One of my favorite parts of blackpool.
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Cooked breakfast, especially the fried toasty thingys!
Pictures of My Frolic in the Caribbean are Up!
Hi everyone — so sorry it took me so long to post! I finally have my little photo album of my trip up here. Click on the thumbnail for a full picture and caption.
Here are a few of my favorites:
coast of San Juan, Puerto Rico.
the Bacardi mascot! And the only picture with me in it — my reflection, looking a little cross-eyed trying to get the perfect shot, is in the back mirror…
Puerto Rican folk dancing show in the San Cristobal Fortress in central Old San Juan.
long, dark, kinda-scary-if-you’re-alone tunnel leading to the Fortress’s courtyard.
colorful buildings of old San Juan, on a busy street at night-time.
pastel-colored, yacht-ridden Tortola, capital of the British Virgin Islands.
“Treasure Island” in the back through the haze, off the coast of Tortola.
beautiful clean water!
climbing the long, tortuous, dirt roads of the immensely mountainous island. Houses are sparsely located; each owner seems to have their own latitude (or is it longitude?) of mountainside…
about half-way up to the top. How large does our ship look down there?!
mural of Tortolan folk dance known as Bamboshay, which our tour guide described as a cross between Dominican merengue and Cuban / Puerto Rican Salsa.
Samana, a very rural, agricultural area on the northeastern coast of the Dominican Republic. In sharp contrast to the very middle-class Tortola, Samana is very poor.
children would see our open-air tour bus approach and would run outside hands opened begging for American money. This little boy started to cry after our tour guide told him to get lost. After that, people felt sorry for the little ones, so they’d give them dollar bills, which really opened up the flood gates of every house along every street…
They’re building a dam so hopefully by this time next year they will have running water. Right now people — mostly women and children from what I saw — had to walk to a well or a local proprietor with imported bottled water for sale and carry large bottles back to their houses. Most people didn’t own cars. Some had a mule or horse, and a lucky few had scooters, but most just walked everywhere.
a man on his chicken farm. People here were so unused to tourists, everyone was so nice. They’d all come out of their houses, wave at us, or come up and talk to us — or our tour guide anyway, who would translate their Spanish into English.
man washing his hands in the ocean.
artwork for sale on the beach.
hehehe, I was one of the two Americans brave enough to eat the local food. At a beach restaurant (basically two picnic tables set up outside of woman’s kitchen) I tried to order rice and beans, but the restaurant owner / cook couldn’t understand my Spanglish. A man ordered fish, so I asked her if she had “pollo / chicken?” Her face brightened into a big smile and she screamed “yes, yes!” It was definitely her specialty — the best barbecued chicken I’ve ever had!
The other Americans, though they wouldn’t order food, had no problem ordering drinks. They all ordered pina coladas, but I took the tour guide’s suggestion and ordered a local “coco loco” which I discovered was simple coconut juice and rum. The woman who owned the restaurant came out to our table bearing what appeared to be a machete. I jumped in my seat, almost threw my wallet at her and ran off. Everyone must have had the same facial expression as me, since she looked at us all like we were nuts. She soon returned with some pinapples and a coconut for me, hacked off the tops of the fruit, plopped some straws into each and set them before us, along with a big ole bottle of rum. We all looked at each other quizzically. We were supposed to decide how much rum to put in our own drinks! I’m not a bartender! I had to ask her to do mine for me. She really thought we were a crazy group. That was an excellent meal though…
One woman felt sorry for the dog sitting at my feet and ordered a chicken plate just to give to him. Of course after she was all done feeding the cute little guy, her hands were covered with barbecue sauce and grease (I ate mine with fork and knife). She then asked for a faucet. There’s no running water on the island, hence no such thing (we had to flush toilets with buckets of water — I never got the hang of it to be honest and just resigned not to have to go to the bathroom the whole time I was there). When the restaurant owner simply frowned, the American woman of course began to hystericize — “what do I do, what do I do, my hands, my hands!” The poor restaurant owner had to bring out a jug of very coveted water and pour it over the tourist woman’s hands. Then everyone else wanted some. I was so embarrassed!
some more houses amidst the beautiful, lush greenery.
now taking a private scooter ride into the town to shop. The tourist shops were overpriced, but I felt like it was such a poor country that so needed tourist dollars, I bought a couple of things — a cute little monkey made out of a coconut and a little hand painting.
