Posts Tagged ‘indian summer’

OPNY-15, Day 2

Yesterday dragged myself home, exhausted. Memory card filled, battery died – had to buy a pack on the run between two sites. Saw lots of beautiful, amazing things –  promise to load pics later. Didn’t di my weekend chores, house is covered with dust, started laundry at 11pm, went to bed at 1am: happy as a bird. Now came back from Pilates, emptied camera’s memory and leaving again for Day 2.

Stay tuned!

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Having read two of JDC stylized “costume mysteries” (one squeezed in Victorian corset, another – eased in Empire high-waist gown), I had no idea his roaring 20’s adventure on high seas will be so hilarious.

Haven’t had that much pure fun since first encountered P.G. Wodehouse. SRSLY!

All in all, today’s a wonderful day. [long-winded passage redacted, as I’m feeling too sleepy and lazy to proofread]


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On Saturday I went to Brooklyn’s Prospect Park, to see new much acclaimed skating rink and public “Center” at the Lakeside.
It was a perfect Fall weather and the park looked majestic. Polychrome foliage, carefully maintained difference in height between layers (very old tall trees and low lawns and shrubs; almost no middle height plants), deliberate, strategically placed follies, benches, statues and promenades – everything is so very grand and classical.
The Park has characteristic Olmsted& Vaux signature – the lawns, artificial lakes, hills and several “drives”, filled with joggers and bikers.
And then I came to my destination

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OHNY Guide

The program for 11th OHNY is available as of this morning on the site. Hurry up and register at the venues where they require advance reservations. Now you can plan ahead.

I have been assigned, again, to Standard Hotel above the Highline, for 4hrs on Saturday*. Come over, enjoy great design and take pictures!

Correction: I’ll be happy to show you Al. Hamilton Custom House (=Museum of American Indian) in downtown on Sunday, Oct 13 from 1:30 to 4:30. That is, if by that time Dems will stop to show off    their blackmailing scheme of government shutdown.

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Saturday post brought me a local townhall paper, Brooklyn!! where new york city begins,  with a main-page news of an upcoming Brooklyn Book Festival September 16-22. Glancing through events and names of various writers I realize that I am a complete and utter illiterate savage: I heard just a handful of names and actually read only one – P. Hamill. Among those the paper calls celebrities is a guy called Jonathan Ames; the name ringed a bell and I now know why. That was a delightful speech, seemingly uncontrolled but, I suspect, in reality as strategically  and craftily constructed as an inauguration oration.

Ah, what a charmer (and he plays it). Maybe I will go listen to him read his stories at St. Ann’s :

ST. ANN & THE HOLY TRINITY CHURCH (157 Montague Street), Sept.22

2:00 P.M. Writers Who Read: These stories come alive on paper, but nothing’s better than hearing Jonathan Ames (Wake Up, Sir!), Sapphire (The Kid) and Tao Lin (Taipei) read their vivid prose aloud. Colorful, memorable characters riddled with tragedy and emotional issues truly come to life when embodied by their brilliant, charismatic creators.

Reading the events schedule, besides all the mysterious participants (whom, evidently, every culturally-aware reader should know …sigh) – which of the topics you find interesting? Which panels would you attend?

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Second coming

Ladies, let the Indian summer begin
magnolia bud

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  1. Запах собственной кожи на внутреннем сгибе локтя, куда утыкаешь нос на пляже, лёжа на цветастом полотенце под ярким солнцем . Пахнет морской водой, свежим лёгким потом, ветром, беспечностью – и крошечные песчинки лезут в ноздри с дыханием. Ни разу не пришлось этим летом.
  2. Чувство надоевшей, но всё же родной собственности к книгам в шкафу – как к дальнему провинциальному семейству, которого немного стыдишься, да куда ж его деть – своё, неделимая часть. Сегодня вдруг оказалось, что пропала эта неделимость: ну, книжки, ну пыльно-голубой Лермонтов, ну бордовый Пушкин, ну холщовый Бабель – добрые знакомые, раскланяюсь при встрече (открыв почему-то дверцы шкафа), а кровная связь-зависимость куда-то делась. Отлучилась или совсем ушла? А кто её знает, поглядим, спешить некуда
  3. Первостепенность, главнозначимость надежды. Не буду говорить, на что или кого. Надежда не исчезла совсем (я всё же живая и вполне весёлая), но как-то удалилось из-под прожекторного луча. Если и примадонна, то за сценой.

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