September 2009

A blustery last afternoon in this place. A city of cold bricks and some warm warm warm people.

Sailor busted into my Aussie visitor Martin’s Vegemite stash and dragged two tubes back to his dog lair. The fact that a garbage-gobbling *dog* took one taste and stopped eating is, I believe, at last, proof positive that Vegemite intrinsically tastes like sh*t.

Granted, Sailor is a Welsh Corgi, not an Australian Shepard… Hmm.

Swallowing a spoonful of Brooklyn pedestrian culture, as I won’t see much of it this Winter.

The Australian boys who were my band for Bluesfest, here playing to surf movies. Good to see them. Bad to be in Manhattan at night.

Aussie Andrew Kidman is strapping my kick drum onto a car’s roof rack moments before absconding with half my music gear. I wouldn’t allow such drum-toting tomfoolery from the inhabitants of any other nation – but my dear Australian posse have my heart forevermore. They’re in town to play at the NY Surf Film festival tomorrow night in Tribeca, soundtracking Andrew’s sea film. The Brown Birds.

–Neighborhood Obituary, September 23rd, 2009–

Mr. S. Rat, Aged 2

He is survived by his 3,406 brothers and 2,011 sisters. Funeral services will be held at 3 am tomorrow in a dank subterranean burrow just below the sidewalk, followed by a memorial dinner to be held in the garbage cans lining 4th Avenue, including Megan’s. In lieu of memorial offerings, the family has asked that mourners leave tiny fetid rat turds in and around the garbage areas following the memorial dinner.

May he rest in peace.

Scene of fierce hand-to-hand fighting during Revolutionary War, as the British tried to stop the hoardes of terrified people from spilling down from the hills of what’s now Prospect Park as they tried to reach the Gowanus and cross it without drowning or being speared to a tree by Hessian mercenaries – as some of their friends had just been. And you thought *you* were having a hard day…

"As a neuroanatomist, I must say that I learned as much about my brain and how it functions during that stroke, as I had in all my years of academia. By the end of that morning, my consciousness shifted into a perception that I was at *one* with the universe. Since that time, I have come to understand how it is that we are capable of having a ‘mystical’ or ‘metaphysical’ experience – relative to our brain anatomy."

– Jill Bolte Taylor, Ph.D in "My Stroke of Genius: A Brain Scientist’s Personal Journey’

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