Again, it is death that informs my deeds and invades my thoughts. It was predictable. It never is. A good man, a great father, and terrific friend is now more. I met his son. He and I were buddies and I was almost adopted into the family. My wife loved him as I did. She did not know him as well as I did. He provided me with a template for a generous and loving father. By the book. He adored his sons and they love him back as they should. He was a happy man. He died alone as we all do. But not completely. A woman was there and no wonder for he was truly absolutely lovable. I will miss him every time I go back or think of that dreamy, provincial, and ultimately detestable little city he loved so much.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Indiscretions
There is nothing that prompts our curiosity more then the unusual in a setting we believe we know al about. A subtle change in ritual, a new design, a word, a glance, a fleeting impression of new, of different, challenges and excites our imagination. One can call this a moment of curious ecumenism.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Reading good books
"The future of the world no longer disturbs me; I do not try still to calculate, with anguish, how long or how short a time the Roman peace will endure; I leave that to the Gods. Not that I have acquired more confidence in their justice, which is not our justice, or more faith in human wisdom; the contrary is true. Life is atrocious, we know. But precisely because I expect little of the human condition, man's periods of felicity, his partial progress, his efforts to begin over again and to continue, all seem to me like so many prodigies which nearly compensate for monstrous mass of ills and defeats, of indifference and error. Catastrophe and ruin will come; disorder will triumph, but order will too, from time to time. Peace will again establish itself between two periods and there regain the meaning which we have tried to give them. Not all our books will perish, nor our statues, if broken, lie unrepaired; other domes and pediments will rise from our domes and pediments; some few men will think and work and feel as we have done, and I venture to count upon such continuators, placed irregularly throughout the centuries, and upon this kind of intermittent immortality."
— Marguerite Yourcenar />
— Marguerite Yourcenar />
Et le but d'unne vie d'homme
"Passion such as hers is all consent, asking little in return. I had merely to enter a room where she was to see her face take on that peaceful expression of one who is resting in bed. If I touched her, I had the impression that all the blood in her veins was turning to honey."
— Marguerite Yourcenar
— Marguerite Yourcenar
Monday, October 05, 2009
I almost never post landscapes. It is simply not my thing. Tonight is different. A person I knew in very auspicious and positive circumstances died in very dire circumstances. He was a soldier. This was not the least apparent. He was self effacing and had the brightest of smiles. He was all hope for the world and when there was no reason for hope he was there about to create those reasons. He was a soldier in the business of saving lives. One by one, delivering clean water. And he knew exactly why he was doing what he was doing. This sense of purpose was always evident. I knew U.S. Army Capt. Benjamin Sklaver way too little. Today I hate myself for that. I have all the right excuses. He was younger then I was and a year bellow in the grad school we attended. Today a good few years later (but how few they appear now) I am married, he is just engaged ... I have maybe a few pictures of him in the midst of other grad students but these are more appropriate. Oseh shalom bim'romav hu ya'aseh shalom aleinu
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Res Sic Stantibus
Hips surgery averted, just! It reminds us all of our vulnerability. One takes such things as mobility, access, and free will of doing things for granted. It is so for most of us most of the time. But it is not for all, all the time. We almost never stop to consider these risks, accidents of life, and for some facts of living unless ourselves or somebody close is put in a position of experiencing dependency or limited mobility. Humanity should be indeed measured by its attention to those that face this challenge.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Wurgeengel meets its nemesis
There are few places one can go and from the very first time to feel at home. When it comes to bars it is getting close to impossible. Most are true horrors when it comes to drinks and many are short on atmosphere. When you consider the patrons as well it gets hard to find a bar that is indeed special. I have a very short list of favorites with most falling in the category of bars doing one thing great: one particular drink, one great presence behind the bar, music, design, crowd. Then there are even fewer that excel at everything and are the perfect Bar! Some of those on my list include: Archiduc in Brussels, Schuman's in Munich, The Hemingway Bar in Paris, Caprice and Limbo in Boston (but I hear these two went south). The common thing is that these all are rather small places. Berlin's Windhorst just made it on the list. The owner/bartender is doing some very special and rare magic in this little place. Crammed between two large buildings on a side street crossing Friederich Strasse, Windhorst is arguably the best cocktail bar Berlin has to offer. For some reason it reminded me of another favorite in the city the Wurgeengel though the two places couldn't be more different in size, location and appearance. After talking to the bartender now I know why: he worked there for many years. The attention to detail in this place is akin to a fine and lost art. The selection of spirits, the perfectly and tastefully selected bar list that is in itself an object of beauty with its book-cloth binding and superb paper, all are just a hint to the perfectionist, detail fanatic, while minimalist in gestures, ritual of making a drink that Windhorst displays. Double frozen ice, elegant Boston shakers, fresh fruit and juice and a diversity of ingredients that is also reflected in two sections of the list that are rarely found in small bars: old forgotten classics with rye whisky and an extremely generous and imaginative non-alcoholic drinks. All these preparatory steps being taken one reaches the apex of the Windhorst experience: the perfection of preparation that justifies all of the above. The party of six I joined occupied the entire bar-front and couldn't be more different in tastes. Three rounds of cocktails later we were all tipsy but enchanted. To complement this Windhorst offers a music selection that matches the sophistication of his drinks. A vinyl collection heavy on old-time R&B, soul, jazz and newly resurrected groove. King Brit meets K&D. We said our goodbyes on Belleruche ... try it.
Angel Esterminador
This is it! The weirdness of it all. Life as a social species. Trying so fucking hard ... no escape and no resolution. Determined to keep rolling and destroying everything and everybody-else. We are all alike we are not identical. We escape the rules but we make new ones. No escape of being executioners. We all take turns and we regret not having done enough ... Are we good enough?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
To leave Istanbul
To leave Istanbul one has many choices. There is the train right from beneath the streets of Sirkeci at the nexus between the Golden Horn and Bosporus. Reminiscences of the Orient Express are of course excused and thoroughly justified. Then there is the soulless and practical option of taking an international flight but the real beauty comes in the form of the divers choice of ferries to all imaginable destinations in the Bosporus and beyond in the Med and Black Sea. I like how Kara Deniz sounds ... But then Istanbul is so big that like in NY one has the option to turn around, regret, hesitate for a long, long time as the city stretches all over the shores for miles. It is all Istanbul, bridges, ships, shores, waves, hills, lights, mosques and minarets, red flags, shops. All alive and bustling with Istanbulus always erratic, always busy, always away ... traveling in their own city. And us ... coming and going. Returning is not an option is a disease.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
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