quiet

It is so quiet here. Tuna was hardly a noisy cat, but he generated a lot of activity. Patsy was always engaging him, wrestling, licking (and he licking her), cuddling. Tuna liked to have fresh water throughout the day, and he needed assistance navigating from the floor to the table to the bed and to the sofa. Now Patsy is subdued, and she seeks my attention much more than before. Mabel is clearly missing Tuna. She still looks around when she comes in from her walk as if she expects to find him. And I am just plain sad. The heat does not help. I can't really go out for diversion. Even a short walk makes me miserable. I find myself avoiding people too. I don't really feel like talking.

deep

I am so deeply sad today, fundamentally sad. I lived almost half of my life with those two. I hope they are together now.

changes

It is so strange here now. Within one month I've gone from having a houseful of pets, three cats and a dog, to one dog and cat. Tuna and Pomona lived with me for almost eighteen years. I was so used to their presence. When Pomona died, it was so quiet without her, but I still had Tuna to remind me of her every day. Now, with Tuna gone too, some crucial part of my life is a void. I know in time I will get over it. I have so many wonderful memories. But right now it is just painful. I barely slept last night, despite taking every sedative I have at my disposal (don't worry, I did not endanger myself, nor was that my intention. I just wanted sleep so I could forget for a while).

I am lucky to know you...

As Y said this morning, we are very lucky. We got to hang out with Tuna. He is right.

Right now I feel in shock, still. He should be here, sleeping on the kitchen floor like he does in the hot weather. The tiles must feel cool.

things to do

Just now going through papers on my desk, after taking a valium so that I can calm down, I found a list I made last week, things I had to do this week. "Get steps for Tuna," one entry said. You see, I put the cat food in dishes on my dining table so that Mabel will not eat it. Tuna had increasing difficulty getting up there--he climbed onto a chair first, and from there to the table--and even more difficulty getting down. Often I would lift him down, but what would he do if I were not home? So I was going to go to the pet store and get one of those elaborate cat things, covered with rug, with steps so that he could more easily eat. Now there is no need. And now Patsy is looking all over. I guess she wonders why he is not here. And I am sitting here, feeling sad, relieved that he will not suffer, but wondering what it will be like without my Tuna-Buddha to talk to. And Tuna and I had a great day yesterday. He even asked to come up on the bed, one of his favorite places, and I took a nap with him, and he rested his paw on my hand the whole time.

cats

(Frances sent this to me. She came to see Tuna Monday, while he was lying on the bed).

Cat! Who hast past thy Grand Climacteric,
How many mice and Rats hast in thy days
Destroy'd - how many tit bits stolen? Gaze
With those bright languid segments green and prick
Those velvet ears - but pr'ythee do not stick
Thy latent talons in me - and upraise
Thy gentle mew - and tell me all thy frays
Of Fish and Mice, and Rats and tender chick.
Nay look not down, nor lick thy dainty wrists -
For all the wheezy Asthma, -and for all
Thy tail's tip is nicked off - and though the fists
Of many a maid have given thee many a maul,
Still is that fur as soft as when the lists
In youth thou enter'dst on glass- bottled wall.

John Keats, "To Mrs Reynold's Cat"

tuna

My beautiful, gentle, sweet, kind, angelic Tuna died this morning. He died exactly one month after Pomona.

We will all miss him. Anyone who knew him know how special he was. I have never known another cat who was so kind and sweet.

I am a fucking mess.

Tuna

Yesterday Y and I went to Jones Beach early. It was beautiful, though hot, and the sandflies were obnoxious. The water felt great. I left shortly after noon, as the sun got too hot and the beach was getting mobbed. When we got back, Tuna started having a very bad coughing attack. I sat with him and helped him sit up and petted him until he started to relax. His breathing was very bad and even when it settled it was still labored, much more than I have ever seen it before. So this morning I took him the vet. Dr N gave him a shot for a possible asthma situation; she said that if he does not respond he must come back but that I should prepare for the worst, as breathing problems like this in an old cat are very worrisome. He can't have an xray or tests to check his heart because of his age and condition. So today we will have a nice day in the cool of the air-conditioning (it is very hot again). I feel numb right now but I am hoping for the best. But he does not look well and he is breathing with some difficulty still.

bouncing off the walls, falling down and getting up

The last few days I am bouncing off the walls; I am energetic and tired at the same time; I work a lot but I waste a lot of time too. I am home too much, working, because I work at home. I wish I had a separate place to work, somewhere I would go to and leave, shutting the door behind me. So today I felt so restless, and was irritable, and it was very hot, and I wandered the streets, was bitchy with Y and felt bad about it, and hope I will go to the beach tomorrow if I wake up early enough.

here we go

It was only a matter of time before this shit starts up, although it never has really stopped.

clarification, part deux

While I came out on the side of Israel when this war started, and I still support Israel in general, there must be some other way to address the eternal problems that provoked this conflict. The response of Israel, which seems essentially to be to demolish Lebanon, is overwrought. They should take the upper hand and appear reasonable, although I fear the damage has gone too far and may now be irreparable.

a wink and a nod?

