Archive for the ‘collisions’ Category

Oranges at Borough Market

Friday, March 1st, 2013

K²day: I Walked Through Bedford-Stuy Alone

Friday, March 1st, 2013

I Love Hawkeye

13h32-14h34, 01-March-2013

As I start in today the free wi-fi at neighborhood café Le Carrefour is down. After the mild railing I gave myself yesterday for my susceptibility to Internet distraction, though, this could be more a good thing than a bad thing…provided what ends up on this page over the next 60 minutes or so is of any use whatsoever.

On Tuesday, issue #8 of “Hawkeye” hit comic shops (and the Internet…DLing comics is as easy these days as DLing television programs), and as has been the case since an old friend turned my eyes to the book some months back, it broke straight through the clutter and delighted me no end. A super hero who lives and interacts among non-Avenger types in an apartment building is nothing new — since the 60s, only “old money” such as Batman and Iron Man have had the dosh to crib out in stately manors — but Hawkeye is certainly the first who slumlords and acts as Super for said building as well. And though this guy may stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the likes of Captain America and Thor when the fate and future of the universe is in the balance, the adventures chronicled monthly in “Hawkeye” capture our hero when he is “off the clock”. Oh, and did I mention mention that Clint Barton…uh, Hawkeye’s dual identity is known to all? Such a premise alone would certainly promise the comic a spot on the top tier from the get-go, however it is the brilliant delivery by the dynamic duo (sorry) of writer Matt Fraction and artist David Aja that delivers on that promise. If you are not yet among those of us lucky enough to already be digging on “Hawkeye”, last month’s Issue #7 is the perfect hopping-on point from which to go backward then forward.

What? You don’t read comic books? Really? Wow, if that IS you, then take a moment to feel both proud and fortunate that you have made it this deep into the third millenium with anything resembling a relevant personal culture.

A long time ago, in a galaxy yadda yadda etc., a friend of mine dissed me but good, saying “Kory, don’t sweat it…someday you’ll find the one girl out there who is into comic books.” Now this friend truly had no idea that I still kept a bit of a toe in all-things-comics, though as zingers go it struck a hard and perfect bullseye at my geeky heart, and its perfect delivery made it worth more than a laugh-and-a-half…deep good-natured yukking all around. Little could either of us have known just how prescient that insult would turn out to be, however, as the mid-point of this newly-unwrapped month will mark 13 years since I was saved by My Missus, a girl who is not only into comic books (though super heroes are far from her cuppa) but who actually put in a good amount of time working in France’s quite-healthy comic book industry…and have I mentioned that her collection is epic?

Basket of Lemons at Quo Vadis

Friday, March 1st, 2013

K²day: Digital Disposability

Thursday, February 28th, 2013

Photo Jun 12, 21 18 57

13h38-14h35, 28-February-2013

The window for a personal word or two is a bit tight today, so let’s see how I do at minimizing distraction and matching my typing to my thinking (write now, edit later).

I have a tendency to name inanimate objects. My first car was Erin, my bicycle is Stella, my computer is AppleKory (Apple MacBook => Apple core => AppleKory), my first cellphone was Louis, Ouizi is my mobylette, my chef’s knife is Larmurlok…and, really, I could go on and on. I have no idea if there is a name for what is obviously a psychosis of some sort, but if not I am certainly qualified and able to put one to it.

Inhabiting the same Black Market Café I mentioned in Tuesday’s piece, I once again find myself bronzed in the afterglow of a too-quickly-finished Cortado. A few more visits will be necessary before I can hang the moniker haunt or hangout on the place, however early signs are good as the Cortados are meticulously prepared and presented and the owner/baristra’s musical tastes work quite nicely for me (on Tuesday Herbie Hancock’s “Maiden Voyage” helped me settle into my seat, and today he is playing wall-to-wall jazz manouche selections).

If only I could follow my “write now, edit later” directive. Getting away from my desk to blurb daily is proving to be a terrific idea, but doing so has done nothing to stanch my talent for multi-tasking (or, more honestly, “to improve my ever-diminishing ability to focus on one thing at a time”). Perhaps I should employ one of those funky new applications designed to minimize distraction from writing, or — better yet — opt NOT to hop on the free wi-fi offered in an increasing number of neighborhood venues….must move…forward.

