MOVING DAY

As of today, this blog will be located at:

http://piscesinpurple.com.

Please email me at piscesinpurple @ gmail . com if you experience any technical difficulties with the new site.

cartman gets an anal probe

Stop me if any of this sounds familiar.

As long as I can remember, my dad has gone through what I like to call phases. Like the time he went all Catholic and bought a little wooden saint with peeling paint and no hands. Then one day he up and decided that was idolatry and threw it down the incinerator chute in his building on Pelham Parkway. The “phase” he happened to be going through when I was eight resulted in my being baptized a Methodist, a religion about which I still know next to nothing, because he lost interest within a year and so we never went back.

Then I’m 12 and he has his Whitley Streiber phase. Whitley Streiber is this guy who wrote some novels — including Wolfen, which, if memory serves, was made into a movie. Then he writes the first in a series of ostensibly autobiographical books describing his encounters with and abductions by alien visitors. The cover art was a close up of a visitor from the shoulders up. (See above.) South Park later used the same basic depiction of "Greys" to depict the aliens that give Cartman an anal probe. Dad really digs this book, and totally encourages me read it. Then, as now, I will read anything, and I have a weakness for stupid supernatural shit like vampires and space aliens and schools for the gifted in outer space. We both read the books, and conduct many in-depth discussions about them. Mostly, I just listen. Lo and behold, I start having nightmares, and he’s all, oh! She was totally abducted by aliens! And this proves it!

My dad is a very post hoc ergo propter hoc kind of guy. I won't be offended if you feel the need to roll your eyes at him.

Now we come to the really funny part. He hasn’t said anything to anyone of us about this in oh, 15 years at least. Then last year my dad and my brother are on some road trip and end up in a redneck bar somewhere in bumblefuck western New York. After a few beers, Dad says to Bro, oh, you know your sister was abducted by aliens? Don’t you remember those nightmares she used to have? It so totally never occurs to him that the books were perhaps the CAUSE of the nightmares. But what really gets me is that this is still something he thinks about, even after all these years. It's one of the many absurdly untrue things he believes about me.

I wish I could make up stories like that. Instead, I just get to live them.

my life is so weird

My life is so weird.

This is a walking stick, in my kitchen.






This is one of my neighbors, and his iguana.






This is the ice cream truck, stopping right next door.






This is a bat, not unlike the ones that chirp
nightly past my verandah.
(Did you know that verandah is a Hindi word?)






These are some kids my uncle inducted into his moth-hunting army.






And this? This is breathtaking. Wow.






This isn't bad either.




My life is so weird. But I can't complain.

spicemas 2k8

Nothing of note to report on Carnival this year. I kept my misbehavior at home.

But check out my jab jab helmet!

Doesn't it kind of look like I'm in a foxhole calling for reinforcements?

***

You can listen to this year's soca here. I have to agree with YY that this season's selection is not quite so fabulous as it has been in years past. Soca, however, is not unlike sex pizza, in that even the worst isn't all bad.

I get a major kick out of this artist, GG, and her song, Ease Up. She's new, she's a chick, her lyrics are hilarious and the outfit she wore to the Soca Monarch semi-finals was bravely hawt. Enjoy!

red, red wine

(I took this photo. I cropped out the people.

What remains is the standard Sunday meal

at my house in Grenada, eaten on the verandah

overlooking Westerhall Bay...

accompanied by chilled red wine.)

Put your prejudices aside and really think about it, and you'll have to agree. There are certain circumstances when it's totally appropriate to drink chilled red wine, and being in Grenada is one of them.

Yes, red wine is technically supposed to be served room temperature. But this is a rule invented in climes where only during the dog days of summer does so-called room temperature approximate Grenada's daily average. Under tropical conditions, only the finest of red wines are remotely palatable, and even they suffer. Those of you in the Northern Hemisphere, rest your red wine next to a heater for half an hour and you'll see what I mean.

Why am I even bringing this up? Because I cannot resist telling you that the New York Times agrees with me.

bad, bad blogger

(Three random Grenadian kids playing

cricket in the road. My brother took this picture

when he was here for Carnival in 2004.)

I have been a very bad blogger lately. I did prettify the thing a bit, but that hardly excuses. (Though I do hope you like the new header.)



My housekeeper/babysitter/maid/cook fractured her foot and hasn't been able to work. She takes care of my grandmother too, so her injury has a net result of much less free time for me. That sounds bitchy, perhaps, but trust me, she's just fine. I'm ok too. Just really fucking tired. I finally got a good night's sleep last night, for the first time in weeks, and it's a holiday in Grenada today (Emancipation Day, though it was actually Friday, but whatever), and I realized we're now several days into August, and that's just dispicable. So here we are.



