Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Cleaning House



There are things you don't notice when driving or riding, things you only see when walking.  State troopers and Boston public works were cleaning out someone's home under the Mass. Ave. bridge at about 10 o'clock this morning.  There were blankets and makeshift beds and even a bike so someone had created an oasis in this dry, almost out-of-the-way cranny of the city.  The Pollyanna part of my brain pretended that the homeless folks who lived here were woken up and moved by city outreach workers to more comfortable, safer, indoor accommodation.  (I like to delude myself daily with dreams of a better world - it helps me to get out of bed.  Some mornings).

And then I got to H Square and as the Spare Change news hawkers waved their papers in my face I thought,  Shit! That home probably belongs to one of these people.  Some hapless guy is out here in the city somewhere working a godawful job (or three) that pays less than minimum wage and he's going to come "home" on this dreary, chilly, wet evening and everything that signified his home will be gone; all the stuff he's managed to collect or assemble to make the place livable now in the dump over by Magazine St. in Roxbury.  Nothing left but the rain streaked cement underbelly of the bridge.


Tuesday, October 27, 2009

This Place Matters




It housed Hook and Ladder #1, a horse drawn fire truck and was built around 1859.


One on One

Tonight, Haley House, 12 Dade St, Dudley Square from 8 pm. - 10 p.m. Mayoral Candidate Mike Flaherty answers your questions. Go. Ask. Vote.

The Donkey Show

Fairies, fairies everywhere; charming, callipygian fairies. I love fairies. So I loved The Donkey Show. The first time I saw it was with a thirty-something friend who's more grunge than disco. I took advantage of the 2-for-1 ticket offer and brought her. She was glad she'd seen it but wouldn't have paid to do so. It's not her scene, she said. I was transported to fairyland. The second time was with my soon-to-be-70-year-old mother and her friends. Watching them watch and be in the show was part of the fun.

The Things I Love Most About Roxbury

Discover Roxbury
Haley House Cafe
Franklin Park
Dudley Street Neighborhood Initiative
Body By Brandy
Dillaway Thomas House
Shirley-Eustis House

Monday, October 26, 2009

space saver

One Reason Why Roxbury is Regularly Screwed

The Department of Families and Children and the MSPCC like to show their gratitude for the people working in the trenches of child welfare - those who care for kids whose parents either don't want them or are too sick to care for them or a combination of both.

This past Saturday a foster parent appreciation lunch was held at Academy Homes on Washington Street. Foster parents got lunch, simple entertainment, certificates of appreciation and gift certificates to Stop and Shop.

At one table, conversation turned to the upcoming mayoral election. Ms. State Worker thought Menino had been around too long. Ms. AFSCME, likewise, thought it was time for a change. Conversation turned to race and Ms. AFSCME stated that this country is not ready for a black president (all the more reason to get one in there) and that only reason Obama got elected was cause Dubya screwed up so badly (which is probably true). Ms. Runs Her Mouth said it didn't matter who got in - they're all the same and nothing ever changes.

"People have to create change. Everyone's gonna vote, right? Everyone here is gonna vote?"

"It's all in the hands of the lord," Ms. Runs Her Mouth asserted. "That's why I don't need to worry about it. The lord will decide."

Ms. BTD amen'd as did Ms. Stellar Foster Mom. And the retort of "the lord helps those who help themselves" was lost in the din of amens.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Looking Good at Both Ends of Dudley

At one end of Dudley, you can learn about Maximon, the Santiago Atitlan Mayan Lord of Looking Good. At the other end, you can shop at this store which has been in Dudley Sq. since the '30's. (It's grated cause the picture was taken on a Sunday).  Current proprietors came on board in the '50's. They sell some kick-ass wigs that'll keep you looking good.  For every book store in Harvard Square, Dudley has a hairdresser or barber shop.



Maximon, who was once persecuted and made to go underground, is a partier. I don't think Harvard Sq. does have a liquor store but Dudley has two on the same block and at least three more within easy walking distance. Giant Liquors is open on Sundays, thank Maximon, when the rest of Dudley is shuttered, cause if there's anything the poor and disenfranchised need, it's legal drugs.




