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Mine calves still ache.
It seemed like good exercise, a trek of 4 miles or so each way. That's like walking uptown to the 80's and back; nothing to sneeze at but, hey, this will be an outing and getting a taste of nature isn't always easy for us city folk. Don't know how elevation 3,140 feet figures in there, we'll find out, but they mention the rocky slopes of the trail make for a very interesting day hike
Sunday early morning we set off from our Bed and Breakfast on the Village Green, north on paved road heading into the hills, according to the map it's two miles to a monastery at the trailhead, then another two to Overlook Mountain. The paved road part should be a snap. Immediately at the outskirts of town, just around the corner really, the road takes on a decidedly upward tilt and by the time the last of the houses disappear in the trees we're sweating profusely and breathing gets heavy. No other hikers are in sight. An occasional car breezes by, navigating the switchbacks. Hitchhiking does come to mind, but none of the occupants seem to paying much attention to us crawling up the hill, so we push on. Frequent signs line the road:
Be a good neighBEAR.
Don't feed the bears!
Strange sounds come from the forest. Possibly we've bitten off a bit too much, and we'll just have some refreshments at the monastery which should be right around the next bend and then we'll head back downhill. Another sign:
KTD is not a good neighbor!
Presumably KTD is known to feed bears and the neighbors don't like it.
The monastery glimmering through the trees is a most welcome sight after an hour on the road. It's a large tan structure trimmed in gold, crowned by a gold stupa. No one is in sight though we hear chanting and there's a smell of burning wood. A friendly man materializes out of the smoke and invites us to a coke machine. The Karma Triyan Dharmachakra monastery is having a service; we can't enter the temple but we're free to relax on the grounds while admiring his elaborately crafted metal pendant dotted with heavy turquoise stones, aligned with his chakras, thereby warding off harmful radiation and producing a healthy body and aura. He also creates other sculptures and eagerly demonstrates a heavy copper spiral in the shape of a pyramid which vibrates under my hands. It's good for people working with computers he says, asks for our opinion about selling them in SoHo.
The smoke is from a fire stoked with hemlock wood which, along with the service now in progress, is meant to finally lift a 5 year snag the monastery has been unable to overcome. Hemlock captures the problem and burning it makes it go away, doncha'no. It seems the monastery needs to expand, plans totally stymied by a disapproving township which probably would like the see the temple razed instead. We stop by the fire to add a piece of presumed hemlock before crossing the road where we contemplate the map at the trailhead and decide to leave that for some other day.
Monday morning, while waiting for the bus back to the City, my eyes take a last look up at rich rolling green hills climbing up the mountain ... and there is the monastery stupa sticking out of the green like a ... It suddenly dawns on me who KTD is and why some may think they're not a good neighbor.
Two Japanese NYU students at the table next to us giggle loudly while discussing their boyfriends before suddenly switching to Japanese, making us miss the rest of the story. That turned out to be only part of tonight's disappointment.
Rangoon Night Noodles, delicately toasted garlic and bits of duck meat with greasy noodles. Why do they do that? We should have ordered the seafood but perhaps not, the plate of veggies and shrimp on another neighbor's table glistens suspiciously more than your average Chinese takeout.
Portions are twice as large as I recall from some years ago when we last visited and when I'm sure the dishes were a bit more delicate. The rave review in this week's free Metro paper should have given us pause since it loudly praised the green tea leaf salad which I clearly remembered as something which never lives up to its interesting description.
'Sordid appetizers where definitely deep fried, though a traditional hot tamarind soup with cabbage, spinach and squash in a crock pot turned out to be tasty and satisfying, ample for two at a price for one. Curried mango pork is tender, can't quite taste mango though; the dish has an unusual musty curry flavor with a bit of liquid red fat floating on top.
Our carafe of Cabernet helps immensely - a bit raw and perfect for cutting through the grease.
After stuffing ourselves we waddle home through a heavy mist just in time to rest a bit and catch the last of David Garland's Evening Muse on WNYC with him complaining that at 52 degrees on January 29 when is Winter going to start, before we split a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate which happens to be the best part of this Sunday's dinner.
