Category: travel

Hello, world.

Thanks to the generosity of our Brooklyn-residing friends who just happened to need catsitting, Mindlace and I went to New York [Fuckin’] City for a week.

(As an aside: there’s something incredibly cool about referring to Ethan by his middle name in writing. When speaking, however, I never do it.)

I’ve been procrastinating on writing about it, because there’s just so much; so it’s unlikely that I’ll write more than one post about it. Most of it is food porn, so I’ll summarize the rest quickly.

Twenty-fifth was spent with friend Sean here in Providence in the morning and then driving in the afternoon. By the time we got to New York we were fairly tired, and lo, found that Stacy and David had left us a bottle of wine at their place. They surely knew our hearts; we drank the gorgeous red and watched movies.

Twenty-sixth we spent largely at the new and improved MoMA. My, but the building is gorgeous. Tall ceilings and entire walls of glass looking out onto the sculpture yard and over the city. One of the glass walls was frosted with very narrow translucent lines, sailor-suit-on-acid-style; so that when you walked up the stairs several feet away from it, it looked like it was snowing outside. For part of the day, it was lightly snowing, which made the sport of guessing the weather even more fun. In the evening, we met up with GHW at Strand bookstore, browsed around, bought a book on East European cooking…

…remind me to tell you about tonight’s soup. omigod. …

…and went for coffee, subsequently relocating to a beer pub. A fun time was had!, and also we spoiled ourselves by buying PixelBlocks. Hey, you’re only in New York once. Toys are paramount. That, and knife sharpeners.

This isn’t going to be a quick summary, is it?

Twenty-seventh we went to Fleur de Sel for lunch. About the best midday meal I’ve ever had, about which later. Continuing in the vein of vaguely traditional New York vacation, in the evening we saw a performance by the Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre. I highly, highly recommend this activity for young and old alike. These people leapt soundlessly across the stage; I had to strain to hear them move, and we were sitting four rows away from the stage. Beautiful performers and soul-baring choreography; no photograph does justice to the live performance. As a bonus, they inspired me to take up yoga again. Soon, strength training too. Holy god.

After the show we met up with Lune, walked through Times Square (it was great seeing Ethan experience Times Sq at night for the first time!) and dropped into a crazy tourist bar named Mars 2112. Cheese factor extra-high, but they make one tasty cosmopolitan. Okay, two. Following that was the Library bar somewhere on the lower East side, a seedy and most fun establishment with skulls on the wall, death metal roaring from the jukebox and a Godzilla movie projected onto the back wall. A perfect way to end the ev… greet the morning.

We paid for this on the twenty-eighth. Met my brother and family for lunch at 2nd Avenue Deli. We had to wait a little, and they fed all the waiting folk little chopped-liver-pate sandwiches. Although they were cute and very tasty sandwiches, and my lunch was also superlative (but only for nostalgia’s sake: this sort of food would be too heavy to eat more than once or twice a year), the noise and general mayhem of the place didn’t impress me. We came out with our ears buzzing; no doubt the five hours of sleep didn’t help, so we begged off for a nap. In the evening, dinner and merriment was had at Z & Jo’s Dobbs Ferry apartment, where we ate very tasty bean soup and – halleluia! – a simple, fresh salad. Ethan sparred with four-and-a-half-year-old Tesher, and then we crashed back in Park Slope.

Thirtieth: met Jo and Tesher (Zhenya was working) at the Museum of Natural History. Saw a butterflies exhibit and another one of frogs. Frogs bear a special mention: well-presented, loads of information, fun! Beautiful frogs, and the second case you saw as you walked in had poisonous frogs inside, with clouds of billowing steam all around them. Spectacular! The rest of the museum was great too, and I also highly recommend going to that place with a wide-eyed kid with impressive stamina for someone so young. The museum excursion ended with a planetarium show, and we proceeded back to Park Slope to meet friends for sushi at Geido. Mmm, fresh tasty fish and catching up with people, one of whom I hadn’t seen for something like seven or eight years. We hadn’t been that closely acquainted in the first place, Dr. Memory and I, and it was fun to talk to him more. His ways around language and irrepressible grin are great fun. After dinner, I sent Ethan off to play some more and headed to another Brooklyn residence to visit Lindy the attention-starved cuddle-puddle kitty on crack. We bonded; it must’ve helped that I smelled like his ex-roommate River. When I returned back to Park Slope, River the Cat Who Hides And Then Yowls For Unfathomable Favors definitely noticed that I now smelled of Lindy, and proceeded to allow me to pet her for longer than usual. I, for my part, proceeded to sneeze a lot. Someday modern medicine will get rid of allergies; until then, give me that Claritin, because I’m certainly having trouble staying away from aminals.

