Putting It Together

I've been collecting fabrics from the streets of Los Boliches and I finally have enough (more than enough) to make a quilt.

Bit by bit...

Same Ship, Different Day

You've probably heard the expression: SSDD. The second word isn't actually "Ship," but at least it rhymes... well, no it doesn't.

I've got nothing of great social and political import to share (not that I ever do). I did see a ship from the terrace. Still, the title's a stretch. Although the sightings were each on a Different Day. They weren't of the Same Ship.

I'm sure there's something profound in all this.

(Click the images to see the big DSDD.)

THAT'S THE COSTA FORTUNA.
(REMEMBER THE COSTA CONCORDIA?)

THE MSC SINFONIA.
(I HAD NEVER HEARD OF MSC CRUISES.)

And while we're on the subject of great social and political import...

Where Mitchell Moves, #2

This is the second in the series "Where Mitchell Moves." (Click here for #1.)

FROM EAST NEW YORK TO NORTH MASSAPEQUA.
(CLICK ANY IMAGE TO ENLARGE.)

In 1956, housing developments were popping up all over Long Island's rural landscape. So, my parents decided to move the four of us from East New York to North Massapequa on suburban Long Island. The Kid Brother was born a few years after we moved. Thanks to him, my father traded in the 1950-something Chrysler DeSoto (a really cool car) for a brand new 1960 Rambler Station Wagon (not very cool but plenty of fun), which Dale immediately christened Old Betsy.

THE SUBURBS. 

My Mother The Dowager Duchess signed Dale up for the Brownies and The Duchess herself became a Girl Scout leader. I was young enough at the time to be taken along to meetings.

When I was of age, I joined the Cub Scouts. In Brooklyn years later, my father decided to be the first scout master of a new Boy Scout troop. So I had to join up.

I definitely preferred the Girl Scouts...

WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO CHILD LABOR LAWS?

I LOOK PRETTY DAPPER FOR A FOUR-YEAR-OLD.
(DALE LOOKS PRETTY FRUMPY FOR SEVEN.)

WITH OSCAR DINGLEHOFFER, OUR PET PARAKEET NAMED BY OUR FATHER.
(FOLLOWED MUCH TOO CLOSELY BY OSCAR DINGLEHOFFER THE SECOND.)

A FEW YEARS LATER... AND BABY MAKES FIVE.
IN BACKGROUND IS ONE OF A HANDFUL OF THE "PRE-SUBURB" HOMES.

THE KID BROTHER BEING TOSSED TO THE CURB
BY THE DOWAGER DUCHESS.
(I'M GOING TO GET IT FOR THAT.)

AS THEY SAY IN NORWAY... UFF DA!

CUTE KID ... BROTHER.

DON'T ASK ME; MY FATHER POSED US.
(AND THE DOWAGER DUCHESS DRESSED US!)

RIGHT AFTER THE PHOTO WAS SNAPPED, THE KID BROTHER
THREW MY METAL CAP GUN AT ME AND GAVE ME A FAT LIP.

A MORE RECENT SHOT FROM GOOGLE MAPS.

The year we moved, Elvis sang about the hotel San Geraldo and I would open more than 40 years later...

Tequila!

This was the week of Feria del Virgen del Rosario (the fair of the Virgin of the Rosary), which culminates tomorrow with a procession if the weather cooperates. We've had rain and sun, with here and there a downpour, these last few days. Wednesday night (glorious weather), San Geraldo and I walked over to the fair.

OUR FIRST VIEW OF THE FAIR AS WE STROLLED OVER FROM THE BEACH.

Often, when we have friends visiting from the United States, they're surprised by sales booths they spot at fairs and outside movie theaters. Invariably, someone will look dumb-founded and say, "They're selling shots of tequila?!?"

TAH-KEY-YA!!!