Random musing of the day: Grenadians love to eat hot soup for lunch. I have nothing against soup. I like soup. The right soup, I'll even love it. But eating soup at noon in the tropics is madness. And yet they insist on it. What is up with that?

"librarians are the superheroes of democracy"

Last week the McCain campaign declared war on free speech and sweet little gray-haired ladies.  Here's Rachel Maddow telling it like it is:  

the king is dead, long live the king

The preliminary results of the Grenadian general election are in.
Bye bye, Keith. It was fun while it lasted.
And thanks for the memories... especially this one:

secret life of gringas

My brother and his ladylove are currently living in Santiago, Chile, teaching English and perfecting their Spanish. I'd be jealous if I were not living in my own personal paradise.

My sister-in-law, the aforementioned ladylove, is blogging about her experiences there. Check out her musings on her favorite things about Santiago, tampons, and mayonnaise.

m's roundup

(This is not just any pomegranate.
This is the first fruit of the tree my mom
planted nearly two years ago.
It was even yummier than it looks.)

I decided the other day that instead of adding a disturbing number of "Posted Items" to my facebook profile, I will do this:

From an excellent friend and fellow mommy, I got an email with a link to this article about a boy who drowned hours after swimming, in his own bed. Oy, shivers down my spine. Dry drowning? How horrific. And I take my toddler to the beach once a week or more. Then while reading the RSS feed for one of my favorite mind-candyish sites, the Urban Legends Reference Pages, I found this explanation of the difference between dry drowning and secondary drowning, which at first made me feel much better, then not so much.

I'd heard of the infamous daisy ad, but had never actually seen it. (I heart youtube.) As creepy as it is, to me it looks totally modern in spite of its being older than I am. (I am a sucker for black and white.) Tony Schwartz, creator of this ad, passed away last week. I heart wikipedia.

The new Governor of New York State (you know, the blind West Indian guy who replaced Eliot Spitzer after that unfortunate hooker incident), has pardoned Slick Rick. Slick Rick is British. Who knew?

I love the Vanity Fair online archives. (Scroll down the menu on the left.) If you missed, say, "Shattered Glass" when it was published in 1998, you can read it now.

Firefox rules, in spite of technical difficulties.

I'm not one for gratuitous derisiveness towards lawyers, but this is ridiculous. A group of lawyers are suing Rockstar Games, the makers of Grand Theft Auto, because the game includes some very sexy easter eggs. They are disappointed because of the millions of people who bought the game, fewer than 3,000 have filed a claim. It apparently has not occurred to these chuckleheads that people who purchased Grand Theft Auto are probably not easily offended. For more madness from the U.S. legal system, read this.

The White House sticks fingers in ears and says to the EPA: If you're talking I can't hear you! Classic.

Hulk Hogan needs to stop talking. My two favorite gossip blogs, The Superficial and What Would Tyler Durden Do? say it all.

Grenadian general election

The last general election in Grenada was five years ago, nearly two years before my time. So I'm getting a real kick out of election season, especially since everyone is to some degree taking a page from or making a comparison to the campaigns going on right now in the States. My informal survey tells me that most Grenadians make their political decisions based on very narrow and personal issues, often having to do with an actual encounter with the candidate, because the island is that small. Some seem swayed by the rallies. Some talk politics for hours every day but never bother to vote. A woman I used to work with told me that she's voting against the incumbent in her parish because several years ago he wanted to charge her for showing her where the boundary of her land is. My babysitter remembers a day during the revolution when she had to run and hide to avoid being shot. She's voting against the party that she believes those men later joined. The Prime Minister, of course, is in rare form. He's pretty desperate to remain in power, for all the obvious reasons, but also because he's been using that power to hide from some rather serious legal problems.I can't vote here, of course, because I'm not a citizen. I find myself caring about this election, though, almost as much as I care about the election in November. I live here and my son was born here. I very much hope there's a regime change on July 8th.

it's the adultery, stupid

YY's comment on my last post reminded me of this article in Vanity Fair.

Get through the part about Eliot Spitzer and there is some fascinating commentary re: how sex informs U.S. politics. The best part, the part about Michelle Obama, appears towards the end. I won't spoil it for you.

Because it's Friday, here's some random Obama-related fun.

it's called a BOUNCE: UPDATED

We weren't going to get political here, really we weren't. But I just cannot let this pass without comment, not when it comes to my girl Michelle.

The following is so racist I need to go spit. (Others chime in here. Maureen Dowd, bless her, even gets the terminology correct.)



UPDATE:
The bimbo in the video above lost her show. Unfortunately they're replacing her with one of my least favorite people on the planet, but I would expect nothing less from Fox.

I spoke too soon.