I think that Bush et. al. are too blind, and many too stupid, to know when a wink and a nod are really a "wink and a nod" or else a trick.

American officials say that while the Arab leaders need to take a harder line publicly for domestic political reasons, what matters more is what they tell the United States in private, which the Americans still see as a wink and a nod.

(from THE NEW YORK TIMES today)

Israel has got to stop pounding Lebanon. There has to be another way. What does fighting accomplish? I am sad these days because of what is happening in the world. When did things start to go so wrong? I don't think it was 9/11. Bush took 9/11 and used it as an excuse to set in motion what might very well turn out to be the war to end all wars. I hope he suffers into eternity. Him and all his cohorts, fools.

dog daze

We are truly in the "dog days" of summer. The humidity makes the air feel like a damp blanket. Still I gamely go about my business. In the morning I had to run to the vet's to get Mabel her heartworm medicine. While there the vet tried to convince me to take home a kitten, this adorable little seven-week-old male who looks very much like Tuna did as a baby. But I resisted, although I did play with him for a while, tempted. Then I walked down into DUMBO to meet my brother for lunch. He was looking at apartments down there. It's a strange walk because one must traverse the on-ramp to the BQE, so it always feels a little bit dangerous. Damn, it was hot. Even with the breeze from the river people looked wilted. I spent the rest of the morning feeling insecure and intimidated by the brilliance and fame of my collaborators on OEDIPUS. I have to stop thinking this way or I will be paralyzed and won't be able to write a thing.

I hope this is just the beginning...

Approaching fairness, finally?

coincidence

This afternoon I drove to Fairway in Red Hook to buy groceries. I was almost out of coffee and Fairway has the best, cheapest coffee of anywhere in NYC (as far as I know anyway). Driving back I noticed a scooter dealer on a side street. Dozens of shiny Vespas were parked out front. I wondered, then, if B had gotten his learners' permit yet. And then, just a little while ago, I checked my blogs and sure enough, he got it this morning. I toy with the idea of getting a Vespa, but everyone who knows me just laughs when I tell them my idea. I don't think that my visual handicap lends itself to motorcycle driving.

rescue

The first few years that I lived here in New York I was lucky to be able to spend the summers elsewhere. Vermont and New Hampshire and upstate NY were my havens. The past number of years I have been here for most of the summer, but I always had at least a week or so away. This summer was to be the first that I spent entirely in the city. I did not want to leave Pomona and Tuna, especially Pomona, as she grew more and more frail. But of course now that has all changed, and I have been rescued. A wonderful act of generosity will allow me to escape. I will house-sit upstate for a few weeks, in the Hudson Valley, a beautiful part of the world. I will take Mabel. Y will stay here and watch after Tuna and Patsy. I feel very lucky.

It is hardly that there is a lack of things to do here in the city, but I am disinclined to go out much because I really suffer in the heat. I am not, as I have written before, constitutionally fit for it, never have been.

call it sleep

Yesterday I seemed incapable of doing much but sleeping. I slept so much I felt sick. This is really a way that I have of avoiding work. I simply sleep instead.

I slept so much that I was wide awake at 2:30 am. So I didn't fight it, just got up and read OEDIPUS AT COLONUS and played backgammon on the computer.

hours

This weekend seemed strange. It felt like some extended period of waiting. I am going a bit stir crazy, too, feeling cooped up. But it is solely my fault. It's just that in summer I am not so inclined to be out and about.

I joined Netflix. I have been viewing lots of films. Yesterday I watched THE HOURS. Meryl Streep was wonderful, as always. Her character, also, was deep, so she had a lot to work with. I wish that I could make the same claim for Nicole Kidman as Virginia Woolf. Her portrayal of the depressed Woolf consisted mostly of squinting at some vague point a few feet in front of her pinched face. I had fun imitating her later. She also liked to hold her head at a strange stiff angle. I think that Ed Harris was supposed to be unbearable to watch, but he was unbearable more for his overacting. When Julianne Moore appears as the elderly mother of Ed Harris's character, the makeup job is so bad that she looks far more like a burn victim than an aged version of the woman we saw earlier. I kept studying her, trying to find it a convincing transformation. Couple that with Nicole Kidman's prosthetic nose, and what do you have? And then there was Philip Glass's maudlin score that just intruded all over the place. How on earth did Nicole Kidman win an academy award for this? Yikes.

ghost

I think that Pomona is here. Several times over the last few days I have seen her flash by, felt her brush against my leg like she so often used to do, and heard her cry. Since neither Patsy nor Tuna behaves like Pomona did, either it is my over-active imagination, or she really is here somehow.

