Take a Bow

Benj ... and me, hiding an anxiety zit.

This marks the last entry I write from Ithaca. The flight's in 3.5 hours, give or take, then there's this long layover in Philly, and then on to CDG. (Hopefully we won't come across any malevolent birds.)

Catch you guys on the other side of the universe.

From the Front Lines of Bad-Ass Cascadilla St.

My landlord has become passionately embroiled in an effort to keep the city of Ithaca from turning the park across the street into a full-sized basketball court, complete with floodlights.

Because there's nothing better to do, people are getting really emotional about it. Landlord walked up and down the street, circulating a petition against it. His work's won some press, not least because there are people that believe protesting the installation is a racist act, I guess against the black kids that use the (constricting?) basketball courts that are already there.

Well, hell. You say a thing like that and it starts to be true. Sometime over the weekend, people crept up and down Cascadilla, slashing tires at random. We were scandalized: it's like being in Boyz n the Hood, except anticlimactic and painfully suburban.

Never mind that this house is chock-full of minorities. Given our selfish, irrational despise of jumbo basketball courts, we apathetically await burning crosses on the lawn ... or maybe a really mean chalk drawing on the pavement.

It's the Ithaca Parade!

The Ithaca Festival -- which natives dub "the weekend we celebrate the departure of the college students!" -- kicked off with a huge parade last Thursday. Benj and I came early so we could score good viewing spots. (I also wanted to be very close to the people throwing candy. My scheme was a great success.)

"I am Ithaca" was the theme (complete with papier maché tiki man) and all species of Ithacan were represented: marathon runners, middle-aged mermaids, makeshift gypsies, the Leche League (see giant breastfeeding woman), umbrella-sporting geriatrics, human peacocks, stilt people (I didn't even notice them at first. I think all the ad conferences made me immune), the Infamous Bag Man, and strawberry spawn -- among myriad others.

Also see: 

Like pet, like owner!

It's the Volvo ballet!

The parade ended with the arrival of two fire trucks, one of which was towing a not-so-little piece of history.

"Isn't it amazing?" Benj said. "That's how they used to put fires out. To think it was drawn by a horse. Look at the modern equivalent!"

More photos here. Also, catch short videos of the children's band, some whimsical violinists, and -- ooh -- belly belly BELLY dancers:

On Chaos Theory, or Being a Thunder God

The scene: walking home from farmers market in a Godforsaken heat wave. We've arrived at a crosswalk. I am wheezing. Dry air and blooming flowers make me do that.

Benj: "Let's stand just here. We can invoke the chaotic theory and maybe start a thunderstorm."

Me: "It's 'chaos theory.' You know, like a theory about chaos. The theory is not itself chaotic; it's pretty straightforward."

Benj: "What do you know about chaos theory?"

I wiggle my bum into Benj's lap. He leaps back. "What are you doing?!" he demands, nostrils flaring, a perfect picture of British indignation.

Me: "Invoking chaos theory!"

Benj: "You know nothing about chaos theory."

Thunder booms in the distance.

Benj, lifting arm up in salute: "Yes, chaos theory, YES!"

Snow Comes to Ithaca and I Finally Get a Bolshevik Hat

Dewey leaves on the bushes last night:

This morning it began to snow. I investigate, wearing the rabbit-skin Bolshevik hat I bought yesterday:

A magical moment: "It's burning my hands!"

That hat is the coolest piece of headgear I have ever owned. It's formally branded "Mad Bomber." Here is the story from the tag:

Raised in the flatlands of Virginia, our demented Figurehead migrated to Utah where he became an Unstable ski jumper known as The Mad Bomber.

He continued on to infamy trading in Manchuria for these original hats. When the Siberian winds blow, whether you're traveling the steppes of Manchuria or skiing the Tetons, be cool and keep warm with Mad Bomber. "Because it's Cool out There."


I am crazy about it. And on that cheery note, here's a story about a little boy with an equally amazing hat. I give you Adventure Time (the best thing to hit Nickelodeon since Inside-Out Boy!), courtesy of this guy.