Oh My God, I Totally Forgot About My Blog!

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WWAD?
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Don't Eat This Fish

Butterfish aka snake mackerel aka orange roughy aka escolar aka Hawaiian butterfish. Its delicious. Don't eat it. Should the Gentle Reader choose to ignore the Blogger's advice, then enjoy part 1. Part 1 is the eating part. Part 2 is not enjoyable at all and affects at least three of the five senses.

Boston: The City That Hates Breakfast

Boston baked beans. The Boston Tea Party. Manhattan clam chowder. .Clearly this great, historic city loves its food. Why then, does it treat breakfast like it did the British East India Company? At minutes post meridian on two separate occasions, I departed the Doubletree Hotel near Tufts in search of scrambled eggs. A one block radius yielded dismal results; the local restaurants had moved on to lunch! Tufts luck! The Doubletree concierge directed me to Cafe 275, an establishment whose brochure boasted breakfast specials from 9 am - 11 pm. After waiting in a queue for nearly five minutes, I attempted to order the "Sunny Side Sandwich" and was told that my brochure was no longer relevent. The wait staff laughed and pointed at me. The short order cooks joined in and finally the patrons. I shoved my way out of the cafe, tears of humiliation burning my eyes. A sympathetic bus boy stood smoking outside. I told him I was hungry. In a thick Boston brogue, he asked, "Do you like apples?" I replied in the affirmative. He said, "How do ya like them apples?!"

Is That A Blog In Your Pocket, Or...

The entities at blogspot.com wrote and congratulated me on the success of Walden's Blog. As is the case with all successful endeavors, everyone wants to stir the ragout. With the congratulations came a suggestion: more sex.

"(...while we at) blogspot.com (are extremely impressed with the accurate and detailed information provided by Walden's Blog, we encourage you to explore subject matter of a more erotic nature... )"

I do not have to be asked twice. For my gracious hosts at blogspot, and for my loyal subscribers, here is a spicy link:

(Just go to that website we all know about that is kind of like youtube, except that when you type in "The Sound of Music", you don't find a clip of the Von Trapp Family Singers...and search for "ballet slippers".)

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.(Shaun Cassidy)

A Slice To Di For

Note: I needed a break from nourishing the minds of my subscribers to nourish the belly of the blogger. I visited a local spot, Di Fara Pizza. Of course, all digested experience ends up on Walden's Blog...
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Midwood, Brooklyn is famous for three things: Isaac Mizrahi, Barbra Streisand, and Di Fara Pizza on Avenue J. The pizza served at this tiny establishment is revered by publications including "Zagat Restaurant Guide 2007" and online at chowhound.com. The pies are crafted by the legendary Domenico DeMarco. Olive oil, fresh mozzarella and parmesan, and herbs grown in the store play a role in every round or square. It looks great. How does it taste?

Good question. In order to know, you have to wait for it. You have to wait for it like a New Yorker, which means you either leave immediately, or you wait until the seed has grown into the fully matured basil plant. While you wait, the legendary Domenico
(Domenico DeMarco)
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DeMarco and his assistant consciously avoid your gaze. If either catches it by accident, the response is a look of exhausted disdain, as if to say "how dare you show your face here--can't you see I have customers?!" It is possible you may wait four days, the maximum amount of time a person can survive without water (Source: Ms. Johnson, College Gate Elementary). Of course, you can buy a bottle of water while you stand in "line" (an amoeba-shaped formation in which no one is clear on who is next and if any individual asserts herself and attempts to order, she is soundly contested by at least a third of the amoeba). You may wait 128 days, the record number of days a human can remain alive without food (Source: Christina Ricci). It smells and looks great--and some poor soul in tattered clothes and a long beard is picking up the order, but that isn't you. You only have a goatee. Meanwhile, the legendary Domenico DeMarco never stops. He makes pie after pie and never opens his mouth to sample a sprig of anything, The Original Sisyphus's Pizza. It is possible you may die before you have placed an order.

How does it taste?