My Missus and I recently started watching a new television program called “The Ameri☭ans”, which airs in the U.S. on the FX cable network. At some point if the show continues to prove interesting I may share some thoughts on it, but I bring it up here only as a means for opening a discussion of how strangely easy it is now to find fresh freely-downloadable broadcast content via the Internet. It has been more than 10 years since my bottom jaw crash-landed on my keyboard at the sight of an episode of “Friends” playing on my computer screen (downloaded using a then-magical peer-to-peer file sharing software called KaZaA, which is the direct digital ancestor of Skype), and yet I remain astounded that within minutes after a program is first broadcast it can be pulled down over the Internet in pristine high definition a/v quality. And I refer not to the use of such authorized for-profit services as iTunes or Amazon Instant Video, but to free-use technologies like Bittorrent and the ever-growing number of file sharing and uploading sites (e.g., RapidShare, MediaFire, Hotfile, 4Shared, depositfiles, etc.). When TNT shows an all-new episode of “Dallas” — an oh-so-guilty pleasure — on Monday evening in the U.S., I can cue up a perfect .avi file of the episode for a with-my-breakfast viewing on Tuesday courtesy of eztv.it, Transmission (Bittorrent application I run on AppleKory), and VLC Media Player. And this is true these days for virtually every program emitted on U.S. and U.K. television, be it scripted sit-coms or dramas, documentaries, so-called “reality” TV, or live broadcasts such as news programs, award shows, and even certain sporting events. Of course, all of this begs the question, “Who is recording all of this content and making it available (and so quickly, too)?” After all, there is absolutely no money to be made in creating the digital files and sharing them via the Internet, and we are long-past the time when making the effort to upload…well, anything, can be attributed to fulfilling the hacker’s credo of doing it simply to show it can be done. Do the uploaders do it out of the pure goodness of their hearts, hoping that the tiny signature character strings they tack onto the end of the files they offer will result in the gratitude, respect, and admiration of the legions of downloaders who draw entertainment from the fruit of their labor?

So the 5th episode of “The Ameri☭ans” aired last in the U.S.. I downloaded it this morning in about 9 minutes time, and tonight My Missus and I will watch it from the comfort of our Paris home at 57BB, after which I am sure to toss it out with the rest of the digital trash.

K²day: Zinc Bars and Cellphones

Wednesday, February 27th, 2013

Photo Feb 27, 17 04 31

15h47-17h00, 27-February-2013

Less than five minutes at my perch du jour and already I’ve been abandoned by the espresso that was meant to accompany me today, the only evidence of which I cannot even lick off the inside of the cup. <sigh>

A myth it is, the supposed superiority of the espresso offered in the cafés of France. Typically, the lauded beverage so often held up as a paragon of culture, sophistication, and refinement compared to “American” is no richer/darker/stronger/more flavorful/truer. The fact is that despite the relatively small size of a café (the beverage and not the place at which you might order and drink said beverage…yes, that CAN get confusing), honest imbibers are often able to make out the bottom of their cup through the brown-but-not-so-brown liquid. And it isn’t because the sugar in France is especially strong that a half-teaspoon of the stuff applied tends to go a long-enough way. Now this isn’t to say that all of the café coffee (un café au café?) to be had in France is bad — Au contraire! — but it is long past time for the popping of the bubble of primacy afforded to “un café” over its English-speaking brethren.

There. I wrote it, I take responsibility for it, and once I publish it the French Café Police will be able to hold those pixels against me as they see fit.

A man wearing a nondescript baseball cap just wrested all attention by pounding his cellphone on the bar twice with great force. One has to assume that the thing was already broken, but if not it certainly is now.

Wednesdays are more a “valley day” than a “hump day” in France due to the school system, in which kids at the maternelle and primaire levels do not have classes while those at the higher levels only have classes in the morning. Thus, depending on their age and interests (and the needs and capabilities of their parents), on Wednesdays kids across the country participate in a whole slew of daycare arrangements, sports programs, music lessons, art classes, theatre groups, game clubs, and the like. And the competition to get into these programs can be downright savage, and I am not ashamed to admit that over the years — my being the at-home parent — I have had to throw the occasional hip-check to get The Boy on the list for Swimming, for Tennis, for Sculpture (yes, Sculpture…see the accompanying photo of today’s masterpiece)… Of course, it is all in the name of liberté, égalité, fraternité…and betterment-of-the-organism, so “No blood, no foul”, right?