Grenada: where the water is always hot

So I've been back in Grenada almost a month now. I'm getting re-acclimated. I arrived at the peak of dry season, which may very well have been even dumber than moving back to the Northeastern U.S. in November, I don't know. This week we finally saw some rain, which broke the oppressive heat. I'm tan again, used to the buses and even the non-existent water pressure. I'm still not walking or speaking slowly enough, but I'm getting there. The primary season in the States is over (hallelujah!) and I'm managing to not be a total seething angerball about the family drama that went down right before I left NYC. (Truth: I am waking up every morning with clenched teeth. My plan of relaxation by osmosis is merely a half success so far.)

The following appeared in the May 23, 2008 edition of the Grenada Informer, under the heading "Health Tips". I've edited it a little bit, but only enough to correct distracting typos and bad grammar. I love stuff like this. You might find something similar in the States, but only if you frequent wacky New Age bookstores, or live in California. Happily, no one here worries about the legal ramifications of printing herbal medical advice.

• Potato, sorrell and cassava leaves are all high in potassium for the nerves and magnesium for the bones.
• The flowers of breadfruit trees make an excellent food preservative.
• Jump up and kiss me can be used in salads and is very rich in omega-3.
  
• Aloe is good for the healing of skin.
  
• Lettuce helps with insomnia.
  
• Eggplant is a blood cleanser and is also good for the nerves.
  
• Avocado is rich in potassium and is also good for the nerves.
  
• Cinnamon helps prevent diabetes.
  
• Coconut is rich in vitamins and minerals and is very good for the health of bones and teeth.
  
• Okra is rich in folic acid.
  
• Sorrel is antioxidant and can help prevent cancer.
  
• It is important to drink gospo and other citrus with greens such as callalou and other greens in order to extract the iron.
  
• Big thyme, santa maria, mint, thyme, rosemary, chadon beni, and lemon grass are all good herbs to draw for teas.
  
• Honey should not be given to children under the age of one. It can weaken their immune defenses. Honey can be used to kill germs and cleanse sores.
  
• Pineapple and red banana should not be eaten on a empty stomach as they eat away at the lining of your stomach which later leads to an ulcer.
  
• Raw green tomatoes and mangoes can blister your stomach and your mouth, can give you ulcers, and contain a very toxic substance.
  
• Sugar dish is also very toxic. It sends toxins to your blood stream and irritates the skin.
  
• Tanka bean, mostly used in cakes and vanilla essence, contains a poison similar to the one found in rat poison. Consuming this on a regular basis can lead to bleeding in the stomach.
  
• Jamaican ackee is very poisonous if eaten prematurely. It lowers blood sugar and can kill you in less than half an hour. This is one of the leading causes of death in Jamaica.
  

somewhere an Indian is crying

Remember Chief Iron Eyes Cody?

My friend YY, Grenadian blogger extraordinaire, posted this regarding the development threatening to spoil Grand Anse Beach.

Will we ever learn?
My hope is that this project will stall indefinitely, meeting the same fate as some other ill-advised plans for the "development" of Grenada, eventually falling by the wayside as money runs out and frustration runs in. This won't be due to activist Grenadians protecting their national treasure, but rather simple inertia. Say what.

a modern fairy tale

On April 7, 2005, mere days before I first set foot on Grenadian soil, I emailed my mom to ask what kind of clothes I should bring and what she needed me to bring for her. She replied:

M, bring for yourself capri pants or med/long skirts, tops with short sleeves/sleeveless, sneakers, jeans, a hat or two, 1 pair socks, umbrella, sunscreen, a kerchief, sandals and flip-flops, one office-type outfit (for church and/or house-shopping), and bathing suit and cover up.

What do I need? A good chef's knife. Black licorice from Trader Joe's, if you can get there. Born of Earth has good licorice too. R stocked me up otherwise.

My DVD wish list includes the last picture show, an officer and a gentleman, top gun, gone with the wind, bravo two zero, one flew over the cuckoo's nest, it's a wonderful life, back to the future, the godfather, french kiss, zorba the greek, roots, MASH, la cage aux folles. May I borrow some of yours? Just buy 4.

Boat looks, feels great, pulsing with R's energy.

back & forth

I've lost count by now. How many times have I gone back and forth?

It starts the night before when I change my wallet and charge the other cell phone. The one is shiny silver, full of American-style plastic and receipts from places like Target and Starbucks, matchbooks from Manhattan restaurants that were too trendy in 2003, perfect now. The other one is a little hand batik purse that zips, green and white, and sometimes carries my tongue ring or ipod, but usually just cash.

Then comes shoes. I always say that the only time I put on sneakers in Grenada is when I'm getting dressed for the airport, and I'm not exaggerating. After nearly three years in the West Indies, socks just make me sad. In the rain forest and while sailing I wear tevas. Otherwise it's flip flops. At the peak of my slipper lunacy, I had over thirty pairs, of all imaginable colors and varieties. When I'm going from New York to Grenada, I wear sneakers, of course, but change while collecting my luggage.

