New Brunswick

(Joey Kulkin photo circa September '14)

BENNINGTON -- Driving to Gotham on Saturday morning but'll be there just an hour. Maybe less, perhaps 52 minutes, or 46. Dropping Joel and Addie and Sadie at the Manhattan cruise terminal. The rest of the day is mine. Don't want to drive straight back because 8 hours on the road at a time sucks the soul out of your life.

Could drive to Piscataway to watch Rutgers play Tulane, but won't.

Instead'll drive to New Brunswick to stay in a hotel.

That's my life. The end.

What's it called when ... part 1

BENNINGTON -- I think I'll just chronicle each time it happens instead of trying to remember the incidences because usually I forget the specifics.

Two hours ago, on the llama farm, I used the word squab in a post. No, not the bird squab, but a reference to throwing down back in the day in L.A. Was a time someone would say, Wanna squab? and you better've been ready to throw down, boy. But that word ain't been used in a good long while outside of the Geto Boys song.

About 32 minutes ago, on Zuckerberg's farm, I used the term McFührer in a reply to TPM's post about a swastika drawn in butter on the top-bun of a woman's chicken sandwich.

Ten minutes ago I began to read Miss Stein's daily piece and was amused, twice, upon seeing that she too used squab and Führer; the difference being that she wrote about culinary squab while dispelling rumors that Hitler was a vegetarian.

I suppose Miss Stein and I are cosmically attuned today.

Hey, maybe it has to do with the photo I took of Sadie the newly minted 8 this morning holding an original copy of "Hitty, Her First Hundred Years" -- which I gifted Sadie for her birthday after reading how much Miss Sadie Stein loved the book.

Or, well, maybe my mind's playing tricks on me.

Jack marks the spot

This brick building at the corner of Depot and Benmont marks the spot
of a used-book store but you have to walk up to the window to notice.
Everything makes itself known at some point. (Joey Kulkin photo)

BENNINGTON -- The other shoe always drops, forevermore. Men and women cannot help it. Indeed, next time you look at a photo of lovers -- of the younger variety -- spy where the woman puts one of her hands. The non-verbal message that comes with a woman putting a hand on her man's stomach, or somewhere on his torso, resonates loud and clear with other females, like a bullhorn-amplified clarion call of the wild: Stay the fuck away from my man or I will eat your eyeballs, honey!

Men do it a little differently, especially men of letters. ESPECIALLY men of letters.

I figured out the first territorial marking not long ago.

The other shoe marking just fell. I Googled men marking territory women and clicked on a Yahoo Answers link:

One answerer answered like this:

The term applies to male animals who spray their scent on their territory/habit to make other animals of the same specie aware that the territory/habit is occupied by a male. As a lot of males in the animal kingdom do not like to share their environment with other males, by marking their territory, other males will hopefully find another location to call their home. ... In humans, people may say a man is marking his territory if he does something which makes his presence felt. People will also say it is a man does something which prevents other men in their environment from doing something else.

Another answerers answered like this:

In nature, certain animals "mark their territory" with urine, feces, or glandular secretions as a symbol to show what area they control. Humans, while not resorting to such methods, do the same thing but use body language.

While others who take a high shine to the language of letters are more casual and cool and mark their spot with a well manicured set of words.

Shaky Dave

BENNINGTON -- Just read a story about a man whom police found dead in the woods behind a cemetery up in Hartford. David Woodward, 51. First thought was that it was "Shaky Dave" but 51 would have been too young, but you never know.

Called the Hartford PD a few minutes ago to see if the man they found dead in the woods behind the cemetery was Shaky Dave.

Shaky Dave, legend has it, was one of White River Junction's best athletes and a terrific kid who fought in Vietnam then came home. One day, they say, he rode in the back of pick-up with friends and for whatever reason he fell out and banged his head on the road pretty good and it fucked him up for life. Never really spoke but communicated in terse grunts though a few words managed to string themselves together every now and then.

In the early to mid aughts I lived at the Coolidge Hotel during the run as sports editor at the Spectator and often bought a bagel and coffee next door. Shaky Dave stood in front of the shop now and again and so we'd interact here and there. He amused me. I amused him. One day I pointed my Nikon D-100 at him. He grunted no. I said, C'mon! He smiled and flipped me the bird, touching his middle finger to his nose. Above the knuckles on his fingers were tattooed letters L O V E.