Size? Media? Where? How much you drop?
Trying to figure out what you're asking ...
much later: it's a Doodle on my Galaxy Tab A, mostly finger painting?
So, it is your work, and digital. You answered media(m). As it is your work, dropped mere infinitesimal expenses. Size would depend on reproduction. Excellent, though not as titillating as a story of a purchase could be made. Nice stylistic piece, BTW.
I was about to add that I did not drop acid.
how about ETFs?
What does EquityTradedFunds have to do with it?
Acid?? Not likely from what remember of research on its effects on alcoholic treatment/therapy. OTTOMH, more Expressionist (of some sort) is what comes to mind.
Say that fast three times.
Smacked Village is the second legal pot shop to open in the City, also just off Washington Square. It's a popup shop because this is only a beta run. The plan is to close at the end of the month and organize a permanent presence some time later.
So I take a walk to check them out. This time around the Housing Works Dispensary has no line, I get ushered right in and there are only a couple of customers. I guess the novelty has worn off. ID check. Place seems makeshift, a bit cool in a big space. Everyone is helpful but Sorry, we don't allow pictures here.
At Smacked Village the guy there by the door sees me coming, fiddles with those black boxes on the right to unlock the door and lets me in. ID check. Also mostly empty, just a few customers, but it feels warm and welcome inside, the music is not too loud and everyone is friendly. Discrete security lets me take pix of the ware.
But wait, there's more! Crossing Washington Square ... what's this? ... a popup pot shop is open for business right in the middle of the Square by the fountain, guarded by a Ninja Warrior and I'm guessing the guy sitting is the boss? They were a bit uncomfortable with the pix. Flower in the jars goes for $40 an eighth, much the same as the legal stuff. And no tax! Also no ID check. [boss's facemask edited in]
Cruising Gulf Coast beaches in skimpy trunks.
A guy tows a canister, somewhat like an oxygen tank. For a few cents he sprays hot bodies with a mixture of baby oil and iodine to produce that perfect tan. Cover your eyes he says as he soaks me head to toes, front and back.
Days on the nude section of Jones Beach, roasting in the sun with only grapefruit juice to keep hydrated.
Endless Summers on Fire Island baking in the dunes.
Little did we know or care back then.
[Back then the fad was to mix baby oil and iodine together and smear it on. Research into Australian, U.S. and Swedish attitudes to tanning predicts people born between 1900-1960 will be at highest risk of dying from melanoma than any other generations.]
Not to alarm you, it's nothing that dire, just some skin growths, but here I am visiting my Dermatologist yet again. The receptionist behind the barricade directs me to a newfangled device, a pad, to sign in with. I enter my name, it knows who I am! Next item shows my Ethnicity: African-American. Well, that's not right. [Insert inappropriate quip about excessive tanning?] How about Congolese ... Ethiopian ... St. Vincentian?
I'm stymied. The receptionist comes out from behind her barricade to help this older guy who has no idea how to deal with computers, clicks some buttons and gets ASIAN ... Burmese ... Thai ... Vietnamese. BLACK. I'm African-American again.
She's lost as well.
I notice a small arrow bottom right and keep keep pressing it, reasoning there must be a W down there somewhere as it scrolls on forever ... NATIVE HAWAIIAN ... listing every tribe known to mankind and in galaxies beyond . . Cambodian ... Chinese ... Hmong .... what's a YAPESE and why? All those Spaniards ... Andalusian ... I like the sound of that ... or maybe Valencian, they have great oranges?
And there it is, all the way at the bottom! WHITE! So much for White Privilege. No mention of Aryan so WHITE will have to do.
A bit later in the Doctor's office after multiple zappings with his ray gun: You wouldn't do all that sun again, would you he says. No cancer. See you in a couple of months.
A PDF of Races and Ethnicity is attached below, seems it's standard for medical services. Future research project: what did the Nazi's chart looked like?