Andi "penumbras & emanations" P.'s Profile

If you're going to pay $139 to sit in a classroom for 4-5 hours on a Saturday morning determining the order in which Gimena, Holly, Iyanna, Kate, Leung, Nate, Oscar, Pedro, and Saul attend their piano lessons, you shouldn't also have to spend those hours determining how to arrange your fourteen (or more) HB pencils, government issued ID, highlighter, pencil sharpener (just in case), Scan-Tron sheet, test booklet, and watch (analog only) upon one of those awkwardly small stand-alone desk-chair combo contraptions reminiscent of middle school days. No, you need space.

In the "modern" lecture hall-style classrooms it borrows from Suffolk Law, Test Center 2676 will give you that space, along with a nice cushy wheely chair that you can adjust (height, tilt), a climate-controlled atmosphere, breathing room, peace and quiet (at least Paul Revere and Sam Adams, buried right across the street, aren't going to be causing any disturbances anytime soon), pleasant lighting, etc. From arrival to departure, the testing should be as well-organized, efficient, and comfortable as such things can be.

Just a block from the Park Street T stop, this testing location is also a cinch to get to, and of course it offers ample possibilities for post-gaming. At least determining the order in which you should visit Durty Nelly's, Last Hurrah, Marliave, No. 9 Park, Stoddard's, and The Tam is a worthwhile venture, especially because there's really no wrong answer. Or, if In/Out Grouping games are more your style:

Test-takers are deciding which of the following six establishments--Durty Nelly's, Last Hurrah, Marliave, No. 9 Park, Stoddard's, and The Tam--to include on their post-LSAT bar crawl. The following must obtain:
    If The Tam is included, so is No 9. Park.
    If No. 9 Park is included, so is Durty Nelly's.
    If Durty Nelly's is included, so is Last Hurrah.
    If Last Hurrah is included, so is Marliave.
    If Marliave is included, so is Stoddard's.
    The Tam is included.

In addition to his May 1 beatification in front of over one million spectators, Karol Józef Wojtya more recently had his legacy preserved in a different fashion. Just in time for the late pope's birthday on May 18th, a massive (& initially massively controversial) sculpture was erected & unveiled in Piazza dei Cinquecento, the public square adjacent to Termini, Rome's main train station. Many of those who have seen the 5-meter sculpture, however, are not taking it as an occasion to celebrate; the Vatican--which had formerly approved of the artist's sketches--is among the displeased. Some complain that the sculpture is simply plain-old ugly, or that it fails to resemble the former pope, who was known for his crowd-pleasing charisma as much as anything else. Many have observed that it not only fails to bear resemblance to JP2, but that it instead succeeds in bearing resemblance to Mussolini. Two passersby, Antonio Lamonica & his wife, covered all the bases, with Antonio asking "How could they have given such a kind pope the head of a Fascist?" while his wife called it "Ugly, really ugly, very ugly."

The opprobrium has not been unanimous. For example, Avery Gordon, a commenter on http://chron.com, offers a defense of the piece: "The concept as a modern work of art in a public place, is that it is accessible. A child could crawl inside. Therefore, the piece portrays [JP2] as an empty vessel ready to accept and embrace all of humanity, and all of God: an all-giving being." The sculpture, designed by Oliviero Rainaldi, also happens to be consonant with the artist's overall oeuvre--characterized by abstracted humanoid forms. See, for instance, works from his Battesimi Umani, Gigant, and Vergine series. These figurations are simultaneously beautiful/grotesque/sacred/haunting/suggestive/mys terious. They withstand, while also spurning, the gamut of interpretations their ambiguity demands. In its rejection of "literal" representation, Rainaldi's JP2 seems similarly evocative & enigmatic, a combination that can elicit especially passionate reactions given that the sculpture is a high-profile piece of public art representing a figure as loathed as he was loved.