Click.

Don't remember if the fingers on his right hand read H A T E.

The dispatcher returned from the sergeant's office a few moments later to inform me that the man police found was not Shaky Dave.

"But they told me to tell you that the guy you're talking about died last year."

Bummer.

On the other hand, Shaky Dave's having a great ol' time in the Great Beyond, no doubt grunting a few words together and flipping dead photographers the L O V E bird.

James Garner, one for the ages

James Garner as Jim Rockford (www.movieactors.com)

BENNINGTON -- The movie ended but I wanted to see another.

The marquee atop an adjoining theatre read THE NOTEBOOK and I thought, What the hell, why not? So I stumbled in and found a seat. It was early in the movie. It hooked me in an instant. One of the most beautiful love stories ever captured on film under the auspice of old age, memories, and Alzheimer's.

The ending scene with James Garner and Gina Rowlands going to sleep, forever, hand in hand and arm in arm, slayed me. Slayed everyone. When those blue herons flapped their wings and the screen faded to black, the theatre was pitch quiet except for the sounds of sniffling and muffled crying. My eyes were drowning in tears. I'm a sucker for that mush.

The other thing about James Garner, who has died at the age of 86, is that he starred in one of the great '70s TV shows, The Rockford Files. My dad watched it religiously, I watched it with him. It was one of our bonds.

Subtext

BENNINGTON

I can read into it
any number of ways
but what's the point?

This is what happens
when you fall for someone.

Your feelings
go unrequited
and it gnaws
on your soul.

Maybe I just want my own

"But what do I know, I've only been here 85 years." -- Abe, Ess-a-Bagel

BENNINGTON -- Addie saw me approach and a giddy smile formed and she leapt out of her chair and said "Joey's Home!" and wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. I squeezed back. Maisie repeated what Addie did, and we squeezed.

Addie rushed down the hall to get Sadie, who walked into the kitchen from her bedroom with a frown 'cause her belly ached. She smiled, but for only a second or two, and we hugged and she went back to her room.

And so it is again.

Back in Bennington after 72 hours in Gotham and thoughts and emotions are resurfacing. Been here 2 years and have given everything of myself to the cause: gallery, Joel and Nina, the girls. I'm mad about them and would die to protect them. I'm glad to be intricately weaved around Joel's and Nina's lives: Fiddlehead would cease to exist without me.

"Thanks for the accommodations," I texted Joel on the train to NYC on Sunday.

"Thanks for saving the gallery," he texted back.

And that's where we are: me as gallery manager, they as good friends and parents to 3 gorgeous heartbeats whose affairs I would preside over If ... .

Ideal situation when you think about it. A big happy family. I saw Nina first after walking through the door and she mentioned the British fellow from Dorset who bought something a day or two ago and, apparently, raved about our first encounter several months ago.

"He said, You can't let him go!" Nina told me, and that's all swell and good to hear.

But. Yeah, but.

Then Addie hugged me as if she'd been counting the minutes since Sunday.

But. Yeah, but.

Had a difficult time hopping aboard the train today. Didn't want to leave the city. An hour later, click and clack of wheels and track, we were somewhere north of Poughkeepsie on the edge of the desolate when the doubts began to take hold.

Guess it doesn't really matter right now. Guess I should go to sleep. Long day of travel. You know, one needs rest to be the very bestest art gallery manager in the whole wide world universe galaxy.

Mark Ruffalo Day

Molestation on the corners of Gotham City (Joey Kulkin photos 7/15/14)

GOTHAM CITY -- I can try to explain it or just appreciate it for whatever it is. A few hours ago on the E train uptown to 53rd I noticed one of the upcoming movie placards, and now I don't remember the name of the movie but I do remember that it is written by the guy who wrote Once, which means I'll watch his new one, and that Mark Ruffalo is one of the stars.

Stared at Ruffalo on the placard and thought, again, We do kind of look alike.

Soon as that little moment of schmaltz passed, my phone buzzed with a warning: flash flooding in Gotham for the next 3 hours. Reached 53rd and climbed and climbed. Step after step after step. Been in subway spots all over this city and never climbed so many stairwells to reach street level. Felt like a million steps if it wasn't a hundred. 

Or maybe it was just a humidity-induced hallucination. Gotham was sticky. My brain fried.