Delicious! The next time you have 128 days off you should absolutely go.

Where's Walden Books?

(Walden Books)

Where is Walden Books? Nowhere. Wikipedia.com, which is listed under "Favourites" on my computer, informs me that the little bookshop I frequented as a child is actually called Borders Express. It once existed as Waldenbooks--a word not recognized by my spellcheck--but was acquired by Borders in 1994.
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The misspelled "Waldenbooks" is a spectacular bit of negligence by the company's creators. A high profile chain devoted to promoting the written word should be capable of correctly spelling its own name.

Thankfully, the French know what they are doing; a bookseller called Le Livre De Walden (The Liver of Walden) has established itself within Terminal Duex of Charles de Gaulle International Airport. It seems likely the shop is named for the famous home of Henry David Thoreau, which supports the theory that Walden is located in Paris.

How To Be Relevent

Though contributing posts regularly since creating Walden's Blog, I only just recognized that something is amiss. So focussed was I on famous French authors, I neglected an ingredient crucial to the success of this blog: the Reader. While I devoted an entire piece to the benefits of conscious breathing, I'm not convinced that alone will cure what ails my subscribers. Most sincere apologies. Here is the wordfood you seek. The topic is: Relevent.

Relevent. A lot of people want to be it and are not. Modern dancers, a demographic I've researched extensively, constantly deal with being relevent. During every contraction and release, every fall and rebound, every body-half and x-roll they must face the question, "Am I relevent?". I, as a member of a balletically trained modern dance collective, often do feel relevent. But what does feeling relevent have to do with being relevent? I am about to blog something important: feeling relevent is the same thing as being relevent.

It is natural to feel low, to let not being relevent get you down, but if a heightened perspective is what you desire, I can offer three suggestions: press into the balls of your feet, lift your heels away from the floor, and actively send your weight between your second and third metatarsals. You will feel, be, and look...relevent.

Let's Take A Moment To Focus On Our Breathing

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Where's Walden?

Where is Walden? Honestly, I have no idea. I know two things about it: it is near a body of water, and the Thoreau in Henry David Thoreau sounds French. My guess is that Walden must be somewhere in France, and possibly in that country's most populated city, Paris. It probably borders the body of water which runs through that magnificent metropolis, the River Thames. Someday, I hope to visit Walden, especially as it appears in the name of my blog.








(Walden)

Why Do Dancers Have A Reputation For Being Dumb?

or Port de Blog; Blogging on my Grave; Blog Fosse


Why do dancers have a reputation for being dumb? This question has dogged the dance community since the Isadora Duncan tragedy (pictured). Exhaustive research has led me to the only plausible theory: dancers don't speak!

According to Mirriam-Webster.com, which is listed under "Favourites" on my computer, the word dumb is defined as: lacking the human power of speech; lacking the ability to speak. In other words, dancers lack the human power of speech and also the ability to speak. No sounds from a dancer. If a dancer falls and no one is around...

Dancers tell stories through movement. When they want someone to know something, they don't speak it. They port de bras it, they plie it, they temps du cuisse it (at Juilliard we called it temps du queefs--LOL!).

To be fair, not all dancers are dumb; Bill T. Jones sometimes annunciates while he is allongeing. Also, I once saw a performance by the Second Avenue Dance Company of NYU's Tisch School of the Arts (at Juilliard we called it the Kleenex School of the Farts--lol) in which some of the performers spoke as they spoked. I refer to this phenomenon as Le Double de Menace, or the "Threat of Two", and will join its ranks later this year, blogging and bourreeing simultaneously during the DancenOwnyc Festival.

Birth Of A Blog

"Congratulations, you have a bouncing baby blog!"

Cigars for everyone! Everyone who responds to this inaugural entry will be thrown a Cuban on Facebook.

I never read Walden's Pond by Henry David Thoreau. Maybe one chapter at College Gate Elementary. And I never saw the film, but I still love to imitate Audrey Hepburn's iconic delivery of the "Oh Norman, you old piece of shit" line.