K²day: Pondering Lunch

Tuesday, February 26th, 2013

Cortado Once Was

12h40-13h47, 26-February-2013

Soaking up some scene at Black Market Café, a new 18th arrondissement coffee house up the hill from 57BB, noting three mysterious men through the window street-side, dressed all in white and moving left to right, and hoping the Cortado I just ordered is worth the 3.40€ I will eventually pay for it…

Most weekday mornings begin slooow. Shortly after The Boy made his debut some 11 years back I resolved to make it out of the bed every morning in time to walk My Missus to the Metro and my kiddo to his nounou (and later, to school) before returning home to start my day. This now long-held resolution is the proverbial two-birds-one-stone as it provides short-but-precious morning time with my family while also ensuring that my tendency to fall into bed late — most nights my head hits the pillow between the 2nd and 3rd wee hours — doesn’t result in my getting out of it late as well. An efficient system, to be sure, even if it does make for a bit of a “No Kory’s Land” that barring a work guillotine (read: deadline) lifts between 11h00 and noon…just in time to start thinking about lunch.

Lunch. All who have worked alongside me over the years will no doubt attest that the mid-day meal is a (worthy, yes, worthy) near-obsession with me, and this remains true despite the fact that these days I take most of my lunches solo. Yes, it is about the food (it is ALWAYS about the food, isn’t it?), but it is also about the deep need for a definitive break in the day, a separation, a chance to take a breath and lessen the pulse of backbreaking toil, and…oh, who am I kidding, it’s about the food.

As often as not it goes like this… <cue dreamy music at low volume, soften focus and add more white light, and cut to Kory staring past the monitor on a non-descript spot on the wall>

“Lunch. Am I hungry? Gotta eat. Asian? Could go for something with some crunch. Maybe something light today? It’s cold. A steak-frites might go over nicely. Haven’t had pizza for a while. Shame I have to get on the Metro to get decent sushi. Man, if only there was an authentic taqueria nearby. How long would it take me to get back-and-forth from _______? Thai food, now that could be really great. Stop thinking about sushi, Kory. Could I ever go for that great burger they make over at that place near the circle down the block next to that other place! Maybe such-n-such brasserie has confit de canard or bœuf bourguignon on the menu… I’m meeting My Missus for lunch tomorrow, so I should eat cheap today…wonder if there is something in the fridge that needs to be eaten. A grilled cheese sandwich, a bowl of tomato soup, and an icy-cold Coke…comfort food doesn’t get more comfortable than THAT!…sushi?”

<stop music, sharpen focus on Kory coming out of his Lunch Pondering Trance and reaching for his shoes, with no clue where his feet will take him once they hit the street>

That Cortado? DEFINITELY worth the 3.40€.

K²day: And Here We..Go.

Monday, February 25th, 2013

IMG_0295.JPG

11h08-12h08, 25-February-2013

With the hopes of overcoming self-consciousness I begin from a place long in warmth, comfort, and hot chocolate (and short in wi-fi)…

In the first term of my freshman year at Yeshiva University a professor of mine whose name is lost in my memory tasked her Creative Writing class with the semester-long project of writing one page a day. She used the word ‘journal’ to describe the project, though there was no requirement to chronicle life events or deep personal thoughts. This professor simply wanted us to find the discipline to set time aside each day to write…about anything.

I can report that each of the students in that 1983 class successfully completed the project, to varying degrees and via a myriad of motivations and methods (which in at least three cases proved to be somewhat costly, at least when measured up against my $300/month budget). I can also report without a shred of self-congratulation or ego-tripping that my journal received the prof’s highest possible praise, though she affixed no grade to my stellar work at the end of the semester (or that of any of my classmates), merely the admonition that the reward was in the thing itself and that I should endeavor to continue the “exercise”.

Can I say that I was not the least bit disappointed at the lack of a hard-and-fast grade for that long-ago assignment? No, because I set a rule then that I plan to also adhere to now as I pick the effort back up nearly 30 years later: Write only the truth. (“What?! No ‘A+’? But I worked my young sweet hard thin shapely 18-year-old patootie off on that thing! Is she kidding?! <insert expletive>!) Now by no means does this rule require that I be completely forthcoming, nor does it absolve me of the occasional licensed omission (artistic or otherwise), however anyone bothering to visit this space going forward can rest assured that what they read will be free of fictionalization, exaggeration, and good ol’ fashioned fibbing (at least within Clintonian guidelines)…unless, of course, it is characterized otherwise.

So to borrow unabashedly from one of the greats (unless or until I come up with a clever closing line of my own that ranks)…”That’s the news, and I am out of here!”

The shave – before and after

Friday, February 22nd, 2013

Snooker Balls

Friday, February 22nd, 2013

The god of bowling is called Dave

Thursday, February 21st, 2013

There is nothing else to say on this subject. Dave looks down from his place above ten pin bowling alleys everywhere and decides on the outcome of an individual ball.