Exited thru the turnstile only to see a few dozen people standing on the steps on the final stairwell and looking up at the rain. Hard and heavy. Biblical. Didn't have an umbrella but trudged upward and onward from 53rd and 6th to 52nd between 2nd and 3rd -- a substantial walk -- in straight downpour. Liberating isn't the right word but feels like it. Cleansing maybe? My own personal Baptism. I wasn't the only one. Many others walked without umbrellas. Who's afraid of a little water? What's the worst that can happen? You get wet.

I don't know, but for someone who rarely vacations because that would feel like I'm being unfaithful to my job, total perversity, ambling 12 blocks in a deluge made this 72-hour excursion from Bennington worth the experience. Before the walking shower I spent 3 hours photographing the West Village, awash from the sweat of oppressive heat.

Get up to the room, undress and wring out my clothes, and happen upon a movie with Woody Harrelson and and Michael Caine and Jessie Eisenberg and Morgan Freeman and Mélanie Laurent (few things sexier than a French woman speaking English) and ... Mark Ruffalo. Come on now. Haven't watched a movie in a year, maybe even two, and now I'm knee-deep into one that stars a guy I was just staring at on the train? That's funny, right? A little?

Wanna know what's funnier? The movie that followed, playing as I type these words, also features Mark Ruffalo, with Julia Roberts, and it's a whole other kind of romp delving into the "gay cancer" that would become AIDS. There is zero fucking around in this flick. Intense. I'd definitely pay to see it at the Cherry Lane Theatre.

Not exactly "vacation" material but just as gripping as Ruffalo's romp through the magic eye.

Off to eat "vacation" dinner by myself, again, which is better than dining with someone who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world and gloomily stares out the window, resigned, and far from the edge of wetness.

Reap

BENNINGTON

I do a pretty good impersonation of Bennington's last barber who has cut and snipped and thinned and shaved heads and faces in the same Main Street kiosk for 45 years. His delivery is a combination of comic exasperation and heavy breathiness like he just ran around the block. He likes to put his fingers on your jugular too much for my tastes.

bike horn 'n' basket
3 owners and coats of paint
and Henry's his name

She'll be dead before she's photographed against this backdrop again.

And here's my left hand this morning, before I hit Main Street.

"You take my hand and give me your friendship
I'll take my time and send you my slow reply
Give me an inch and I'll make the best of it
Take all you want and leave all the rest to die"

Bron Bron Galore

BENNINGTON

Was climbing the Stairmaster, thinking about the girl who spins my gears something fierce, sweatin' up a storm, watching ESPN heads rap about LeBron to the Cavs on the TV on the elliptical in the row ahead of me, breathing hard, breathing hard, in nose out mouth, second wind, sweating like a beast, sweatin' up a storm, climbing and climbing, one step at a time, listening to the grinding of the gears in the guts of the stairs, which sounds like the grinding of the gears on the bottom of the cabin ascending the rails of a coaster, step up step up as the stairs roll down, the girl and LeBron, le girl and the Bron, sweat dripping and dropping, and look at that puddle, lathered in butter, two and three and four at a time, really sweatin' up a storm, second wind strong, and Bron Bron's a Cav, second time around, grinding of the gears, Colossus, Thunder Mountain, Splash Mountain, the grinding of the gears shouldn't be so loud, drip drip drop drop look at the puddle grow, shirt soaked, pepper and go and go JoJo go, higher bars faster steps, lower bars slower steps, 6 minutes, 7 minutes, 8 minutes, 9, that chain ain't gonna make it, and shame on you for this endless loop of Bron highlights, sweatin' up a storm, drips and drops and rivulets and look at the puddle below, 10 minutes, 11 minutes, and pepper and go, t-shirt's an ocean, girl's on my mind, forever on my mind, and BOOM! the stairs slam to a halt!

Flat-out freeze.

I broke Stairmaster.

So I walked to the ellipticals and climbed aboard. And watched more Bron Bron Galore.

When in Gotham ...

The Long Goodbye, 12/3/10 (Joey Kulkin photo)

BENNINGTON -- So I'm staying at the Waldorf. Should be fun.

Other activities ...

° photograph couples breaking up amid the chaos, because emotions ...

° Mexican joint on 8th (alone), because tacos ...