Finally the weather is decent. I was going stir-crazy the last few days, staying in, working at home, but dreading extended outdoor excursions because the stifling mugginess makes me crazy. This morning, though, it is quite cool, although still humid.

clarity/clarification

First, please don't think I wrote that letter to the editor in yesterday's TIMES that I posted.

Yesterday I was a whirlwind of activity. I made some real progress on the music for OEDIPUS and, in addition, I thoroughly cleaned the kitchen, rearranging things to get more of my counterspace (which is limited, to say the least). I was energetic but wore myself out and could hardly wake up this morning. So I missed my swim which I had scheduled for 8 am. Damn.

The best thing is that finally I am getting a clearer vision of how the music will sound (pardon the mixed metaphor if that is what it is) and also how it will fit into the concepts of the play. Being able to think clearly helps.

letter to the editor

From today's NEW YORK TIMES opinion page:

Questioning the “proportionality” of the Israeli response to attacks on its citizens mimics the absurd notion echoing in European capitals.

Would it satisfy the Europeans if more Jews were killed or wounded, thus making the casualty count more quantitatively symmetrical?

Have military victories historically been achieved when a country responds to aggression with only the exact measure of force leveled at it and no more?

Finally, if missiles and rockets were landing in your living room, just exactly how much force would you like to see directed at the bad guys to make them stop?

nepotism

I listen to WNYC often. This morning, listening to the Brian Lehrer show, I heard him interview Wallace Shawn, the actor and playwright, son of William Shawn, the long-time revered editor of THE NEW YORKER. Wallace Shawn read from a dramatic monologue he wrote, "The Fever." Well, frankly, it sucked. Trite, inelegantly written, full of platitudes, it made me think that if he were not the son of such an eminent literary figure he would be just another guy of mediocre talent trying to make it in theater. He was not a particularly articulate speaker either. Sigh.

Years ago I taught the son of a very famous composer. The kid had no time whatsoever. He was utterly ordinary, even defective, musically speaking. Yet his father seemed clueless; he was actually delusional about his son's talent. Or maybe it was just parental excitement and support. Maybe I read too much into such things. Yet his son ended up a musician, a pop musician. Connections are everything, especially when talent is negligible.

ache

The heat suffocates me. My head aches. I try to work, but I can't concentrate. I am going stir-crazy from being inside, but it is too hot to stay out for long. This morning I had to move the car. The guy in front of me sat in his car for an hour with the engine running and his AC on, polluting the air and making things hotter. My head aches. I try to work, but I can't concentrate. I am going stir-crazy. I sleep, but fitfully. My head aches.

Even with the air-conditioners thrumming their constant thrum I can feel the heat pressing against the walls, trying to creep in past the tightly-shut windows, under the door. Even though it is slightly past their dinner time, Tuna, Patsy and Mabel sleep, stupefied.

identity

When I was a young child we would go to visit my mother's aunts, uncles and cousins in Perth Amboy, a New Jersey town that was, at that time, home to a very large population of Hungarian Jews, refugees from the Nazis. I knew little about the Nazis or WWII, but I remember wondering why all my aunts and uncles had those tattoos on their forearms? I remember how much they loved dancing, laughing, and celebrating life. When I was a little older my mother told me the real stories: how my cousin N saw his mother and his brother and sister killed before his eyes as they lined up to be imprisoned; how my grandfather's entire family--parents, brother and five sisters--were imprisoned and only one sister survived. My grandfather and one of his sisters already were in the US before the war. How my grandfather owned a large farm and his business employed so many in the town where they lived in Hungary, and how his family was beloved in that town (my cousins, visiting that town a few years ago, were told stories by two very old ladies; they told my cousins about my great-grandparents). But the family home had been turned into a factory. I have a picture of my great-grandparents and great aunts and uncles. They look so dapper, the men with their walking sticks and suits, the women elegantly dressed.

I grew up with the weight of this tragedy hanging in the air, rarely spoken of but always present. Their is a sadness in many of my cousins, who are first-generation Americans, children of holocaust survivors. There are horror stories which no one wants to recall. My family lived in a different kind of place; there were almost no Jews and no one's aunts and uncles had tattoos, numbers inked on their forearms. So I was different from my extended family, and different from the people at home.