Anyway, I have many more pics, here!
Onboard martini tasting.
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At martini tasting. Host asked drink trivia questions. I was only one who knew brazil’s most popular drink! Had to convince people am brazilophile & not lush!
70 degrees outside at omonia
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Such a nice day, after trial i came to astoria queens to shop & snack @ omonia cafe, an old favorite when i lived here.
Enjoying well-needed glass of wine
Enjoying well-needed glass of wine
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At Algonquin, between headache-inducing trial testimony from ‘suv guy’ & ny bar discussion on race & crim justice.
Update: So, that lecture on Race and Criminal Justice was really interesting, albeit short. It was given by the president of John Jay College of Criminal Justice. I’ll write more about it this weekend.
Fabio Coicou, the SUV guy whose testimony we’ve all been waiting for, was on today in the Sean Bell Shooting trial, and, as I said, it gave me a big headache. It was really confusing; it didn’t make complete sense to me, and he contradicted himself a lot — both within his testimony today, and between today’s testimony and his earlier Grand Jury testimony and statements he made to the investigating DAs shortly after the shooting.
I have to go to sleep because I’ve been working like nuts and have seriously got a total of about four hours of sleep since Sunday night, but in a nutshell Coicou really tried to downplay that there was any real confrontation between him and Sean Bell’s group outside the nightclub at all. Said he was waiting for his girlfriend, a dancer at the club, to come out, when Sean Bell went into the club. As he passed by, Coicou told him he had “bread in there,” (ie: money — his girlfriend — in the club) and that “alcohol was taking control of the situation.” When Bell emerged from the club, he approached Coicou, standing “chest to chest” with him, and told Coicou that he “was not letting alcohol take control.”
Bell and his friends then asked Coicou where he was from, Coicou said “Atlanta” but lived in Far Rockaway now. Guzman said he lived in a section of Far Rockaway as well and Coicou told him he may see him around and if he did, this SUV was his car. He backed toward the SUV and had his hands in his pockets but wasn’t scared. Bell and his friends left and Coicou decided he would drive around the block, then return to the club and wait for his girlfriend, which he did. He said he didn’t drive around the block because he was nervous or suspected the men were going to return and harm him, and claimed he never saw men peeking around the corner after the Bell group left. After a defense attorney read to him his Grand Jury testimony, Coicou admitted he did see men peeking around the corner but he wasn’t nervous and didn’t suspect anything. Later in cross examination he said he thought the men leaving might be a “diversion” so he drove around the corner.
After driving around the corner, he returned to the club and waited for his girlfriend. He never heard shots and wasn’t told about them until his girlfriend emerged from Kalua. He maintained he never heard anyone say “go get my gat” (gat being slang for gun), but according to the DA’s notes from Coicou’s meeting with them, he told them he heard those exact words before the men left. The DA stipulated that the notes were accurate.
Coicou’s personality was curious to me. On one hand, he kept fighting with the defense attorneys, saying things like “I’m not on trial here,” when counsel would ask him about his prior crimes or “I’m just trying to be like you,” in response to the question “Mr. Coicou, do you know what ‘diversion’ means or are you using words you don’t know?” On the other hand, he walked with his head down, shoulders hunched over, and seemed nervous. Throughout the testimony, there were a lot of harrumphs and snickers on the defense side of the courtroom, in contrast to comments like, “That’s right, you’re not on trial!” and knowing laughter from the prosecution side. I think the two sides had vastly different interpretations of the value of his testimony.
Anyway, I’ve gone on for far too long. I think both Coicou’s testimony and courtroom reactions to it were very interesting and I’ll write more about it this weekend. After … sleep!
Magnolia line around the corner!