There are times when you think a ball is a sure fire strike but Dave thinks differently and leaves the two end pins upright. It is impossible to then knock over both pins with the second ball unless your name is Fred Flintstone.

If Dave doesn’t like you your balls are destined for the gutter that runs alongside the very slippery main bit that you’re meant to roll them down.

It is possible to partly defy Dave by using the rails that stop the ball from going off the main slippery bit. However this does come at a price as people that use the rails are considered to be real woosses unless they are under the age of five.

Dave is never very impressed if you score less than a hundred although quite frankly who cares. Anyone who is good at ten pin bowling has to be in need of a life and probably has all the gear including a special bag for their own bowling ball and a tailored bowling shirt.

Dave can shove off.

The rules of Shuttleswap.

Thursday, February 21st, 2013

The basic game shall consist of two players sat side by side. Each player shall have a badminton racket and one shuttlecock between them.

The rackets are held out in front of the players with a flat surface facing upwards. One player has the shuttlecock on his racket with the rubbery bit that you hit facing upwards. That player attempts to flick the shuttlecock onto the racket of his opponent.

Should the shuttlecock bounce on the neighbouring racket but not stay on then a single point is earned. A shuttlecock that stays on the opponents racket earns five points.

The game is played for a predetermined time agreed between the players with the winner being the person with most points at the end of that time.

There are no other rules though these may appear as the game evolves and matures.

The mind wonders

Saturday, February 16th, 2013

Don’t put your hand in the fire Mrs Worthington, don’t put your hand in the fire.

Fuel we have a plenty and the room is warm.

The logs crackle and appear to spring to life for no particular reason.

All is quiet – no sound pervades from the room of TV.

The settees lie empty around the fireplace – they crave occupation.

Two small lights straddle the mantelpiece.

It is still early.

The mind wonders.

Outside the occasional car passes by but not enough to distract or interfere.

Curtains prevent heat escaping through the front window and to the conservatory.

A log falls off the fire and is retrieved – no harm is done.

Somnambulence takes over.

I look around for more.

The frosted trees of Welwyn

Saturday, February 16th, 2013

The rich folk of the gardens of Welwyn

Think much of their festive frost

And the trees in the parks that surround them

Are painted white and to hell with the  cost

“Big June is Awesome”

Saturday, February 16th, 2013

I don’t know big June but she is awesome, I’m told. The imagination runs wild.

Who is this woman?
Was she born in June?
Why is she “big”?
Is she fat?
Does she have a big heart?
Is she tall?
Is it that her stature in the community has earned her the name?
She must be a helluva woman!

Presumably June is a woman and not just a reference to June as a large month which I don’t think is true?

I’ve had this piece in my philosopherontap folder for years and not done anything with it. It is time Big June was aired. June where are you? What are you doing on this Saturday night in February?

“Big June is Awesome” was the Facebook status of someone I knew at university. It was some years ago. I know no more.

Big June we love ya 🙂

Lincoln A to Z S seven, legendary plot

Sunday, February 10th, 2013

Did Roman legions march up Bunkers Hill, battling their way through traffic to Skegness? As they left the safety and confines of their city was it understood they were passing a special place? Maybe.

Did St Hugh tending his stone-carrying flock of Cathedral builders stand atop the quarry spreading his spirituality wide. He might.

This place is special. You feel it as you walk the grid. The names stand out.  Stukeley Cl, Ross Cl, Alexander Wlk, Warren Ct, Exley Sq. Take them in, roll them off the tongue, digest.

No heart of empire can compare. Howe Ct, Novona Ho, Olsen Ri, Olsen Ct, Stark Wy. Badges of history, worn with fierce communal pride.

Onwards to Putnam Wy, Pitcairn Av, Palatine Ho, Padley Rd, Pigot Wy; the five pioneering ps personified, lack nothing, dream of adventure.

Reed Dr, Venables Way, Marrat Cl, Carlton Sq. Memory sticking, ship launching handles of twenty one gun salutes and squadron leaders’ flypasts.

Then the great names: Outer Circle Road, Wolsey Way, Carlton Blvd and, of course, again, Bunkers Hill.  Great corpuscular arteries, commercial lifeblood, food and drink.

And finally, the Carlton Centre. Grand central market, bread basket, meeting place, holiday booking point.

Go there. Spend time. See life happen. Be.

You have been reading S seven, legendary plot sponsored by:

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