My feeling about Israel is so complex. Why shouldn't the Jews have a place to be safe, after the majority of them were exterminated while so many did nothing? Why shouldn't they fight for their lives now? The world must never forget, even if those idiots who claim that the Holocaust is fiction, that six million Jews were not killed? Did they just disappear?

terrorism

This war between Israel and Hezbollah is scary. Things could easily spiral out of control. I know many people claim that Israel is overreacting, what do you expect a country to do when missiles are raining down upon it? And Hezbollah is a group that has had little compunction to save the lives of its own countrymen while carrying out its acts of aggression. The same is true of Hamas. They protest the killing of innocent Arabs, while they themselves kill innocent Arabs all the time. Why on earth would they fire missiles from civilian areas? Obviously Israel will fire back at the same locations, which means that unless Hezbollah evacuates all civilians before it attacks--which it did not--then civilians will die. That does not seem to concern them. And the leader of Iran has said publicly that Israel should be "wiped off the map." And yet people think they are too aggressive in fighting their enemies, which surround them on all sides. There will never be peace in the Middle East until Israel's presence is accepted.

Today is my mom's birthday. She would have been 70.

Yesterday I was going to go to the beach. But it was cloudy. Instead I saw "The Devil Wears Prada." Meryl Streep is amazing.

It was hot today. Tomorrow will be hotter. It will be one of those days where I would rather stay indoors, although I do go stir crazy. And the air-conditioner is making me feel sick.

distracted

I had planned to get work done today but the situation with Israel is distracting me and upsetting me. I sympathize with Israel because I am a Jew and Jews have been persecuted for ages, but I can't condone the level of violence that Israel is inflicting on civilians in Lebanon. The world is spiraling into insanity.

a bientôt

Last night Thierry came for dinner. On Saturday he will return to France. I hate to say goodbye to people, which is why I am so bad at it. When my students graduate I usually avoid the formal goodbye that is probably expected of me. I have some kind of superstition or unspoken fear, that by saying "goodbye" to someone it means I won't see them again. I am sure I will see Thierry again. Maybe he will visit New York. Maybe I will be lucky to go to Europe again (it's been almost twenty years). Anything can happen. While we were talking Mabel jumped onto the sofa and licked Thierry's arm persistently, the way she often does with me but rarely with anyone else. Maybe she knew that he was going back to France too. We will miss him. But then I was thinking this morning: it's not the same as it used to be. Twenty years ago, when I said goodbye to someone who was moving across the ocean it felt so definite. But now, with email and the internet and god knows what will come next, physical distance is not really an impediment.

So Thierry, I am lucky that we met and I am lucky that we have become friends. And Mabel said goodbye for me, even if I did not do it so well.

the weather

How mundane, to write about the weather. So I will keep this short. I have only one word: humidity. For the past two weeks at least we have had almost constant soporific humidity. The air is like a damp blanket. When one sweats, the moisture does not dry, thus the sweat does not cool, and all is wasted effort. The heat thrown off by thousands of car engines does not dissipate. The sun, when it is shining, has a sickly yellow-gray glow. I hate this weather. I have to force myself to go outside.

Money Can't Buy You Class

It was time to move the car. Earlier I had driven to Red Hook to the new Fairway to buy groceries. Early Tuesday morning is a perfect time to go. The store is empty.

I parked my car and began the long wait, Mabel by my side, with the TIMES to read. I felt a bump as a Jeep hit my back bumper while parking in the smallish space behind me. Such things are typical, and I paid it no mind. Suddenly I heard a car door slam and an enraged voice yelling "you hit my f-cking car, you motherf-cker. You hit my f-cking car. You f-cking piece of shit." And so on. If you didn't listen carefully, all you heard was "f-cking f-ck f-cking f-ck." I looked out my window and saw that the Jeep was occupied by an older Latino guy, the super of a building nearby. He is a calm quiet guy with whom I have a nodding acquaintance since we often park near each other. The yelling was from the guy behind him in a huge ugly Escalade with blacked-out windows. The guy had gotten out of his car. He was what we call a "Guido." Black hair slicked back, sweating forehead, deep suntan, Gucci loafers, an expensive watch. He was screaming that his car was a "sixty-five thousand dollar car" and so on. I got out, mostly to be a witness in case he started a fight. I got between him and the super. I told him to chill out. I said that the bump was harmless, that the jeep had bumped my car too and that he should park in a garage. He said to me "I have two garages. This is a $65,000 car. I hate this f-cking shit" and so I walked away. I decided to move to another block. I noticed, later, that the Jeep had moved also. The Escalade was still there.