OK, so the thought crossed my mind the first time I saw a booth, too. But then I realized it's not spelled the same. It's "taquilla" (pronounced tah-KEY-ya") and not "tequila." It's a ticket booth. Given my one experience with tequila shots when I was 20 years old (sharing an entire bottle with one other person), I'm even a little afraid to approach the ticket booth.

Wednesday was Children's Day at the fair. Well, every day is children's day (and adults' day) at the fair. But Wednesday, is the most popular day for children to dress in traditional costume.

THIS YEAR'S LIGHTS.

WAITING FOR THE PARTY TO START AT ONE OF THE CASETAS.

BUMPER BOATS! A BOY IN TRADITIONAL COSTUME.
HE LOOKS LIKE A BOWERY BOY TO ME.

SAN GERALDO LOVES SWEET CORN (CORN ON THE COB).
HE COMMENTED THAT HE NEVER SAW ANY AT THE FAIR THIS TIME.
I HADN'T EITHER... UNTIL I LOOKED AT MY PHOTOS THURSDAY MORNING.

ABOUT TO HEAD BACK THROUGH THE GATES.

Tequila!!!

Can't Touch This

If you've been following my blog for a while, you might remember that I can be a danger to myself, even while sleeping. I tend to move a lot while sleeping, as I do in my waking life. And I mean a lot.

I sleep with four pillows, which invariably end up on the floor on either side of the bed a few times a night. I sometimes wake up during the night with my head hanging off one side of the bed and my feet the other. It's one of several reasons San Geraldo and I have separate beds.

Many years pre–San Geraldo, I actually pushed a "sleeping companion" out of bed. I swear I was asleep when I did it. She never came back to try again.

In Sevilla, I fell out of bed and ended up scraped and bruised (click here for that).

This week, I discovered a new danger.

I keep my nails trimmed neatly and fairly short. No claws here. Monday night, I was having some kind of bizarre dream that I thankfully can't remember. In the dream, for some odd reason, I ran my nails up my forehead. I woke up with a yell and realized I wasn't just dreaming. I was bleeding. I had scraped two furrows into my head. When I went to clean things up and inspect the damage, I noticed that I had clearly run my thumb nail along my temple at the same time.

TUESDAY MORNING.

It didn't look too bad in the light of day Tuesday morning, although Elena did immediately gasp when we met for coffee. It actually looked a bit worse Wednesday but only because it was quickly healing and had begun to scab over. Now if I could only remember to not touch my forehead! (And to keep my head out of the direct spray of the shower.)

At 5:00 Thursday morning, I woke with a yell. I had done it again.

THURSDAY MORNING. MIXED SCRATCHES.

This time, I re-opened (and expanded) the larger of the two scrapes in front and I added another one parallel to it. The new wound isn't too visible because it hasn't scabbed over yet.

My nails are now filed to stubs (that can still scratch, unfortunately). I was thinking of wearing a stocking cap to bed. But then I came up with an even better idea. Baby mittens!

BABYMITTEN,COM HAS QUITE THE SELECTION OF NO-SCRATCH MITTENS.
I WONDER IF THEY COME IN MENS' LARGE.

And since I'm now scratch-mixing...

Overexposed

San Geraldo and I strolled over to Sandpiper Tuesday night for dinner. As we neared the restaurant, we heard music we hadn't heard on the street before. Could it be the half-naked Brazilians (click here)? Yes!

(Click any image to see more flesh.. if you dare.)

At the height of summer, the group comprised close to 10 musicians, singers, dancers, and gymnasts. They've dwindled to only four. Not quite the same effect. But at least I got to see them in action.

THE LITTLE GIRL (DAUGHTER OF A RESTAURANT OWNER) WAS ADORABLE.
BUT IT PROBABLY WASN'T THE SMARTEST PLACE FOR HER TO STAND.

PASSING THE TAMBOURINE ON SANDPIPER'S TERRACE.

Since the Half-Naked Brazilians were a bit of a let-down (at least for me), I thought I'd share another half-naked foreigner who passed by Tuesday morning.