These years have been haunted by a vague sense of dislocation. I'm always separated from half my stuff. But it's not about *stuff*, per se. It's about the small questions that punch holes in my reality: Didn't I just buy a ton of trouser socks? Where's my favorite pair of jeans? That cocktail dress jacket, did I ever have the shoulder pads taken out? Which uncle has my son's (non-replaceable) birth certificate filed away? Where am I registered to vote?

top ten: Grenada

Top ten totally awesome things about Grenada:
1. The prime minister. Never have I witnessed a public official so spectacularly lacking in compunction. Never have I seen such posturing, such casual falsehoods about matters of state. It is fabulously entertaining to watch.
2. The newspaper! The letters to the editor are not to be believed. Airing of personal grievances regarding a moved cow or the dumping of junked vehicles? Oh yes. Thinly veiled outing of pedophiles in the community, unverified and printed unsigned and as written? Indeed. Half-page ads bought for the sole purpose of wishing a little boy a happy fifth birthday? You betcha.
3. Carnival. Carnival, like sex, can be good even when it's bad. Carnival is especially thrilling if you dig soca, calypso and/or getting half-naked and painting yourself with used motor oil. The voyeurs among you can just watch.
4. The remarkably refreshing manner in which people will comment negatively on the most personal thing, effectively neutralizing (at least my) very American inability to speak honestly about those things. Put on a few pounds? Got a ugly kid? Rest assured, your friends will tell you about it.
5. Gossip. I've been chuckling to myself for over a week now about a conversation I had with a former client. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that they've been speculating amongst themselves re: what I've been doing for the last few months...
6. The buses. They are individually owned, subject to rules but nothing remotely resembling a municipal fleet. This can be a good thing. There's actually music playing on the bus, and it's usually pretty good. Though I have never done it, I have considered asking the driver where he got the cd. Also, almost all of the buses have NAMES. Can you imagine? My favorite? A toss-up between "Jah Vibes" and "The Master Plan".
7. The unfailingly complimentary attitude of the men. If you grew up in a cold place, you will never have heard such sweetness from the mouths of complete strangers.
8. Time. I find it both uncomfortable and repetitive to engage in any extended conversation about time in the Caribbean. As a New Yorker, I found the attitude towards time profoundly healing. Relaxing/taking your time is actually a survival tactic, one rooted in a deep understanding of what it means to take care of yourself.
9. Cheese from New Zealand, fruit juice from South Africa, hair care products from Venezuela, over-the-counter painkillers from England, bacon from Trinidad, perfect instant coffee from Colombia, bold fabrics from Africa, yogurt from France and amber from the Dominican Republic. Then there's the local fruits and vegetables and spices, mango and papaya, ochroe and pumpkin, nutmeg, curry and cloves.
10. I get to wear my rx sunglasses almost all the time, a privilege I have been known to abuse indoors. Wearing sunglasses all the time is useful for a variety of reasons. One of my favorites is that no one can be quite sure where my attention is. I've also enjoyed being told that I look like a movie star, an occurrence unique to Grenada lovely Grenada.

Top ten mortally frightening things about Grenada:
1. Everybody wants something from you... or at least it feels that way.
2. Two words: Phone. Manners.
3. The prime minister. Officially, he's to be addressed as "Doctor, the Honorable...". I cringe.
4. The remarkably intrusive, rude and presumptuous manner in which people -- who you may not even know -- will comment on the most personal things. Like, "I heard you were pregnant, but did you lose the baby? Or maybe it's Tom Thumb you got in there?"
5. Gossip. Nothing is sacred.
6. The buses. They are private, and subject to rules but not really. Most likely, your driver will *not* have been drinking rum in the terminal for the 90 minutes he had to wait his turn to pick up passengers... but you never know. More likely is that you will find yourself subjected to the worst kind of Jesus music. (There is palatable Jesus music out there, don't get me wrong. Just not on the buses in Grenada.)
7. The unfailingly complimentary attitude of the men. You can be eight months pregnant, sweaty and swollen. It does not matter. After a while, on particularly hard days, when you're feeling sensitive or worn out or fed up in general, it can get annoying, even infuriating. You may find yourself fuming at a bemused Rastafarian, threatening to throw your water coconut.
8. Time. I find it both uncomfortable and repetitive to engage in any extended conversation about time in the Caribbean. It takes some getting used to, understanding that when a Grenadian says "in a while", they might mean "very soon", they might mean "in a while", but most likely, they mean "stop asking me when, it'll be when it is".
9. Every couple of months or so, the entire island runs out of diet Coke.
10. I absolutely must wear sunglasses any time I venture outdoors under that tropic sun. With my vision, I'd otherwise develop cataracts by 40.