What would he say if he got back to his car and someone had let the air out of his tires?

one down

I finished my first composing project of the summer. I am pleased with how it turned out. I can't say much about it at this time but this: I was dubious at first, but have been pleasantly surprised. Now on to the next.

La Nouvelle Patsy

Patsy has taken on a new air of dignity. Just two weeks ago she was a wild and impetuous one, rampaging around and behaving like a kitten. On July 2 she became one year old (although I invented the birthday, because her actual birthday is unknown, at least to me). I think she is following in Pomona's footsteps as a lady of elegance, grace and regal bearing. She also loves to be photographed, and poses quite nicely for the camera.

the beach

Today I did go to the beach. We got a late start, though. Jones Beach was crowded. Driving there we almost ran out of gas. I got off the Northern Parkway and we had to drove around Freeport for a while to find a gas station. Freeport is a tattered suburb. It looks blighted. Apparently street gang violence is escalating in the suburbs as it dissipates in the city. Back on the highway we hit a traffic jam which challenged my patience. Happily the beach was great, the water cold but not too cold. The lifeguards yelled at me (or rather whistled and waved their arms) because I swam out too far (at least by their estimation). I got sunburned, though, having missed a few spots on my back and shoulders with my sunblock. Now it hurts.

Going home the traffic sucked. We would have made it home far faster by train. And I had a splitting headache, I was starving (I had not eaten yet and it was 3:30 pm) and I had to piss so badly I thought I'd explode.

paranoid

Lately I have been paranoid. I forgot to mention, in reference to the squirrel, that I realized I should try to help it find its way home, but then I thought that maybe, just maybe, it was a rabid squirrel and that was why it was in my building. Then I thought "what if the squirrel gets into the apartment and bites Tuna or Mabel or Patsy?" So I didn't go out into the hallway again for several hours, and when I finally did there was no sign of the squirrel. I hope it's ok.

waiting

Tuna has spent most of his time the last few days lying next to the door to the apartment. He is waiting for Pomona to return.

When I got in just a short while ago a squirrel was darting around the hallway.

Saturday I had a panic attack waiting for the Staten Island ferry. Y and I were going to take a ride, for some diversion. The crowded waiting area freaked me out.

home

hall and chair
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Living here I have never had the experience of dreading going home, until today when, after walking Mabel, I realized I did not want to go inside. There would be no greeting from Pomona. Pomona was my talking cat. She would initiate conversation, or always reply when I spoke to her. I just came in and said her name, out of habit I guess. Perhaps I am being overly dramatic or self-indulgent, but when you've lived with a cat for seventeen years and suddenly they are gone...

Lorraine Hunt Lieberson

Lorraine Hunt Lieberson has died. She was 52. She had one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard. She was an artist of preternatural brilliance. Maybe she and Pomona sing together.

sad

As much as I know she was very old and that she was ill, I still wish so badly that I had more time with Pomona. The week happened so fast. I wish she were here. I could sit with her and pet her while she slept.

I grew up with a vast assortment of pets. My family was notorious. My cousin once told me that she always thought of us as living on a farm. Dogs, cats, horses, snakes, a guinea pig, hamsters, gerbils, on and on. I truly loved them all, but there are certain ones I bonded with in a unique way. In a lifetime (so far) of pets, Pomona is one who seemed to get inside my head. She was always at my side. When I played piano she sat in sphinx position next to me on the piano seat. After Mabel arrived, Pomona, ever the lady, was more dignified and let Mabel have a lot of my attention. But Pomona was always sitting discreetly nearby, and she would look me in the eyes and mouth a meow, a silent one.

Oh, how I miss Pomona. I have that tight feeling in my chest, like I swallowed a brick, and it won't go away.

sleep

During sleep we forget things. When I woke at 5:30 this morning to feed the cats I walked into the dining room expecting Pomona to greet me with a chirp from her spot on the table. That's where she waited every day for me to come and give her some Fancy Feast. Tuna is depressed and is lying still in odd places, not his usual ones. He has never been away from Pomona; I got her first, and so she was already here when I adopted Tuna. He must be confused.

My vet called several times yesterday in the afternoon and evening to get updates. This morning, for a brief time, I thought Pomona seemed a bit better; she sat up and she meowed to me, and she ate in the morning. But then once again she lay on her side, her breathing shallow and labored. She would not drink any water. The vet called again early because she had gotten the results of the blood tests. Her suspicion was that, in addition the thyroid and kidney issues, Pomona might have cancer somewhere, which would explain how she was wasting away. And also she felt that her heart and lungs were being taxed, and there could be no real improvement. But still every time I touched her she purred, and I lay awhile with my head next to her, petting her and listening to her little noises. I made my decision in a state of disbelief. Then Y and I took her, walking just a few blocks, and I held her at the end so she would not be scared.