Magnolia Bakery line around the corner! Hopefully it’s just because it’s opening day and it won’t always be like this. I talked a bit to the owner and he seems really nice. He apologized to me about a million times because they kept forgetting my coffee 🙂 Right now it’s just a take-out place (you actually grab a cardboard box from a shelf on your way in and pick out your own cupcake(s) from the various trays leading down the line to the cash register — whole thing resembles a high school cafeteria; not sure if the one in the Village is like this too because I never went into it). So, no tables for sitting down and chatting. He told me though that they’re in the process of renovating an adjacent room with plenty of such tables, although that room may sometimes be rented out for private parties. Anyway, Ariel and I had chocolate cupcakes. She liked hers (in fact, here is a picture of it); I found mine a slight bit bland, but that may be how some people like their dessert — without too much sugar. I’m a sweet-aholic so, for me, the more sugar, the better, especially when I’m being horrible and am basically eating a mini chocolate cake for breakfast anyway… Their coffee was absolutely delicious though. Well worth waiting for!
I then spent the entire day running back and forth (again) between New York City Ballet and a ballroom event — this one, the Manhattan Amateur Classic. Most excellent dance weekend — will post about both tomorrow!
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T-Mobile
Beware of Having Oral Sex With More Than Six People!
Ugh. Last night I had another reading at the Cornelia Street Cafe, as part of the Writers Room member reading series. (above photo is from a reading there last year; I felt like such crap last night I wouldn’t let any friends — including Ariel, who wrote about the evening here — take pictures). I almost didn’t give the reading because I was feeling depressed and sick (the two probably contributed to each other; having grown up in warm sunny Phoenix, I am just fundamentally not a cold-weather person and it seems like I often spend an entire winter down with something off and on). Anyway, another person had to back out last minute so I decided to be an adult and refrain from flaking out on something I’d committed to. Plus, Stan Richardson, playwright and curator of the series, is such an amazing person. He made me feel so much better and talked me out of my insecurities with his spectacular sense of humor. He really is a great person; thanks Stan 🙂
For the above reasons, it didn’t go as well as the first…. although I feel like that’s how life often is. Of all of my many court arguments over the years, my very first went by far the best — the presiding judge actually telling me it was well-crafted and well-articulated. Also, with my first reading, I just gave a brief intro to my novel then began reading; here, I was reading from another section further in, so I felt like I stood up there talking about what the manuscript was about and what came before the excerpt more than actually reading it. Anyway, it was brief and I survived.
The guy on after me though was really good. His name is Steve Reynolds, and he read from his memoir, portions of which will be published in Reader’s Digest, on surviving oral cancer. Oh — the theme of the night was “Doctors,” so all of ours dealt with medical conditions. Mine was about my main character’s having to go for a gruelling Barium Swallow exam after sensing a ball the size of a fist in her throat, and the playwright who followed us, Susan Haar’s consisted of two really good monologues from her newest play about a character who is sexually assaulted while in a coma. So, definitely an uplifting night in Cornelia Street Cafe!… Anyway, Reynolds is a great writer, who has attained enough ironic distance from his condition to write about it with both laugh-out-loud humor and sobering poignancy. He’s really able to make you feel what he’s feeling as he goes through the various stages.
At points, his excerpt even created a bit of commotion. A non-smoker, he was obviously befuddled at his diagnosis. He’s further dumbounded to learn (as are we!), that it’s actually caused by the human papilloma virus (HPV, the same one that causes cervical cancer in women), and whose chances you have of contacting rise the more sexual partners you have. According to stats, he tells us, once you have more than six partners, your chances of getting — either oral HPV or cancer; I’ve forgotten now because I was so blown away by the number — increase 420 percent with every new partner. This is over the course of a lifetime. Afterward, when Stan re-took the mike, he repeated, “420 percent??” “Yep,” Steve responded. Murmurs abounded and everyone’s face seemed to bear a rather horrified look of concentration. “I mean, if you’re a single woman in her 30s there’s no way you haven’t had more than that!” said a wildly gesticulating woman in the audience (okay, my friend! — but not poor Ariel — she looked mortified that people actually spoke about such things in public. I remember being new to New York once too, 🙂 )
Anyway, afterward, I dragged my friends to Caffe Vivaldi around the corner, which is just kind of a nostalgic place for me, since I used to go there frequently when I first moved here. Unfortunately it doesn’t look much like I remember it: instead of being a quintessential cafe with every hot cozy drink and soothing fattening thing imaginable and loads of tables suitable for chatting by the fireplace, it’s now become a small dark music-hall, with the chairs and tables all shoved to one end to accommodate a huge piano and band area on the other. And of course once the band begins playing — they have two sets per night so they start early — conversation must end. And gone is their European staff who made the perfect panini and served good wine. Having said all that, I still rather enjoyed the first musician, a singer and pianist named Jess King. Her lovely, soulful voice and dark, melancholy tunes were perfect for my blue funk. She made me cry at one point and sometimes that’s just what you need — a good cry. Anyway, check her out here or here. And, to hear her in person, she plays there every other Tuesday night. I loved her.