Thirty-first! Friday! We took it easy that day, went to Beacon’s Closet for thrift-store shopping fun. I got a bright brownish-orange very warm knit dress with a very poofy fake-fur collar and sleeve cuffs. Very unlike the rest of my wardrobe, but comfy! Haven’t worn it yet, but will post a photo when I do, just for fun. Also, got slinky black dress with – wait for it – black fringe and rhinestones going diagonally down from hip to the opposite knee. Oh yes. It was beautiful, and I had occasion to wear it that evening, as we went to a speakeasy-themed New Year’s Eve party at a bar in Williamsburg. The band was amazing (holy god, that violinist rocked! I mean, jazzed! who were these people?), the friends and conversation were all great, and we stayed until sufficiently late to be Very Tired but not late enough to stay up all night.

January the First, two thousand and Five, we took Liberties With cApiTal leTTers… just kidding. We slept in a little, got up to meet other friends at Russ & Daughters, but failed to meet with them due to excessive partying the night before. Ah well; it was New Year’s. This didn’t stop us from going to the famed deli, where we purchased ohmygawd-amazing smoked fish, chocolates and dried fruit. Oh, and salty-liquorice fish candy, the real kind, which was tasty.

This fun was followed by more fun, as we strolled on over to M. and K.’s place. I’d only met M. virtually, through blogging, but she’s an amazing mind and delightful spirit. Plus, not knowing me from Eve, she returned my email requesting restaurant recommendations with a detailed, multi-paragraph treasure trove of reviews. My kind of person, I figured; so we went over for hors d’oeuvres and movies. Both were exquisite, from fried goat-cheese balls and runny cheese to the original Stepford Wives and the Mexican wonder that is Aventurera. Successive Bollywood musical and accompanying commentary were priceless.

From there, we went to Applewood for dinner. I… don’t know what to say. I’ll say it in another post. Really.

January Two we drove back to Providence, stopping by Ess-A-Bagel on the way for a dozen bialys and another of hot bagels. I haven’t had bagels this good in a long, long time; and Ethan finally understood the transcendent experience that is the New York bagel. With bagels and salty fish in hand, not to mention pickled cucumbers and tomatoes, we stopped by Z & Jo’s again for brunch, a fun, family-oriented affair.

We came home and more or less crashed, but not before catching up on the internet (geeeks) and unpacking. I got a bit subdued. It was the fourth anniversary of my father’s death.

Okay, so this didn’t turn out short at all. But here it is, New York, sans food pr0n reviews. Those are a whole ‘nother post.

Ah, Denver. I am sitting in a funky coffee shop with ‘net access. I’ve decided not to kill myself driving, so will attempt to cover less ground today and tomorrow, and sleep in real beds.

Want to call me on the road? Reception has been spotty, but then, I was in the mountains. It should be more reliable now — and in any case, if you call and leave a message, I’ll be glad to call you back. The number is eight-eighteen, nine-fifteen, V-I-K-A. Yes, I am a dork. What?! They did ask me if I wanted anything specific for the last four numbers!

Off to Burning Man in 8 hours. Before then, shower and sleep. See y’all in a couple of weeks, when I regain access.

Hello, technology! After years of stereotypically resisting, I finally got hello-technology: a mobile phone. I’ve claimed lack of need for ages; but the need has become very real, what with driving across the country alone in September, so what the hell. Family plans are a sound financial investment, and peace of mind (not to mention convenience, and the fact that I might just turn off telephone service in my home later on) is worth the cost. Plus I get to play with cool beepy talking machines. After a few days of testing out the equipment and service, we’ll be sure whether we’re keeping this set-up; then I’ll publicize the number to those who are likely to want it.

But this isn’t even what I’m writing about. Today, a certain scholar-at-large left a comment on one of my previous posts gently prodding me to write up a trip report on ACH/ALLC 2003. That François Lachance is reading my Web log at all is flattering and unexpected, so now I am giddy and finally eager to summarize this year’s experience. For the record, I’ve been meaning to do this every year, if not in blog then over on Humanist. But I’ve always found it difficult to write a coherent account of everything important – there’s so much. This below, then, is an entirely personal perspective which will never approximate the actual experience. If you’re a computing humanist, make plans and go there. It’s worth the trip.
Continue reading “Mostly a trip report.”

