Blog Elephant Graveyard

Poor editing can result in some nasty funk:

The little кафе́ (Russian Tea House) that the PSC (Princeton Shopping Centre/Retirement Castle) once held within it's whitewashed strip mall non-walls, replete with memories of a portly Jazzbo comically running after two beagles to the tune of "Trampled Underfoot" by Led Zeppelin, will never leave my mind for too long. This bakery was highly unusual in its self-awareness; management understood that its windows served as a preliminary display case by which to catch the eyes of passer-byes. The windows stayed squeaky clean, flowers in the vases were always fresh and music was almost inaudible, but present. Tea House could also mean 'bakery' as one can often take tea with a treat, a sort of pleasurable break. There was a map of the world on the western wall; never before had Vladivostok beckoned to mine eyes. Lying on what is the borderline of China, both N and S Korea as well as the Sea of Japan, it is one of Russia's largest cities; its port serving as a trading post for the eastern world to mother Росси́я.

I had always felt a little strange about this whole notion of heritage, of cultural transmission from one generation to the next; I had been told that Max Borenstein had been brought by his parents over to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania from old Russia at a very young age, anywhere, up to and including the ages of 2 and 4; living to tell the tale is a mixed blessing, if you believe in such things. Covering the '10s thru current times his eyes have seen much, and been blind to much more than, I suspect, he ever suspected possible.
I found him at the Lafayette Redeemer one day, TV blaring C-Span, in his one bedroom efficiency apartment; emphasis is placed on independent living for 'active' seniors; most choke in horror when I proudly claim that pop-pop still has his PA driver's license at the tender age of 94. He was never much for tea; I can't recall a single time that he and I ever spent inside drinking anything besides water, orange juice or steaming hot decaffeinated coffee. Our dynamic consisted of my mother, and most relatives, telling horror stories of being but a child and being forced against her will to perform mathematical duties; I just recently read a remarkably similar story in the first book of War and Peace. Meanwhile, I had succeeded as a child in ignoring these responsibilities through a kind of laziness that can only be symbolized by flattened, empty boxes of ®Hot Pockets stacked like the elephant graveyard in the middle of Grover Park's field 2 home team dugout. So, in essence he became the benefactor that saw me through the events in my life where I was to decide what type of young man I would hope to become. Being the good soldier, as well as somewhat serious Greco-Roman wrestler (not of the GREASED TURKISH VARIETY) he was a serious supporter of any and all team sports. He did push the math on my brother and I, but he grew more and more gentle with his grandchildren as he aged. Meanwhile he continued terrorizing those Borensteins, Bortners, and other seemingly artificially-generated generic Jewish last names, of the baby boomer generation.
I sat listening to Levon Helm's "Electric Dirt" all by my lonesome in someone else's empty bedroom right by the rhein where the Berlin wall once stood as a symbol of the old dichotomy that dictated some type of us vs. them dynamic over ideology, There's a poster on the door for a conference on bringing down capitalism, there's Frank Rich Op-Eds with the Madoff story, viral marketing and an intriguing spin on what happens when economic uncertainty overshadows American idols like Johnny Depp (for the record, Public Enemies does sound ill), an empty coffee cup that was 2 parts espresso and 1 part cold whole milk (technically 3.8 %, whatever, it's still VOLL-MILCH to me).

RANDOM ASIDE: Does Sarah Palin suffer from the same debilitating syndrome that plagues myself and so many other failed sportscasters?

SHAME ON ALL YOU WHO JUDGE HER ON THE BASIS OF HER WOMANDOM!!!!! So sayeth assholes like Huckabee, Romney, Giuliani and THE GHOST OF FIORELLO LAGUARDIA!!!!!


This doesn't mean much of anything, trying to keep the blade of the mind from dulling too far. Oh WELL I FEEL BETTER!