Corn tortilla tacos, 12/27/13 (Joey Kulkin photo)

° photograph the hailers, because silent desperation ...

8th Ave top, Jay Street above (Joey Kulkin photos)

1st and East 50th (Joey Kulkin photo)

° rails, because rails ...

° Ben's, and later Mr. Broadway, because Jew food ...

Remember when we went to the deli to talk, to each other, face to face?
(Joey Kulkin)

° watch the second-floor skulkers of the dark on 8th, because material ...

° walk around

° meander about

° amble here

° hike there

° jaunt to

° stroll fro

° circuit and

° saunter and

° stride stride stride

And Waldorf it up. Alone. Because my life.

Davion

Davion, 7/11/14 (Joey Kulkin photo)

BENNINGTON -- Wrote a thing about Davion for Facebook and thought that would be that, that we'd never see each other again. 34 minutes later we saw each other again.

Davion, or Jessie in the piece, pedaled from Clifton Park to Bennington, about 43 miles. He planned to take the bus back. Only problem is he didn't bring enough cash, 4 bucks short, and that's why he came back 34 minutes later.

He said he'd buy me something here in the gallery for 4 bucks -- if I gave him 4 bucks.

We don't have anything for 4 bucks so I just gave him the 4 bucks.

"Pass it forward," I said.

"What do you mean, give this to someone else?"

"No, pass it forward meaning that you should help someone out if they're ever in need."

"Oh, OK." <he took the four dollar bills> "What's your name again?"

Extended my hand and said "Joey."

Extended his hand and said "Davion."

Shook hands. He walked toward the sunshine.

"See ya later, Jessie."

Davion turned and smiled.

Kinda funny in a way. Before I told him about Castaneda and the Yaqui Way, which he'd never heard of, we talked about Jesus and what he might have done till the age of 29. ... I wonder what Davion Jessie did during those 34 minutes.

Shaft of Light

BENNINGTON -- Maisie the 5 sat on my lap and watched the surfage of Web. My right hand moved the mouse. Our eyes watched the screen. My left hand dangled, and my fingers played with the bottom of her left foot and vice-versa. Her toes gripped my fingers.

I: You have strong toes.

Mt5: I have talented toes too.

I: Talented Toes would be a good band name.

Mt5: Yeah.

Humanity is the Maine thing

Edward and Heidi Ho in Bennington, 7/9/14 (Joey Kulkin photo)

BENNINGTON -- The philtrum-pierced dude sat by a trash can near the front of Price Chopper with an oversized camping backpack. The bandana'd dog sat next to him, panting. I passed 'em on the way to another everything bagel with salmon cream cheese and chocolate creme donut and fresh coffee. Thought he'd be there when I walked out so I bought a box'a Iams biscuits for his walking buddy.

Only problem is they had left. I wasn't more than 6 or 7 minutes but a place like Price Chopper won't let a stinky sweaty dirty greasy grimy filthy hairy vagabond with a stud in the middle of his 'stache strip beg like a beggar for too long; Bennington went all highfalutin and passed an anti-panhandling ordinance during the spring. Anyway, the hairballs had hit the road, and I stood there with a brand new box of dog biscuits. Derp.

Drove around the shopping center, twice and then a third time, thinking I'd be able to find them but the search was fruitless. Made a right out of the center hoping to catch them on Northside Drive because there's only so far a guy with a 50-pound pack on his back and a cute little pooch by his side can traverse in 5 minutes. But as I approached Cumby's they were nowhere to be found. Did a U'ey and headed toward North B, all the way down to Cinema 7, which was absurd because there's no way in hell they'd'a made it so far.

Flipped another U'ey and headed back to the shopping center to drive around the backside of it. Maybe the dude had to drop Uncle Lou in the brush. Drove behind Walmart and found a backroad I'd never seen till now, and hey, that's where Suburban Propane's office is. No chance man and dog headed this way so I flipped another U'ey and slow-drove toward the exit of the shopping center, hoping to get lucky. No go.

I had all but resigned and thought, Looks like I have a box'a dog biscuits. Derp.

Made a right turn out of the center to head back to open the gallery. Reached Cumby's again and gave a courtesy glance. HUZZAH! I saw him through the gas pumps, sitting against the white brick wall, pooch at his side. Made a quick left into the lot and zigged through the island and pulled up to the sidewalk, rolled down the window and called him over. He poked his head thru. Told him I looked up and down the street and here's a box'a biscuits.