Dinner and a Dance Performance While Blindfolded?
As all the restaurants in my neighborhood post their posh New Year’s Eve menus in their windows, I, currently planless, as I seem to be every year until just about the night before, am forced to wonder again, “uh, what am I gonna do this year?” Here’s something intriguing that I found on Gothamist. It’s a five-course dinner at West Village French bistro Camaje, with various performances scattered throughout the evening. Hook is that all guests are blindfolded the whole time. Waiters and aids of choreographer / performance artist, Dana Salisbury, who puts on the show, guide you to your fork, wine glass, and to the restroom if your raise your hand. I actually wouldn’t be all that scared of trying new food, but how would you cut it — I guess things come in bite-sized portions, or do the hosts decide how much each patron can fit into their mouths? Perhaps ridiculously, this is honestly a problem for me — I have an extremely small mouth and an ever so slight disorder that crops up from time to time, usually when least expected. Anyway, more quizzically (to me at least), how do you “see” the dance? Apparently you rely on your aural senses. In years past, the dancer has been a tapping man using his entire body as an instrument. Hmmm. Other aspects of this most audience participatory performance include artists blowing in your ear, running a feather down your neck, and the like. I don’t know if it’s for me but it sure sounds sensually stimulating!
On an unrelated note: for my fellow book lovers out there, The Millions has just published a most comprehensive best-of-the-year list compiled by its various well-reputed contributors. Click on each writer or blogger’s name and you’ll be directed to their recs, as they’re posted. I got the link from The Elegant Variation.
Biscuits 'n gravy & buttery grits!
Mentally ill ballet fan!
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Killing time at my favorite midtown restaurant between matinee and evening ABT performances.
Annual Trek to Brooklyn's Finest Stretch of Sand!
Every summer I must go out at least once to Brighton Beach / Coney Island. I don’t know why, really; I just feel like it’s not a proper summer without it! I usually take a day off of work around mid-May, before it gets too crowded and humid, but this year I must have been too busy because I never made it. Now that our fiscal year’s over at work and I have a couple of vacation days I must take before Labor Day, I looked up on weather.com to see which day this week would be most ideal weather-wise, only to find that it’s going to be rainy and cloudy and fall-like temperatures all week — Saturday was the only day with a little sun icon 🙁 So, I decided to brave the weekend crowds and went out yesterday. It’s kind of more fun that way anyway!
Here’s a little photo essay:
Fun in the sun! And relatively nice blue water.
Beside sunbathing, I love the town. Brighton Beach is very Russian; many people are new immigrants and hardly speak English. I love shopping in these stores, flipping through the Russian romance novels, the Russian videos and CDs, seeing if I can understand anything. I must have a very slavic-looking face; have actually been told several times that I look Eastern European, which is funny because I think I’m more Spanish-looking with my olive skin and dark hair… Anyway, everyone here assumes I’m Russian and begins conversations with me in Russian. Gives me a decent chance to practice my Russian — although, who’m I kidding; I haven’t had any classes since college, I barely remember the Cyrillic alphabet… Most of them don’t know any English anyway, so it makes no difference once they realize I have no idea what they’re saying and then I massacre their language with my hideous American accent. We end up gesticulating wildly with each other — just like in St. Petersberg, the one time I went to Russia, several years ago now — best foreign travel experience of my life!