THIS BARE-BELLY (BEER BELLY?) LOOK IS POPULAR AMONG THE TOURISTS...
SADLY THOUGH, NEVER AMONG THE TOURISTS WITH ABS OF STEEL.

Where Mitchell Moves, #1

I was going to title (or entitle) this post, "Why Mitchell Moves," but that would initiate a major psychiatric evaluation and treatise. I move because I'm always running away from something. I move because I have no stability. I move because I don't like putting down roots. I move because I like adventure. I move because I am easily bored. I move because I thrive on change. I move because 'the grass is always greener.' On and on...

Basically, I have moved a lot in my life. This is the first in the series on "where" and not "why." Eventually, you should have a clear understanding, at least, of why my blog is called "Mitchell is Moving" (if not in fact why Mitchell moves).

Here's where it began (click any image for a closer look):

UNITY HOSPITAL, ST. JOHN'S PLACE, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.
(THE YEAR BEFORE I WAS BORN.) 

FROM  GOOGLE MAPS.  THE NEIGHBORHOOD HAS BECOME TRENDY,
SO IT PROBABLY LOOKS VERY DIFFERENT NOW.

I was born in 1954 at Unity Hospital in Brooklyn, New York. My parents and sister were already living in the neighborhood of East New York, on Van Siclen Avenue. We had the upstairs apartment in a 2-family row house owned by my uncle's mother. My aunt (father's sister) and uncle lived downstairs with my two cousins. One more child followed in each family, but not until after we left Brooklyn when I was around 1-1/2.

MY PARENTS AND SISTER DALE (PRE-ME).

OUR NEIGHBOR, COUSIN REESA (LEFT), WITH DALE.

Built in 1901, the house was already 50 years old when my parents first moved in. It had the original back porch with darkly aged and rotting wood. The porch creaked and shook whenever we were out there.

MY MATERNAL GRANDMOTHER HOLDING DALE, WITH THREE OF MY COUSINS.
THAT'S AN AWFUL LOT OF PEOPLE TO BE ON THAT PORCH AT ONCE.

MY FATHER AND DALE ON THE PORCH.
(STAYING CLOSE TO THE WALL.)

THAT'S ME IN THE KITCHEN.
(THE DOWAGER DUCHESS LIKES RED.)

THE PATTERN MAY HAVE BEEN A BIT MUCH FOR DALE.

My Mother The Dowager Duchess had already developed her fashionable and arty aesthetic. Very trendy and custom-made furniture. Fabrics in combinations I would now include in my "what patterns you should not combine" posts. But, fashion is fashion.

HERE I AM MODELING THE DRAPES, AND THE CLUB CHAIR IN ITS SUMMER SLIP COVER. 

The sofa was 9 feet long (2.75 meters). In 1964, when we moved from a house in the suburbs to a high-rise apartment in Brooklyn, the sofa didn't fit in the elevator. The movers had to carry it up 16 flights of stairs. The Dowager Duchess gave them some iced tea, I think, and $5. (Maybe it was $10 and beer.)

THE NUBBY 9-FOOT SOFA AND I.
THAT'S NOT A DOLL; IT'S AN ACTION FIGURE! YEAH, THAT'S IT! BABY G.I. JOE.

DALE AND MORE SUMMER SLIP COVERS...
ON THE 9-FOOT SOFA AND THE WING CHAIR.

DALE IN THE TUB. (THERE'S ALSO A SHOT OF ME,
BUT IT WOULD NOW BE CONSIDERED KIDDY PORN.)

A CLOSE-UP OF THE HOMOEROTIC BATHROOM WALLPAPER.
ALREADY UP WHEN MY PARENTS MOVED IN.
(CHECK OUT THE BUNS ON NEPTUNE!)

An appropriate musical selection from 1954
(although I ain't a-getting ready to meet the saints)...