He smiled but looked bummed.

"I have so many dog biscuits in my pack," he said. "But thank you."

Pulled a 10-dollar bill out and handed it to him.

Happier.

Asked if I could take his photo with the pooch. Sure.

Edward and Heidi Ho. Wisconsin.

"Where in Wisconsin?"

"Sheboygan."

"I wrote a poem about Sheboygan."

"Sheboygan sucks. Don't go there."

Edward and Heidi Ho are hoofin' and hitchin', hitchin' and hoofin', Sheboygan to Maine.

"I'm a migrant farmer. Going to pick blueberries."

The plan is to make it to Rutland to take the shuttle to Bellows Falls, hitch to Bratt and walk across the river into Keene, then hoof and hitch to Manchvegas to pick up a friend, and the trio will make the final assault into Maine to pick berries in Rockland. Edward said I should come up to Machias in August for the big blueberry festival.

"It's free!"

We exchanged a few more pleasantries.

"Wish I could've given you more but you can never have enough dog biscuits."

"Thanks, bro."

I left and just about made it downtown when the guilt seeped in. I had more cash in pocket, coupla twenties. Probably should've given him one of the twenties and not the ten. Others would kick in through the day, no doubt, but what if no one else helped? Knew I'd ruminate about it all day so instead of making a right off River onto North I hooked a left and drove back to Cumby's. Edward sat against the wall eating a breakfast sandwich. Heidi Ho wished she could eat one too. Called her master over and handed him a twenty thru the window.

"Ten wasn't enough."

He smiled a smile much bigger and delivered extra pep behind "Thank You!"

Asked if a lot of people help him. Sometimes. Other times not so much.

"I eat out of the Dumpster when I need to, I don't care."

I have no money and not much else going on these days, other than my health.

Helping a hairy dude and his little bitch make it to Maine gave me a little satisfaction.

And hey, that chocolate creme donut was really fucking tasty.

Mojo

Nina with polymer clay canes
cut up into magnet slices

BENNINGTON -- They've been back less than 18 hours yet Joel and Nina hopped to it today and began teaching Fiddlehead's slate of summer art classes for kids. I'm lucky in that I get to watch Joel and Nina and the kids interact from my perch in the gallery. Endearing is about the best way to describe the sights I see and sounds I hear -- questions and answers and teaching and laughing -- for 75 minutes a pop.

Nina is the artist's artist with an MFA from Iowa, and Joel is the teacher and artist with a Master's in Educational Administration, also from Iowa. He has wanted to open a school for years and dictate curriculum. There is no stronger mind for education in America than Joel's. Education is at the heart of his soul.

For a second I forgot what I was going to write but just remembered.

There was a moment in the today's first class -- LEGO -- that stood out for ... I guess you'd call it intellectual needlepoint? Joel was talking about mythological Greeks and cited one of their gods; couldn't quite hear which god because Phish was playing behind me and the class was way up there. But I heard the teachable moment.

The boy, about 8, knows a bit about Greek mythology and said of this god "But he didn't really exist -- he was just in their minds." Joel didn't miss a beat and said "But he was still important to the Greeks" then continued working his mojo while the boy got back to his Legos. It was great to see him put his intelligence on display and great to see Joel validate said intelligence with grace and subtlety.

Indeed, this is the sauce -- no sugar, no spice -- that makes Joel a wealthy teacher, and it perfectly balances his colorful, exuberant, and playful side of engagement.

Nina took the reigns for ceramics class.

She and the kids began the process of sculpting polymer clay magnets. Nina is reserved and eons quieter than Joel but no less engaging, and every bit as colorful, and the kids hung on her every idea, while Joel chimed in to add hearty doses of comic relief.

They're a great team.

In other news, I'm headed to Gotham City on Sunday.

Gonna do the Air Lift thing at Rochdale Village, which used to be Jamaica Racetrack.

Gonna wear something similar to this while I do it.

Then I have 2 nights to putz around the city. Hope to find sugar, and spice.

Jenny, Jenny, Look at Jetes Turn 2

Derek Jeter (photo from rumorsandrants.com)

BENNINGTON -- You can't predict the deke, Suzyn.

Jeets put the serious fake on Kipnis last night to spur an inning-ending double play.