I have had Pomona virtually my entire time here in New York. She was a sweet and elegant beauty, always dignified. Right now it is almost impossible for me to believe that she is no longer here, that she won't greet me when I come home with one of her beautiful chirping trills.

Pomona April 2, 1989-July 1, 2006

update

pomona reclining
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Pending some test results, the likely diagnosis is that Pomona has kidney disease. I will bring her home today and try to keep her comfortable. If it is advanced--and it looks as though it is well along--then I will not let her suffer in pain or sickness. I have always called her "Pomona Angel" or "Queen Princess Pomona." She has always been so dignified.

pomona

pomona sleeping
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I took Pomona to the vet this morning. For the past week she has been noticably slowing down, although she still eats and drinks. But now she has begun to pee on the floor and herself, and she is shaking and doesn't want to move. The doctor is keeping her overnight and I will see what is up in the morning. I think she may be diabetic, and given her overall health otherwise this is not good. Here she is last evening; Y had a photo shoot with her modeling. She still purrs when I talk to her.

complaint

While I am pleased to have the summer free of teaching, I do have one complaint. I would be much more productive if schools were closed in autumn or spring. I don't like summer weather like that which we've had the past few days: hot and humid, the sky hazy, the sun more of a smothering blanket than a clear orb in the sky. Even in the shade the damp hot air stifles me. I want some dry days. Then I don't mind the heat so much.

062806

062706
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Now that I am a subscriber to Netflix I have been watching more films than I typically do. Last night I watched Transamerica. While the plot became predictable, and the "road movie" clichés were cloying, the acting made up for the plot problems. Felicity Huffman's face was amazing to watch. The complex of emotions, so tightly reined in, played across her face so vividly. Dignified and graceful, she broke my heart.

Today I woke up feeling down for the first time in a while. I won't give in to it, though. I have been cleaning and organizing. Theo will come for dinner and I want the place to look decent. In this photo, taken last night, I look strange, no?

clarification

I should have mentioned that the brownstone has only recently been spiffed up; the owner (the half-brother of the crazy guy) had the deteriorating brownstone patched and then painted over. The door and window trim was painted this odd shade of green. Here is the house just a few months ago:



I hear that someone, a tenant, has moved in, and is fixing up the interior. Good luck.

doing things

Surprisingly, this photo has generated a lot of attention. The house in the picture is a very run-down brownstone, one of the worst in the neighborhood; for a long time a schizophrenic ex-con lived there, smoking crack and running around the neighborhood (occasionally naked) breaking into cars and menacing people. I hear he is back in jail, but that is not the best place for him. He should be in a hospital somewhere.

Yesterday a few hours after swimming I had a horrible allergy attack again and had to take two benadryl. I was due to meet Bao for dinner at 9:30 and at 6 pm I passed out, luckily waking at 8:30. I am glad dinner was late or I would have slept through it. Bao looked good, relaxed and suntanned especially compared to pale old me) but I was pretty much out of it (sorry Bao) and kept forgetting what I was talking about in mid-sentence. Coming home on the subway, I fell asleep, which I almost never do. Luckily I woke up before my stop, or who knows where I might have ended up. That benadryl is strong stuff, but it does work.

This morning I drove to Fairway in Red Hook, that amazing market, and bought food for the week and for dinner tomorrow, when Theo is coming. I am looking forward to it.

le weekend

Friday night I went with Y, N, and H to BAM to see "Zabriskie Point," Antonioni's film about the American counter-culture. It was crowded and we got there too late to sit together. I was sitting at the far right, end of the aisle, too close to the screen, and so I had to assume an awkward position just to see. The theater was quite stuffy, and earlier, in the throes of a horrible allergy attack, I had taken benadryl. So my experience was confusing: I felt physically bad, and yet I was mesmerized by the images on screen. Whatever one may think about the contrivances of the plot etc., it is a visually stunning movie.

Saturday I was planning to go to PA to my younger cousin's graduation party--he finished college--but it was pouring rain and my spinning head (benadryl after-effects) made the idea of driving unattractive. So I didn't go. I feel somewhat guilty, but decided to let it go. And so I was able to go back to BAM, this tiime to see "L'Eclisse" ("Eclipse"), another Antonioni film shot in the year of my birth. This one was not as captivating although the lead woman was stunning and her almost-deadened affect charming for a while. Soon, though, I found myself wondering how much longer the movie could go on, and that is a very bad sign.

