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They need to re-open the mental institutions, and quickly.
Dinner tonight. Cod, yellow rice, black bean soup.
NYC's finest don't like performance art or deviant views apparently. Whoa, but whatabout the 'naked cowboy'?
Haven't heard from the Naked Cowboy in this neck of the woods lately, he went down South to escape Covid? Looks like he made some money in Daytona Beach:
Impeachments Past ... or ... Pork Chops!
I watch the Representatives file into the Senate chambers. As expected, not one Senator demanded immediate dismissal of the traitors, instead there will be a trial. We shall see.
During the short procedure I ponder tonight's dinner. Half a red cabbage still sits in the crisper, left over from Christmas dinner ... mmmm ... pork chops and red cabbage ... little duck fat, onion, apple and some lemon for the red cabbage, yup, got everything except the chops.
The Senate goes into recess until quarter to one, so I head up Second Avenue in search of pork chops. Only one package of chops at the supermarket, in a pool of blood yet. The meat mgr gets shifty-eyed while promising a fresh load later today, so I decide to head further north to the Ukrainian butcher, only to find the place shuttered. Strange. There's another one over on First Avenue, another few blocks, but it's closed as well. It's Christmas! How could I forget. Ukrainian Orthodox Christmas! Oh, well, now what?
Ok, there's a supermarket on Avenue A. Lots of pork chops, each one uglier than the other. This won't do. I wander south ... got to be a pork chop place somewhere; cross Delancey to the old Jewish Lower East Side. The Essex Street Market is all Puerto Rican now, piles of chops, but much too much fat. Haven't been in the area for ages, Chinese signs everywhere.
Clinton Street ... dang ... I'm going to miss the impeachment!
Strange supermarket with more ugly pork chops. Walk through Chinatown thinking I'll just head north again, up Broadway to a nice supermarket just a couple of blocks west of where I started, but then I see Dean & Delucas ... mmmm.
Why not, I'll splurge. Wander by piles of ideal fruits, vegetables, fish, meats, and there I find a case stocked with perfect pork chops! Two nice thick ones are $4.50, not at all as expensive as I had worried. Grab my chops and hurry north and home and make it back just as Strom Thurman hobbles back into the Senate. Didn't miss a thing.
... oh ... Merry Christmas!
A friend had occasion to give us some free tickets, thought we'd get a kick out of Pupppetry of the Penis, The Ancient Australian Art of Genital Origami, which has somehow made its way to Theater Row on 42th Street after being a hit all over the world. They call it Dick Tricks, put on by two very ordinary looking guys, nude, twisting their testicles into baby birds, pelicans, snails, wind sails and such.
The contortions are picked up by video cam and projected to a huge screen as the two joke their way through a set of thirty or so dick tricks while a sold-out house watches the show and cheers them along, lots of young women, couples, people from the suburbs. It's all straight-forward, only a couple of lewd references, something your grandmother would enjoy if the objects being manipulated weren't what they are.
A book with step by step instructions is available after the show for $20. "Can you believe we found a publisher for it?" said one of the guys.
Just to mention, the warmup for the show was a (dressed) woman. She had a heavy British or Australian accent so I didn't understand much of what she was saying, other than "I don't have a penis."
'twas a pretty dumb yet somewhat entertaining evening ...
The kaleidoscope of cultures that is the City never ceases to amaze. I'm a perpetual tourist finding new sights even as I walk streets I've walked many times before.
Just a few blocks up Second Avenue from my place, past Lhasa and Siam Square, around the corner from Szechuan Exotic Chinese Food and the Korean grocery flower stand, is perhaps the largest concentration of Indian restaurants this side of Asia. It's part of that crazy quilt of ethnicities that is the East Village, predating most of today's popular ethnic food joints.
The first Indian restaurant opened in the 60's, not really Indian but Pakistani. Not too many people knew the difference (if there is a difference,) so it became Little India. Judging by the names on the awnings, the owners aren't eager to fight that misconception. The first two were opened by feuding brothers (so the legend goes,) uncles and more distant relatives followed, opening their own restaurants, filling the block with popular and inexpensive places to eat, perfect for the Hippies living in the area at the time. Over the years the word got out, so now tourists by the busload head for this New York City neighborhood.
Some places cost a bit more than others and there are slight variations in the menus and flavors, but not enough to dispel the rumor that there is one central kitchen in the middle of the block, serving all restaurants. In any case, it's still the cheapest place in the City to get a tasty multi-course dinner.
Nestled in these tastes from the Indian subcontinent are a few representatives of other cultures, equally at home in the neighborhood. Right across the street from Sonali is a Synagogue, built when the area was a center of Jewish life before WWII; and should you need to check your email, one of the City's few remaining Internet cafes is still in operation a few of blocks away.
That was the 90's, it looks much different now. The City made many restaurants take down their colorful unlicensed signs and awnings. There are only a few Indian restaurants left, replaced by other ethnics, other cultures, other tastes.
Don't know if I like those sidewalk sheds they came up with for the age of Covid, nor the bicycle rental racks on the corner.