

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.

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The Eternal Robin Byrd

Nova — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 18:37:23 +0000

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.

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Lost Unicorn in the Heights

ouo — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 00:14:18 +0000

C-mixto submitted this photograph near Dyckman Street. It’s a poster looking for a Lost Unicorn, Unicornio Perdido… C-mixto, being a poet at heart and music fan, noticed it was printed on blue paper, and immediately wondered if the person who posted it is calling out for Silvio Rodriguez’s Unicornio. Ah C-mixto. Here are the lyrics in Spanish and English:

Mi Unicornio azul ayer se me perdió,
pastando lo dejé y desapareció.
Cualquier información la voy bien a pagar,
las flores que dejó, no me han querido hablar.

Mi Unicornio azul ayer se me perdió,
no sé si se me fue, no sé si se extravió.
Y yo no tengo más que un Unicornio azul.
Si alguien sabe de él, le ruego información,
cien mil o un millón yo pagaré.
Mi Unicornio azul se me ha perdido ayer,
se fue…

Mi Unicornio y yo hicimos amistad,
un poco con amor, un poco con verdad.
Con su cuerno de añil pescaba una canción,
saberla compartir era su vocación.

Mi Unicornio azul ayer se me perdió,
y puede parecer acaso una obsesión,
pero no tengo más que un Unicornio azul
y aunque tuviera dos, yo solo quiero aquel.
Cualquier información la pagaré.
Mi Unicornio azul se me ha perdido ayer,
se fue…

My blue unicorn, I lost it yesterday.
I left it grazing and it disappeared.
Any information, I will pay for it well.
The flowers that it left behind don’t want to talk to me.

My blue unicorn, I lost it yesterday,
I don’t know if it left me, or if it got lost,
and I don’t have but one blue unicorn.
If anyone’s got any news, I beg to hear them.
A hundred thousand or a million, I will pay.
My blue unicorn, I lost it yesterday,
it went away.

My unicorn and I became friends,
a little bit with love, a little bit with truth.
With its indigo horn it was fishing for a song
knowing how to share it was its calling.

My blue unicorn, I lost it yesterday,
and it may seem perhaps like an obsession
but I don’t have but one blue unicorn
and even if I had two I only wanted that one.
Any information, I will pay for it,
My blue unicorn, I lost it yesterday,
it went away.

http://www.translatum.gr/forum/index.php?topic=915.0#ixzz14ju4fUam

If you have seen this person’s unicorn, a number is posted on the flyer.

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Super Nova

ouo — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 23:45:13 +0000

This post was submitted and written by Zorro.

In the world of social dancing, we are all on a quest for individuals tuned into our particular dance frequency. Much like in relationships, you walk onto the dance floor searching for individuals who understand you, who are on the same wave-length. You go through the cycle of partnering, compromising your rhythm to match theirs, spending 4 minutes of your life attempting to understand each other over the metaphorical static, and decoupling with a smile and a polite nod before you continue on your quest. The 4-minute-cycle begins and ends for hours on end and you enjoy yourself throughout. However, on rare occasions, and only for those who are extremely lucky, a phenomenon occurs that changes your perspective on the cycle.

The beginning of the cycle begins almost as usual. You see the salsera/o from across the room, s/he looks like a dancer you’d get on well with, and you are compelled to investigate further. You continue watching and something looks almost familiar in her movement. You await impatiently for the opportunity to present itself, and you ask her to dance. You take each other’s hand, join each other in frame, and then, it happens. The music begins and you are perfectly in tune; the darkness of the dance floor fades away to a brief moment of unbelievable brightness. You’ve just experienced a Super Nova.

It is not that you have become a better dancer per se; it actually has little to do with you. You have simply found someone who perfectly understands you. Your feet are no longer held down by gravity. You float across the room, dancing along the same frequency: turning, dipping and sliding in complete unison. You misstep, but her foot follows as though it was meant to be. You try that pattern that you’ve never been able to get quite right, and she flows through it with you effortlessly. Then, long before you could have ever wanted it to, the music stops. Somehow, your allotted 4 minutes has already passed. A new song begins and you must politely nod, continuing the cycle.

The Super Nova shows you that somewhere in the vast dance cosmos, there is someone who understands you – that someone can understand you. The sheer brilliance of the experience illuminates who you are as a dancer and helps you understand what makes your movement yours. If you are lucky enough to find a Super Nova, dance as often as you can with him/her for it is a rare phenomenon. However, be cautious that your desire to repeat the experience does not make you over-zealous; you don’t want to transform into a succubus.