Sunday, another rainy day, I did almost nothing. I did make myself a bit ill by trying to drain the messed-up dishwasher by siphoning the water out, getting a mouthful of water mixed with dishwashing detergent, and feeling like I might have poisoned myself. After a rest, I felt better, so Y and I relaxed. We ate. We slept. That was that. I like the weekends, but I often feel as though I should be doing something that I am not.

patsy

patsy
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Next weekend (one week from today) will be Patsy's first birthday. I invented the date because I don't actually know what day her birthday is. But since Pomona's invented birthday is April 2 and Tuna's is May 2, Patsy's is July 2.

viewed this weekend

L'ECLISSE (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1962)







ZABRISKIE POINT (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1970)

geometry

geometry
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I am so productive! Every day I swim, I work, I clean my apartment, I fix things, I take care of long-neglected obligations. I don't even curse the awful humidity. I do the laundry. I pay my bills. I wax my car. What is going on?

every day

062206
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I take these photographs every day with Photo Booth, software that came with my new computer. The camera is built into the computer

The plumber is here. Hurray.

cause for alarm

Why I think, on average, about one hundred times a week of leaving here.

tangled up

feet etc.
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Well today started out wonderfully. I woke early and took advantage of the cool morning to wax my car, which now shines resplendently red and attracts the glances of passing admirers. Then I went for a swim and mostly had the lane to myself. On the way walking home I decided to tackle some small home repairs, so I stopped at the hardware store and bought a new attachment for the faucet on the kitchen sink as well as a sprayer handle for the spray attachment. Arriving home, I made some coffee and installed the faucet part. Beautiful. I should have stopped there. Why? Because after replacing the sprayer, the faucet did not work at all. No water. Nothing. I found the handyman for the building, and he fixed it, I thought, but about twenty minutes later it stopped working again. So I resigned myself to replacing the entire faucet and calling a plumber to install it, at considerable cost. It is true that the faucet had been malfunctioning for years and in the back of my mind I knew it had to be replaced, but I had neither budgeted for it, nor expected that my own attempts to spiff it up would result in its demise. But you know what? I don't care so much.

torpor

smashed cone with oil drum
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

This morning I woke up early (surprise!) and set about doing some maintenance. My car had been covered with dried tree sap for a few weeks and looked awful. So I drove to Red Hook and got it cleaned. Part of the side molding fell off in the process, but I was able to fix it. Then I drove around in Red Hook, a little lost, trying to find the way out, which I eventually did. Now I am working more on OEDIPUS, listening to the choruses sung in ancient Greek. Tonight I will confer by phone with my collaborators. My stomach hurts for some reason, perhaps because I have not eaten. I am hoping for some violent storms this afternoon. The sky looks promising.

heat

061906
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Well, true summer is finally here. It is hot out, 90F right now, and this keeps me inside where I have been working more or less all day. The director of OEDIPUS has sent me recordings of the choruses in ancient Greek. Her recitation is absolutely mesmerizing and it is helping me to imagine the music much more clearly that I am able to by reading the text alone.

Yesterday I was all over the place. I went with Y to Madison Avenue because he had some shopping to do. It was crowded, tourists abounding, and when the sun came out it was a little warm. I got sunburn on my face.

In the evening I went to Prospect Park with Y and a few others to hear Laurie Anderson perform with a Tuvan throat singer. I have always admired Laurie Anderson but I have to say that her performances get stuck in this kind of numbing pace that can put me to sleep. So that is exactly what I did: lying on the grass with tree branches overhead, in the dusk, I fell asleep. Sorry, Laurie.

walk

follow
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

Today while walking to the pool I saw a man sitting on the sidewalk, on State Street. He was seated at an upright piano that was against the curb, and he was tentatively playing, a few notes at a time.

free at last

malevich
Originally uploaded by madabandon.

I don't mean to sound like my teaching job is a prison, or even a chore. I like it very much. I also like the vacations. This summer will not be a vacation--I have far too much work to do--but at least my schedule will be generally free. And I can swim every day. I skipped much of the end-of-year ceremony (graduation, faculty party, senior boat-around-Manhattan trip) because I have a bit of an issue with these things, bad memories from my own such ceremonies. I also dislike saying goodbye, and to have to say goodbye to all those people would be exhausting. But of course I wish them well, and I will miss some of the students very much.

vanity

Vanity causes some to do odd things. Take Paul McCartney, for example. Why does he color his hair? We all know that he is in his sixth decade, and what 60-something man has such pure brown hair with not a grey hair in sight? Coupled with his sagging face, the discord is inescapable. It appears that his colorist missed a spot on the right temple.