Sexy.

He's still doing it 19 years later.

WHILE WE'RE ON BASEBALL ...

Let's pay homage to another sexy moment that occurred the other day when Rays skipper Joe Maddon put his sense of humor on display by turning in a very special '80s lineup card.

Going with Tommy Tutone lineup today: 8-6-7-5-3-0-9.
— Joe Maddon (@RaysJoeMaddon) July 3, 2014

Poker on the 405

Paul Mazursky (L.A. Times photo)

BENNINGTON -- Just read that Paul Mazursky the acclaimed Hollywood director died at 84. The last few generations know him from "Down and Out in Beverly Hills" and "Moscow on the Hudson" (with a small role in "The Sopranos") while those from the '60s and '70s have fond memories of "Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice", "Blume in Love", and "An Unmarried Woman".

So this is the deal: My Grandpa Harry played poker with Paul every week for 13 years -- read the L.A. Times story here -- and when I got to a certain age, oh 14 or 15, I asked time and again if I could tag along with Condor and either watch or join. Time and again the answer was No. Harry was a well-known Vegas gambler and carouser, though deeply committed to Grandma Edna; they were married 50-plus years. My mother's father was a gambler so it's easy to see how the bug infiltrated my blood too.

I love my dad and take after him in that I've always worked like a dog -- and bleed Dodger Blue -- but my sensibilities are more closely aligned with Grandpa Harry's. I think he just got me not to mention he saw that my dad wasn't being the kind of hands-on father that I needed. Harry tried to fill in the gaps when he could.

My family had season tickets to the Lakers during the heyday of Showtime. One Sunday night I asked Harry if he wanted to go -- our first game together. Of course! I don't remember much of the conversation during another Lakers romp perhaps because of what happened afterward on the 405. I was 16 and had just gotten my license and was still finding my voice as a driver. So we're somewhere near El Segundo, edge of the barrio, and amid a decent flow of traffic Harry pulls the Cadillac El Dorado onto the shoulder and says, OK Joey, you drive the rest of the way. I just about shit my pants.

He knew this is something my dad would never do in a million years and so it was time to add a little brass to his grandson's cojones. What better way to do it than night driving on the 405 in a $30,000 machine.

I got out and he slid into the passenger's side, and I vividly remember scurrying around the back of the car as traffic whizzed past and getting in and sitting in his butt groove on the leather seat. Comfy. For a few seconds I was definitely in the mode of WTF! He probably said something to the effect of "be careful" but I was deaf at that moment, and my heart was flipping cartwheels of joy and terror because I was about to drive Harry's Caddy in the dark on the 4-0-fucking-5. Pure gonzo of the highest order. That all said, I powered the beast like any nervous 16-year-old would for the final 20 miles into Long Beach, much closer to safe than sorry, and I'm pretty sure Harry wanted it that way.

But he took a gamble on me, and with a single gesture he parented me better than my dad ever could. In that regard the chips fell very far from the dealer.

Anyway, even Paul Mazurksy would've appreciated the way Condor ante'd up on his grandson's budding manhood. You could probably write a scene about it.

(Read Mazurksy's obit here)

Cocksure

Geordy (Joey Kulkin photo)

BENNINGTON -- Wrapping up a post from last night, who can remember which one, but it's not like it matters, but anyway, Alvarez Justineau, that bedeviling little cutie pie, posted a snippet on the social wire in regard to (vîs-a-vîs?) exhaling and leaving it to history. "It" being whatever it may be. I see literary castration long after the world sucks me back into the void. I accept this. People have said to me, they've said, You're a writer, to which I'd respond, Well, no, I write -- I'm probably the second-worst writer in the history of the world. They'd smirk and ask me to name the worst writer in the world, to which I'd respond, I don't know but I'm cocky enough to know I'm better than at least one person.

Then again, I may be deluding myself on that one even.

That all being said, new subject, I'd wear the pants Geordy from Ralph Pucci wore in the gallery 2 years ago. Just stumbled upon it. He walked in and I couldn't take my eyes off that fashion statement. Gotta have big yarbles to pull of that blue. His walk was pure cock. Cocksure is the word, I believe. I dig a strong dose'a cocksure.