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Where have all the comic stores gone?

Nova — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 22:23:52 +0000

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.

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When the Holy (Salsa) Spirit Leaves You… And Returns

Nova — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 02:37:37 +0000

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.

Nova experienced one of those moments-and you know those moments-when you realize you are inhabiting what will become a fond memory, when you are realizing some sort of dream… You barely inhabit the now, time becomes all fuzzy- you become some sort of witness to yourself in a certain place and you sort of become one with it. Sounds all funny but this is what happened dancing street salsa with an old-timer PR in the pouring rain, drenched with a live band playing in el barrio. I just had my pasteles fix from a toothless old man selling them out of a water cooler that was sitting inside a “borrowed” supermarket shopping cart, and was pretty content with that until the rain came down and I was dancing.

It just was one of those moments that make you want to cry because life seems, well alive. In that moment you are filled with some type of timeless euphoria.

No, I assure you it was just pasteles I bought from the water cooler. But enough of this for now. I have to save something for a chapter.

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Summer Book Rec: How to Be Idle

Nova — Sun, 11 Jul 2010 00:23:39 +0000

I am reposting something from last year because it’s summer (in the northern hemisphere) and your minds are more easily prone to indoctrination by this manifesto. Free your soul!

“I have a dream. It is called love, anarchy, freedom. It is called being idle.”

-Tom Hodgkinson

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Porn for female nerds

Nova — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 02:00:40 +0000

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How to make a Frappe

Nova — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 01:55:23 +0000

For those who haven’t been paying attention. The crack of all coffees.

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Darwinian Salsa

Nova — Wed, 26 May 2010 16:02:06 +0000

A little over a year ago, two unknowing souls embarked upon a journey into a universe whose name they thought was salsa. To the surprise of the two naive girls, that universe turned out to be prism of multi-verses. An innocent journey of couple’s dancing suddenly became an adventure down a rabbit hole.

Some universes are ruled by 1 dimension. The one that Bianca and Nova stumbled upon was on-2. They are still trying to figure out if its a hospitable place for them, or if they have been tricked into a heartless black hole.

Salsa on-2 seems to follow some type of weird evolutionary process. It’s evident as you pass by the different planets, with their abundance of species (The Topsy-Turveys, the Fred Astaires, etc, etc). But Bianca and Nova have recently stumbled upon something startling, something that goes a little further than “salsa characters”. It’s Darwinian Salsa. And there exists the Nietzschean “Superman”.

The first sign that some weird Darwinian evolution type of shit goes on if you dance on-2 for too long appeared for Nova at a social ripe with stellar dancers. The dance floor was filled with pretties laying down graceful styling on count. But then a wind swept across the room. A girl walked in swathed in skin-tight shimmery black, with flaming hot pink leg warmers wrapped around her stilt-like legs. Her steps cut through the air with precision, swiftness and purpose. Her moves were quick, tight and controlled. Nova had never seen such a creature before, and the good anthropologist that she is, reported the sighting to Bianca. Nova named her “Scissor Legs”.

Months passed. Nova never saw another like “Scissor Legs” again, so shrugged her shoulders and called it an anomoly.

Until last weekend. After a hour and a half journey in salsa space (an eternity for an anxious salsera ready to land her dancing shoes on the on-2 moon), Nova arrived at a social with Bianca. Towards midnight, that familiar wind breezed across the dance floor. Nova immediately recognized that sharp breeze, the swift snipping sound of nylon briskly rubbing against itself in self-pleasure, the clip of a fine stiletto cutting through the air. It was a Scissor, but not “Scissor Legs”. That is when it occurred to Bianca and Nova: what they were witnessing was not an anomoly but an entity who inhabits the highest female realm of the on-2 scene. They are beyond the 1-2-3, 5,6,7 count, yet still, somehow dance on-2. The holiest among holies, those who have reached a type of on-2 Nirvana where they control the count and beat. Masters of the on-2 Universe!

They are called Scissors.

Bianca and Nova now know there is such thing as a holy grail for them somewhere along this journey.

And as Nova began to pen these notes in her mind, the wind whipping across her face, her ears pick up the gentle beginnings of another breeze from the middle of the dance floor. It was Bianca in what looked like a Scissor pose. She notes in her anthropologist journal:

Clear evidence that evolution is not a theory but a fact in the on-2 world. New arrivals are not immune. On-2 is a contagion that manipulates genes. The first signs of Bianca’s evolution are already underway. There is no turning back.

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