Is this a great storefront or what? I see an old-fashioned soda fountain in there. Or a flower shop.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Blasphemy Day


Religion is only one excuse that people use for being intolerant, condescending, and distended with hubris and righteousness. Journalism and science are two others. An auto da fe in the name of science and rationality is still an Inquisition.

Feed me instead Knowledge of Angels.

Roxbury Fun fact of the Week

What is the State Rock (yes, State rock) of Massachusetts?

Stars in the Square

Riding into Harvard Square Tuesday morning, I noticed a bunch of cops and a crowd gathered around the T station.  Trouble, I thought, some kind of early morning, drug fueled fight.  Or the Red Line crapped out again.  But the crowd was eerily quiet and the cops weren't moving.  Rounding the Out of Town island, I saw the film camera.  All the faces of the people in the crowd, lifted toward the scene of action, resembled a mass of worshipers praying at the altar of their god.  Who in this case is Fame and Hollywood.  One of my colleagues, a talented filmmaker  in his own right, spotted Ben Affleck.  But the real stars in Harvard Square  that day were Felix Barrett and Maxine Doyle, Punchdrunk people, speaking at this class.

The Donkey Punch Drunk Show

Unfortunate for rhetorical reasons only that The Donkey Show and Punchdrunk run simultaneously. In my excitement to spread the word about both, after seeing The Donkey Show and touring the Old Lincoln School, I rushed into work and exclaimed, you have to check out The Donkey Punch! Oops. I didn't even know what a donkey punch was until this past summer and I wish I'd never learned.

The Thing I Hate Most About Roxbury

Roxbury (like the world, I suppose)  is full of incredibly bruised people.  The legacy of slavery, a history of second class citizenship, racism, poverty - these are all serious bruisers.  But so many folks ignore their personal pain and channel it toward thwarting good in the world.  It's an I hurt, I'm gonna make you hurt too way of being.  And it's most destructive coming from the folks in the area who have done well for themselves and are working (allegedly) to restore the area to its rightful place as a gem in Boston.

Victimhood, embraced too long, forges its own chains.  The negativity, hostility, blaming, and subtle undermining are wearing on me.  Deal with your own shit, please, and stop blaming everyone else.  Thank you.

Sheep No More: Screamer in the House

A cry rang out, one I didn't recognize, and it turned out to be a scream from an audience member.  A scream she repeated a few times when startled.   She was fine so it was kinda fun.

Another younger woman came up to me demanding, "Where do I go?"  When asked that question, sometimes I shrug, sometimes I point in two possible directions at once, which is what I did for her.  She whimpered and pulled out her Blackberry, its screen like another spotlight in the hall.

"Are you ok?"  I whispered.  She was sniffling and snuffling.  She was freaked out.

"The elevator guy separated me from my boyfriend," she said.

"It's ok.  You'll be ok.  Go to the bar.  Catch your breath.  Text him from there."

So she went into the middle of the main corridor with her Klieg light of a Blackberry.

I fed her to Norman.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Relocalization Conference at RCC

What's so funny about peace love and localization? Beaucoup, according to Ms Average American. Better to commiserate over a glass of chardonnay about the obscene bonuses Wall Street continues to award itself and Global Warming rather than actively try to thwart the obscenity and warming. Someone Else will take care of those things. Ms American secretly hopes/believes that somehow/someday she'll be one of them, the blessed few who are financially rewarded no matter how badly or how much they screw up their own businesses and other people's lives. Their scales must be much different from those the rest of us use. Or they use their scales for false measurement while we just hold ours over our eyes.

Fortunately, about 200-300 people in the greater Boston area are willing to work for peace, love, and localization and these folks showed up yesterday to get the ball rolling here in Massachusetts or to join others already in motion.

In the Main Tent: Peak Oil, Environmental Havoc, Big Money in Washington, and Isolation and Alienation in Our Communities - which are all interconnected and part of the same problem that needs to be undone by all of us on a local level with the globe in mind. If that makes sense.

Chuck Turner welcomed us, Frances Moore Lappe inspired us and though Mel King and Bill McKibben spoke, I couldn't hang around to listen to them. The break-out sessions included Building Local, Sustainable and Just Food Systems and Applying Democracy in the Face of Corporate Power

The concept that most piqued my interest was Transition Towns. My neighborhood in Roxbury is in transition and I'd like that change to be in the best possible direction. Permaculture, everyone?