Well maybe we'll see on the 4th of July

BENNINGTON -- They're exploding fireworks above the Bennington sky as I type these words. Two 4th of July moments in Bennington stand out:

° 24 months ago I had just returned from Trenton, raw and worn, and watched fireworks from North Street with Joel and Sadie (she in daddy's arms), and behind them stood a man and woman, his arms wrapped around her, her body embedded within his embrace.

° 16 years earlier, I wrapped my arms around Her the same way, at Upper Willow, and we watched the pretty colors go BOOM! We'd broken up months earlier but agreed to share this moment and it was a nice moment full of tenderness. It was our last tender moment.

Better Than Ezra was all the rage then. And this song spoke about the 4th of July.

Hot Soup and Amy's Tomato Bisque

BENNINGTON -- I believe the Big Bang produced the hot soup of life as we know it.

But what was there before the Big Bang?

There had to be something there, right? Can we even conceive nothing.

Why the Bang?
How the Bang?
Who the Bang?

That's the trippiest aspect of the whole shebang.

Found this:

Once you think about that, an even more difficult question arises: What existed just before the big bang occurred? The question itself predates modern cosmology by at least 1,600 years. Fourth-century theologian St. Augustine wrestled with the nature of God before the creation of the universe. His answer? Time was part of God's creation, and there simply was no "before" that a deity could call home.

There was "no before" but there was a God? Jesus Fucking Christ, what a cop-out.

I mean, it's not going to ruin my night or anything.

Little could ruin my night after eating Amy's Tomato Bisque for dinner. You could serve it in a fancy bowl at a fancy chez and dollars to donuts says the fancy polloi goes Wow! In all seriousness, it makes you want to eat another bowl.

I suppose Amy's hot soup was part of God's creation, too.

And no, I didn't eat all 7 eggs.

Et moi et moi et moi

BENNINGTON

Israeli boys kidnapped

and killed

et moi et moi et moi.

Palestinian boy

burned to a crisp

et moi et moi et moi.

American boy

thrashed in the face

oy vey oy vey oy vey.

Murder the boys! Flay their seeds! Propagate the hate!

Here a Kill, There a kill, Everywhere a Kill Kill.

And take my vengeance, please!

Oh, Moshiach, farm's aflame, E-I-E-I-Oh yeah, I just sold a trivet!

"Struck by his behavior"

BENNINGTON -- I'd be lying if I said Kelly didn't spur a certain you know what.

She's half-Argentinian and beautiful and bubbly and she reminded me of a Mexican-American girl I loved many years ago and for whom I'd reverse history. But this ain't about that.

It's about Kelly and Lincoln of Gotham City. For 10 or 15 minutes today, we enjoyed a moment in the gallery. Maybe even my favorite moment. It all clicked. It all clicked because, well, it just all clicked. The "23 Oreos" and "mashed potatoes to serve Patton's Army" and using a Sharpie to alter the serving size so that eating 23 Oreos at once is natural, not a burden. Conversational chemistry is what we shared, and it just clicked.

I extracted the story of how they met and why it worked and continues to work.

The astrophysicist and the professor of political science met, by chance, at a social function, she walked in, he comically but seriously slow-turned his head when she passed him, and she heard about it, and she was "struck by his behavior", and later she told her girlfriend "I met this guy who's so not my type but there's something about him."

Funny how we'll ignore someone till we can no longer ignore them.

"He's intelligent, interesting, has a sense of humor, and he makes me laugh."

More than a grain of salt

BENNINGTON -- Lucinda was having a rough go of it this morning.

Then she met me, and after the whole engagement thing she said:

"You put a smile on my face this morning, and that's hard to do."

Wasn't necessarily my aim or goal or focus or inspiration or priority -- how many more of these words can I list? -- but I'll take the compliment anyway.

If you want to read about the whole engagement thing, go to the Facebook.

... a big, bouncy C!

BENNINGTON -- I've written lyrics to several No. 1 songs.

Well, they'll be No. 1 songs once I find musicians to record them.

Awoke to the succulence of a perfect morning. Gobsmackingly perfect morning. Made a U'ey to drive for coffee and opened the windows and rolled down the street and thought of this:

you are
blue sky
and breeze
and beauty
as far as
the eyes
can see

Chintzy, sure, but I like it.

It'll make its way into a song, be it top of the charts of ne'er to be recorded.

These are the votive candle holders I mentioned yesterday. They are very cool.