I remember trying to impress Pasha once by telling him I came out here regularly and he just made this goofy smirk and rolled his eyes. I said, “What?!” and asked him why he didn’t come out here to get a taste of his homeland, be with people with whom he had so much in common. He said that just because someone’s Russian doesn’t mean they’re going to be your friend. I asked him why not; he mumbled something about generation gaps, culture clashes, judgments… It’s kind of sad, but I remember seeing that documentary Ballets Russes about that early 20th Century ballet company (a great movie by the way), and I remember one of the Russian ballerinas laughing and saying that Russians don’t like each other very much. They love us, they love everyone else, but it does seem like they don’t get along with each other very well for some reason.
Anyway, after I finished with the Dom Kniga (bookstore; or literally, house of books), I walked along the boardwalk down to Coney Island.
where they have the huge amusement park. I’ve only been on one ride — the giant ferris wheel, when my roommate from law school, Chris, and I came out here years ago. I was so terrified; that thing is so high off the ground. Chris, who normally had a very tough exterior, admitted as soon as we were safely on the ground that, when we were at full height, she was a bit worried too, though her way of so indicating was to say that she realized, if we were killed on the ride, our estates wouldn’t be able to sue because we’d assumed the risk… typical law students 🙂
And here’s the famous Cyclone, which I think they are supposed to be taking down at some point in the future (?), but apparently not yet, behind this cute froggie ride.
Haha, one of the many lovely eateries aligning the boardwalk on the Coney Island part. This one caught my attention because the name reminded me of dance 🙂 Do you think they misspelled “hole” on purpose??
This kind of freaked me out. They had this guy running around behind some garbage cans with a helmet and shield and people paid to shoot him with what I think was a BB gun?…
Can’t ever go to the beach without a little stop at the aquarium!
Where I saw all manner of wonderful sea creatures. If I was an animal, I’d either want to be a cute little primate denizen of the warm gooey rainforest or some kind of marine animal who inhabits warm waters…
Big, fattypants walrus entertained the crowd greatly 🙂
As did this saucer-eyed giant turtle. I love the woman with the camera. Everyone has digitals these days. No wonder you never see postcards anymore.
Ooh, scary shark, my biggest animal fear. This little girl was adorable though.
They have a couple of seals in this tank that used to be inhabited by the adorably cherubic white beluga whale. He died a couple of years ago and I think he’s too expensive for them to replace, but I always loved coming to see that little whale and his cute little “smiley face.”
Walking back along the boardwalk to Brighton, so I could dine at my favorite Russian restaurant, Tatiana’s (!), I passed this volleyball tournament. Must have been a big deal because they had bleachers set up and there was a big crowd.
The boardwalk kind of scared me. Some of those planks were quite loose, and the street was far below!
If you want to make lots of money off of a food or drink item, just call it “Naked”!
Final desination: Tatiana’s, on the boardwalk, getting my annual fill of caviar (red not black, I can’t afford $120 for lunch!), with sour cream and red wine. Mmmm, so good…
but so filling. Even though it always looks so small, I can never finish it all and I always feel badly for wasting such good food! Summer reading, by the way, New York Magazine restaurant critic Gael Greene’s memoir “Insatiable.” This woman cracks me up: when she was a fledgling journalist, she slept with Elvis after getting herself admitted to his suite following one of his shows by playing up her press credentials. She was in such shock the whole time that all she could remember about the entire thing was that he asked her to call room service for him and order him a fried egg sandwich. She said she knew she was destined to be a food writer after that 🙂
Wine & Roses II
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So, said ravioli was excellent. Though lacking in presentation (plate contained a bunch of pasta squares and single small green thing thrown on the side), taste was scrumptious — pasta was thick & ever so slightly crunchy the way Italians make it (rather than overcooked to near death in American manner) and mouthwateringly salty! Waiters v cute — one a Paul Rudd lookalike; other cross btw Pasha and Nikolaj Hubbe. Cute street cafe outdoors, and very comfy indoor area — bar stools are large and well-padded for a bony butt, and several tables with long booths on one side surround the bar. Oh yeah, and enormous wine list! Riesling was lovely. Perfect place to spend my whole day almost finishing my book 🙂 I have a new favorite!