My gripe about the conference? We didn't need the to have the problems at hand detailed - speakers were certainly preaching to the choir - about Peak Oil, about Global Warming, about the value of supporting local agriculture. And along those lines - could we work a little on making the presentations a little more pithy and dynamic?

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Sleep No More Stewarding

An interesting experience, stewarding for the Punchdrunk/ART production Sleep No More but the audience can influence the tenor of the night. And last night's audience was AWFUL. For those of you conversing at full voice: you suck. For those of you waltzing around all night without a mask: you suck. And you suck really bad.

Part of the beauty of Punchdrunk's vision and magic is their trust in the audience, their belief that the audience is a focal point of the production. There are no other theatrical productions that I've experienced where a member of the audience can be treated to an intimate one-on-one performance. And all that's required on the part of the audience to become a part of that magic and genius is openness and trust, requited. The production is a mystery best explored on your own, without your crew, without your honey. Go explore by yourself and compare notes at the end of the night. Be willing to be a little unsure, a little off center. Play the game. Play the play. The play is play.

Last night's audience was too - I dunno - mean-spirited? Afraid? Dull? Certain? Perhaps they'd consider themselves too clever, too sophisticated to be caught up in the playfulness of the event, to play with the venue, to play with the experience. Not willing to risk a little fooling, they become fools. That ugly, hard, practical, unimaginative attitude brought a really nasty energy to the whole site. Production crew and stewards were in bad moods by the end of the night thanks to the onslaught of the philistines.

Hopefully, they'll all stay home next time and tell their equally unworthy friends to do the same. Being around all those creepy people left me spooked in ways Macbeth and his Lady never could.

Friday, September 25, 2009

I am Positively Punchdrunk on Sleep No More

Cawdor Seeds

I can't remember the last time something got me this excited. It's an experience on every sensory level. Gorgeous to look at and touch and listen to and smell - even when it isn't.

I've become an acolyte - passing out the cawdor seeds cards, buying tickets as birthday presents and for my baristas, volunteering to steward.

The less said about the event, the better, but you need to experience it. Really. Go!

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Slug Season







It must be all the rain so far this summer because my garden is pullulating with slugs and snails. At the beginning of the month we came home to find scores of them oozing trails along the front steps and retaining wall. And we found this massive critter, seen here alongside my 3 in index finger for size reference. Really!

So what have I done with them all? Sluggo may work but it needs to be reapplied after each rainfall. Given that it rains everyday, that seems like a waste of money. Likewise, beer traps (a plastic cup - I reuse yogurt containers - with a couple of inches of STALE beer in the bottom) work but the traps have been overflowing with the rain and I don't often have stale beer.

I read once that the best pesticide a garden can have is the gardener's own shadow. I've taken to plucking up the little slimers and, depending on how altruistic I'm feeling, disposing of them in various ways. Initially, I'd just grab 'em in my bare fingers and lob them into the street where the sun and cars would do their thing. Growing tired of trying to scrape the thick sludge of slug ooze off my fingers, I'd then wrap them in a leaf of some kind so there was no direct contact. What about gloves? First, those, too, due to the incredible volume of slug and snail slime, clotted with the stuff. But mostly I was too unwilling to run up and down 2 flights of stairs to get the gloves because I did not want to be distracted from the battle. One moment's glance away from the enemy and it might roll under a datura leaf and live another day to glut itself.

As the war waged on and they ate more and more of my tomatoes (reseeded on their own from last years plants! no tomato blight here) and my dahlias and my thyme and whatever else they could slither over, I started feeling a little less like a Buddhist believing that all life is sacred and a little more angry. I'd collect them in a big plastic tub and soak them in vinegar to kill them. Why vinegar? I dunno - anger isn't very rational but I think I think it was a reaction against the slime. I wanted to purge them of their slime. And there was something gratifying about watching the bucket burble.

I did think about eating them. No, not raw, though I imagine if you were a very early and/or very hungry human their plumpness might be tempting. Around the same time I was thinking about eating them, so was The Weekly Dig.

Snails are pretty chewy and there's a reason they're served by the French doused in butter and garlic - everything tastes good in butter and garlic - so if they had any real palate value, you could eat them like raw oysters. I don't know about slugs.

Maybe next year.