Sunday Serendipity (on Monday). And cancer

Well, in spite my best efforts, Sunday got away from me. However, now that it is Monday I can more fully reflect on the weekend.

My favorite part of every Sunday is the New York Times. I always reach for Sunday Styles, Week in Review and Sunday Business, and thereafter the front section and the Book Review. As Philip Roth's latest offering was on the cover of the Book Review this week, I felt comfortable in AVOIDING IT COMPLETELY. If you get my drift. Angry old Jewish men. Writing about their anger. No thank you.

Ann Coulter catering to gay conservatives on the Sunday Styles cover. Gads. I read it, but it was more about AC than why gays think its acceptable for them to support her.

Ahem.

Twist and I had a lovely walk in the Sunday dusk, below a silvery-gold crescent moon.

Wait.

What's that you say?

It wasn't PINK!!!!!!!

Oh, the nerve of Mother Nature to ignore Breast Cancer Cancer Cancer Cancer Cancer Cancer, oh, one more time, Cancer Month! The nerve. Fountain waters are pink this month. Big, burly football players are wearing pink gloves. Even the Sunday funnies in the newspaper are pink. So seriously. Get with it Mom.

That said.

My style icon for Sunday is a new acquaintance, Jill Black, from Mary Worth. That's right. Black. She looks to be a real hard case who will reduce Adrian Cory, who is as dumb as a drawer full of hammers, to a puddle of jelly while helping her "choose" her wedding dress. Again, imagine the nerve of the comic strip's author introducing a character named BLACK!!! during pink cancer month.

And speaking of cancer, cancer, cancer, I like this post from Blag Hag.

The "illustration" is done by deviantART muro. Just call me Jacksonia Pollock.

Cheers. Happy Cancer Month!

Wednesday Whimsy

OCTOBER 6, 2010
The week: It's been rainy so far, but I have seen some interesting things in the drizzle. One of which I will describe below, and having witnessed it, am resolved to now carry my cellphone at all times. To use the camera.
Heading back from the PPG Food Court on Monday, one-ish, I came down the steps from the PPG building and stopped a step above a tiny woodpecker, obviously so lost. It tried to cross the street, hopping, and I trotted along behind to hurry it along before it got run over. He trotted across and then unfortunately flew back across the street and smack into a Wintergarden window. Stunned him but he perched on the ledge, although I can't imagine it was good for his little brain.
He was interesting looking, not a downy though. So henceforth, I will carry my camera. It's the second time I've found an interesting bird in the vicinity of PPG Place, which really is a death tower, with all that glass, for birds. A couple years ago I found a dead cedar waxwing on the sidewalk next to the Wintergarden.

Readings: Very interesting article in the New Yorker from last week by Malcom Gladwell about the value of social networks. The link is here: The revolution will not be tweeted.

This week's picture: I love this sign design, from an actual non-chain drugstore in the Pittsburgh neighborhood of Lawrenceville.

Goodbye to mid-century modern

Some of my favorite buildings, albeit ones that I do not (or now, cannot) visit often have come down in recent years. Or altered past their original design to be unrecognizable.

In Downtown Pittsburgh in the 1980s and early 1990s, First Federal Bank, now long since absorbed into some financial institution conglomerate many times over, had a warm, contemporary wood and brass office at the corner of Penn and Stanwix. I loved going there. The space was so minimalist and the glass and a few plants added a gorgeous slight hue of green to the space. Gone.

In Cleveland, the Garden Center in University Circle, in the same time period, (and I'm guessing it was built mid-20th century too,) had a gorgeous terrazo floored lobby, with a glass curtain hanging under a brass stairwell that was wide and curving down to a lower level that had a spacious auditorium, simply adorned. At ground level, another glass curtain wall looked out onto herb, rose and other gardens, with fountains place unobtrusively. Gone.