It is no secret to anyone who knows me that I think the best thing that ever happened to Paul is that he met John Lennon. Otherwise he'd probably still be in Liverpool writing his quaint, cliché-riddled ditties. Oh bla-di oh bla-da.

about town

The weather this weekend was amazing. So I was out and about. To west Chelsea (galleries, Comme des Garçons store), downtown (stop at Chelsea market to buy dandelion greens and pancetta) and then continuing down to the West Village. There I found the elusive Martin Margiela store--having a sale but I didn't buy anything--which is unmarked. Inside everything is whitewashed except the clothes and the very friendly staff. Last night there were ungodly loud fireworks--traumatically loud--in anticipation of the Puerto Rican Parade. I saw the parade today when I went with Y to Barney's. It is sale time and I bought a shirt that unfortunately was not on sale but I wanted it anyway. Now I have to stop spending money for a while.

tear it up

Every summer sidewalks and streets in my neighborhood are torn up and put back together. And today I heard a steady sound of explosions coming from somewhere in the northeasterly direction.

desire

hold on tight...

My hypomanic mood has lasted for a few days now. It started with the welcome news that my medical situation is not alarming. I will be checked out at the end of the summer. My doctor was absolutely correct in taking this very seriously, but it is not as bad as was first thought. Then two nights of little sleep (allergies and Patsy were to blame) have put me across the line. Today I did something that now, thinking back on it, alarms me. I was walking Mabel. There was a white Hummer parked on my street. I saw a slim well-dressed blonde woman walk up to it, get inside, start it up, and move it to the other side of the street. I walked up as she was getting out of the car. "Hey," I said. She looked at me. "Is anyone in your family fighting over in Iraq?" I asked her. She looked puzzled. I continued "because I sure hope someone is, considering that you are driving that thing." To her credit, she didn't scream at me, didn't laugh, but engaged me seriously. She told me that it was the new model, the H3, and that it cost her $40 to fill the tank. She said that a lot of cars do worse, pointing to a large shiny new BMW nearby. I couldn't believe she was so reasonable (although I think it must cost more that $40 to fill that tank because it costs me almost the same). Then I looked at the Hummer, and I noticed it had Pennsylvania plates. She was not from here. And just a short time ago, taking Mabel out for her last walk, the Hummer was gone.

Two hours of sleep last night. Allergies.

"down on the corner..."

This house, down the block from my building, is one of the grand mansions of Brooklyn Heights. Suddenly, today, it appeared shrouded in white, like some small project by Christo. After all, he wrapped the Reichstag, no?

weekend update

I have been very busy with all kinds of things, one of which is dealing with a number of doctors. I have not been forthcoming here about what is going on with my health, partly because of privacy, and partly because I don't wish to think about it. But now I am resigned to the situation. I have to be, because it is fairly serious. It seems that my carotid artery on the left side is partially blocked, which increases the risk for stroke significantly. It was blocked when I firs had a sonogram a 18 months ago, but the most recent test showed a strangely high increase in the extent of the blockage. This despite the fact that I am in excellent condition, don't smoke cigarettes (the neurologist assured me that smoking other things is not nearly as dangerous in this case), I don't drink, and I am not overweight, and I have low cholesterol. There is a possibility that there is a malformed blood vessel somewhere that is causing this. Now I have symptoms of hypertension, which magnifies the risk much more. Paranoid me gets frightened now of any headache, dizziness, confusion-all bad signs. The neurologist also thinks that some of my medications for bipolar are effecting my blood pressure since he can see no other cause, and I am not genetically predisposed to it. So here is the rub: if I have to stop some of those medications, my mental health will suffer. But if I don't, I could die of a stroke at any time. While I might not, I am at very high risk, particularly for my age.

I am calm about this and I am doing everything I can to help myself: meditation, lots of exercise, careful diet (no meat, no butter, mostly vegetables and grains and fish). I take one aspirin a day to thin my blood (doctor's orders). But I am unnerved too. I go back to the neurologist on Monday; he will have consulted by that time with another radiologist, my internist, and my psychiatrist. I have utmost faith in this neurologist. In his office he has THE ILIAD, Joyce's ULYSSES, French novels (Stendahl, Balzac, etc.) AND a small piano. A humanist doctor is a rare thing, but something I value very much.

So there it is. Wish me luck.

AUTOBIOGRAPHIA LITERARIA

When I was a child
I played by myself in a
corner of the schoolyard
all alone.

I hated dolls and I
hated games, animals were
not friendly and birds
flew away.

If anyone was looking
for me I had behind a
tree and cried out "I am
an orphan."

And here I am, the
center of all beauty!
writing these poems!
Imagine!

(Frank O'Hara)

historian

Maybe writing this blog makes me a historian, or something...