Brainstorm, word game, internet cafe with expensive pricing…

Yield on the interstate, eventually, when Louisiana cars politely keep their distance until you can fuckin’ free up the passing lane already. Drenched down to the essence, linger not in the hotell room, escaping into the nighttime streets. Bouncers full of vigor to allow no-cover access to Toulouse St. bars with overpriced onion rings. Slapstick blooze wench transports you back into the northeast, with Tracy Chapman covers. Her little orchestra is so chill, you forget your road-rage.

Me, I will wake tomorrow to find opalescent sky and restrained registration desk clerk endearing himself to me with.

No decisions before chickory coffee, our noggins soaked in the torque of humidity. Intending to take in all aspects of N’awlins life, we entertain our ignoble, transparent minds by paying religious attention to caffeine intake and investigating the possibility of a nap. Deliberately avoiding enamelled, saccharine tourist-trap taverns, intense in our lack of nativity to this town, we anticipate the totality of this idiosyncratic, ominous negation of access to lucid archives of memory’s bias. Anarchy masters all, in New Orleans. Yet we yawn, writing this epic travelogue.

Did you know I’m road tripping? Talan and I took a couple of days to drive down to ACH/ALLC 2003. After it ends on Monday, we’ll drive on ’til Los Angeles. I’ll write up the conf itself later.

Blinky rocket, and poppies along the highway thirty by 120. Can’t pick or photograph because nowhere to stop — but a butterfly in the Smoky Mountains will vainly follow you up and down a mountain and pose for the camera. Thistles also, one in full bloom one just awakening, and three daisies twisting white petals into sign language. Two days later, with a mistaken press of a button, the brilliantly crisp flowers are gone, nothing to do but look for others to capture.

Stuck in a car together for hours on end, recipe for a nightmare? Miracle of, no. Ella Coltrane everything but the girl, postal service, David Matheson, Moloko. Darling Buds.

Half-comatose, and the passenger’s nodding off too. Stop at a gas station which sells corn dogs and “broasted” chicken and proudly announces its neighboring high school to be the “home of the fighting cocks.” Walk a mile and a third up a mountain, to see a waterfall and not fall off a cliff. Eat cheese and crackers and potato chips, and nod back at the Kinder Surprise toucan rocking on his perch on the dash board. Try not to get coffee from insta-Nescafe machines, and fail. Watch the sky get farther and farther away laterally, flattening you mentally until you’re belly-down like a snake. Except in a car, bless his mechanical soul, who’s running better than ever at 130K.

Mustafa, the kind Azerbaijani doctor of the sunniest disposition, hosts us in Roanoke. We eat fish and chukhurtma and drink beer and tea. We listen to Tom Waits, sleep in a deep quiet, and reminisce about old Russian movies in the morning.

Southern hospitality in Huntsville, Alabama comes in the form of a beautiful salad and chicken cordon bleu and great conversation and luscious bedding. All of this is provided by lovely people I’d never met live (though Stephen and I had known each other from ifMUD). Bisquits and sun and house finches in the morning, and we drive again. Six hours away, Georgia is practically next door.

Sudden sun! South!

Athens has an Espresso Royale Cafe, I purchase an iced mocha and write this. Then I purchase an espresso with whipped cream, and stir a packet of raw sugar into it. Besides Talan, there are three people in here, plus the invisible cashier counting out coins. Duran Duran and Blondie and Tears For Fears and bitter stretchy time. Two hours last forever on this day off from the conference, when most others are on a plantation excursion and we take off our name badges, blending into the surroundings. Blue sky and red brick out the window, and a whites-on-black painting of a naked boy on the cafe wall.

Off I go to read Cunt a bit. Colleen lent it to me before I left, thinking I might enjoy it. It’s an interesting read, intentionally horrifying in some places and suspiciously us-vs.-them about men in others; but mostly sensitive and passionate and tenderly, intensely true.

[…]

Here’s a passage from Cunt that reflects my thoughts not merely in general, but specifically with regard to the [in]effectiveness of the anti-war demonstration in Boston a couple of months ago.

[T]he fight for human rights does not take place on some bureaucratic battleground with a bevy of lawyers running from congressional suite to congressional suite, sapping resources into laws. The war for peace and love and other nice things like that is not waged in protests on the street. These forms of fighting are a reaction to oppression, giving destructive power that much more energy. The real fight for human rights is inside each and every individual on this earth.

Reading things like this re-affirms my lack of desire to go shout on the streets. That’s ineffective. I cannot change the entire world, so I build my community and educate my children and learn from the people I admire. There’s an awful lot of those people here at the conference. I’ll write more about them later; meanwhile, I will just tingle in my spine and grin like a fool.