In Columbus, the Ohio Union, built in the early 1950s with an expansive entrance from High Street with twin staircases inside the main entry (heading up and down) and lined with brass rails has been torn down in favor (after, of course, due consideration to refurbishing-remodeling, but no, not when there is a rich alum who wants his/her name on a new building) of what has become the bland design of the present, red brick with shiny silvery trimmings and lots of space inside for fast food joints (though to be fair those had invaded the old OU as well, which had a cafeteria that in my memory resembles nothing so much as the one featured in "Animal House." Gone.

Here in Pittsburgh, development interests are pushing as hard as they can to tear down the Civic (Mellon) Arena, a groundbreaking design when in was built in the early 1960s. The Pittsburgh Penguins want to develop the site, but have warned it will "take time." Sounds to me like it will be a parking lot. Soon to be gone.

We want to be "green" here, but only when the term applies to new buildings. Which isn't very green at all.

Pittsburgh says: Go away

I hate being mad

Why, you might ask, gentle reader?

I will tell you. Madness, also known as anger, as frustration, leads me down the path of idiocy. I lose control of my reason, a powerful tool, and become a shrieking, or at the very least, shrill, harpy.

Alas, I became a harpy today, in the wake of two incidents of public -- I will not say rudeness, because I do believe rudeness requires malice aforethought -- but of public unconsciousness. In other words, I encountered people so utterly out of touch with the fact of their presence in public spaces that they were utterly unable to see their way toward accommodating another human being. In the smallest of ways.

Allow a single person already exiting a door through which you and your posse are about to enter? Nonsense. The out-of-touch will have none of that and simply barrel through the door and over, through and around the solitary exiting person, who will be lucky to make it through without bruises.

And yet another door user, exiting and, before doing so, turning briefly and seeing more human traffic behind him, and despite this, exiting and then, yes, dear reader, pausing, nay, stopping in his moronic tracks, yes, I say immediately outside of the door. Pausing thoughtfully to survey his surroundings. And, being a total fucking moron, oblivious to the people traffic exiting the door behind him, who, much like the band in that apocalyptic parade scene in that finest example of satirical American cinema, "Animal House," simply followed their course, stacking up against the wall of flesh created by one human moron. Ahh. Of course the sin is upon not the moron, but those who expect the smallest of civic courtesies.

Now, to the last tormentor of my reason. It is No. 3, but by virtue of being sicced upon me by a faceless corporate entity, must and shall live in a separate category.

It begins thusly: "No trespassing!" "No loitering!" "Private property!"

A public space -- designed as such some 50 years ago when Pittsburgh truly deserved, as it most assuredly no longer does, though some lazy media outlets continue to rely on it like a crutch, the nickname of "Smoky City" -- has been turned into a No Fly zone by current ownership.

Gateway Plaza, its gorgeous, severe and yet serene Mid-Century Modern design already having been squashed, cluttered and fussified some few years ago by said current owners, has now been ruled off limits in the area of a certain restaurant patio, cutting off pedestrian access through the plaza at one of two sets of steps toward Liberty Avenue.

Perhaps the plaza has become a haven in recent years, with its shady arbors and welcoming benches, for layabouts, the unemployed, oh, the folks who enjoy reading during lunch hour or just a chance to sit in the noon sun and enjoy their lemonade. And yet, it is so odd, truly, that property managers, in the name of discouraging such behavior, block off only the access around a new restaurant, which, like its apparently less fearful predecessor, has parked tables and umbrellas on the patio in an area that is open, airy and unshaded. Exactly the sort of space that malingerers and evildoers would NOT frequent, perhaps, because, rightly, even sub-human brains would recognize that such a spot would not be the ideal place for engaging in questionable deeds.

The arbors with deep shade, however, are still available. Bad guys, come on down.

A chapter closed

Our lives have chapters. Childhood and adulthood in their many separate branches. Private lives, with their mysteries known only to us. Connected lives, which we share daily with partners, friends, spouses. Ephemeral lives, the ones we share with the clerk at the lottery counter, or the barista who makes our daily coffee. The lives we share with our animals, the lives we share with the creatures of the world.

Carl and I lost an animal, Holli, on Tuesday, the last day of August. We had shared lives since February of 2002 and felt utterly enriched by her presence. As she aged with us, she grew from a goofy blonde greyhound with a Fred Flintstone 5 o'clock shadow to a sweet, yet reserved, regal beauty. We called her the Honey Dog for her personality and the Soft Dog for her smooth coat. We mellowed, too, growing easier with age ... feeling less called upon to adventure. Perhaps a good thing, or, perhaps not.

We were enriched by her presence; but that seems pat.

I think that the people and creatures and times that define our lives do constitute chapters. Our thinking is shaped by our days and our reflections upon them. We grow with parents, siblings, children, friends, animals and all provide us with bricks of love and insight for the foundations of our time on earth.

Holli offered love, companionship, a measure of silliness, and total trust. And she asked for so little in return. I miss her selflessness, and her sweetness.

She was a lovely chapter in our lives. And I hope we were in hers.

Good-bye, Honey Love.

Fall is coming

August is a melancholy month.

Kids go back to school. Squirrels start hoarding nuts. Rains fall quietly.

When Carl and I were newlyweds, every August 22, our anniversary, was spent having an extragavant dinner at a lovely restaurant. I would always have a champagne cocktail to start the evening, in honor of the delicious one I had at the Ritz Carlton in Boston.

This year, I spent our anniversary driving home from Washington after visiting a friend. When I arrived home, Carl was out grocery shopping. I didn't have his gift ready, nor he mine. So we spent the evening on the patio under the big umbrella and the dogs joined us.

Love affairs change over time, and ours is no different. We are more comfortable and less passionate. The good thing is we are still together

Wishful thinking

Tonight I sat on the back patio, under an umbrella, and listened to a late afternoon steady rain; water tumbling into downspouts, raindrops pattering and splashing on roof tile and concrete and all surrounded by the late summer symphony of cicadas, crickets and other buzzy creatures.

Early summer is so quiet, it's a feast for the eyes, not the ears. Flowers bloom and fireflies flicker. Late summer is noisy, if less spectacular a feast to watch. I like it best, because it has such a lovely somnolence. The world of growing and buzzing things rests, enjoying the fruits of spring and early summer's labors before fall requires them to prepare for the next cycle of growth and birth.

The evening performance put me in mind of a passage in a review this week in the New York Times. One of my favorite actresses, Bernadette Peters, is appearing on Broadway in "A Little Night Music." The reviewer was enamored of her rendition of "Send in the Clowns" but not very enthusiastic about the production as a whole. Here is part of his review:

Desirée has just come to realize that the dreams of reuniting with her now-married former lover Fredrik Egerman (Alexander Hanson) were the comforting delusions of a sultry summer night. Alone with Fredrik at last, she drops the role of the worldly seductress and carefree flirt that she assumed in order to play Fredrik’s renewed infatuation against her young lover’s obsessive devotion. The heart she has kept under wraps for too long speaks forth the unhappy truth: The love they shared in their youth and brushed aside so cavalierly cannot be recaptured without painful cost in middle age. Closer than ever before, they are also infinitely farther apart.

For some reason, drowsing on the bus on the way home from work this evening, my thoughts wandered to a long-ago high school and college (very briefly, both times) boyfriend.

When I first noticed him noticing me in high school, I was thunderstruck. I could never get over that he noticed me. In college (we both went to the same school) he showed up twice at a sub shop where I waitressed, the second time deliberately I think because he came without his then-girlfriend. I ignored him and haven't seen him since, and I dreamily wondered in the back of the bus today what would have happened if we had managed to create a relationship.

I think it would not have been great, from my viewpoint, because there was too much immaturity on both sides. But he made my heart pound. And a little night music made me think of him.