The sculpture consists of an abstract, block-like head plopped atop an even more abstract, slightly Serra-esque figural structure that purportedly represents JP2's papal cloak--perhaps meant to conjure up warm fuzzy thoughts of what Rainaldi refers to as "the Pope's openness to the world." As the outcry surrounding the sculpture suggests, however, not everyone who wants to see its warm fuzziness is seeing its warm fuzziness. Instead of bringing to mind metaphors of a kindly shepherd enfolding his flock, the sculpture might bear closer resemblance to a hollow man, all his internal organs aborted. Such an interpretation of the pope's legacy is, unfortunately, not without precedent, nor are the invocations of a fascist dictator. Rather than resembling JP2's public persona, the sculpture's haunting image brings to mind how the former pope, along with Ratzinger, have been gutting the post-Vatican II Church tag-team style. And considering JP2's facilitation of G-d knows what crimes against children (not to mention women as well as Catholicism itself), an "incident" that has been cited as one inspiration for the sculpture's design also becomes darkly suggestive. In 2003, the late pope jokingly enveloped a young boy in his cloak. That seems innocent enough, but as more & more information comes to light regarding JP2's institution-wide collusion with serial rapists and child molesters, such moments lose their symbolic innocence & instead become laced with an uncomfortable irony.

Such a reading might seem incompatible with a reading of the statue as "an empty vessel ready to accept and embrace all of humanity, and all of God"--& perhaps the two are indeed irreconcilable--but such discord, & the questions it leaves unanswered, seem to represent JP2--with his carefully constructed public persona veiling his private (mis)managings--with disconcerting accuracy. Although Rainaldi conceded that he "didn't think about resemblance" in his design of the sculpture, in the end the work reflects the smoke and mirrors of JP2's tenuous legacy. While being interpretable according to the delusions of the Vatican's current campaigns--and obscured by the charade that is JP2's fast-tracked beatification and (G-d forbid) sainting--the sculpture nonetheless leaves room for less "official" assessments of the former pope's character. The roughly-hewn edges of the sculptural cloak of supposed infallibility hint at the heartlessness that can be hidden beneath appearances.

In time, hopefully the piece's own monumental negative space--& the bronze wall encircling it--will be a token of the rendering visible of, & not the concealing of, the stories of the countless victims forced into darkness by the papal regime. They are the ones who deserve a monument.

Note: Sadly (very very sadly for the Boston art world), if you venture here nowadays, you will discover a hat store in its place. On the June 2010 closing: http://www.wbur.org/20...

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

Keats took that to mean "die." (d. 1821, age 25)
P.B. Shelley took it to mean "be interred in" (but only after drowning in the Gulf of Spezia, initially being buried in Viareggio, and then having his body exhumed and cremated per health regulations).(note 1) (d. 1822, age 29)(note 2)

To each his own.

Theirs are two of the higher profile graves to be found in the "Non-Catholic Cemetery for Foreigners," amidst a sort of Who's Who of other writers, artists, philosophers, relations, etc.--many of them English, Italian, and Spanish. (And there are cats, lots of cats--but those are alive.) As described in Shelley's preface to "Adonaïs" (1821): "The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place."

Be advised that, if you share Shelley's beatific vision of the Cemetery, are non-Catholic, and would like to R.I.P. here, plots for funereal urns are still available. (And why not? A thing of beauty is a joy forever!) But before you shuffle off this mortal coil, it's well worth a visit to see the following three gravesites in particular (and to do graphite rubbings of them, if that's your thing): (1) The Keats headstone, with its peculiar inscription ("This grave contains all that was mortal, of a YOUNG ENGLISH POET, Who on his Death Bed, in the Bitterness of his Heart, at the Malicious Power of his Enemies, Desired these Words to be engraven on his Tomb Stone: Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water"); (2) Shelley's grave (inscribed with lines from the "Tempest": "Nothing of him that doth fade / But doth suffer a sea-change / Into something rich and strange"); and, (3) William Wetmore Story's oft-replicated elegiac "L'Angelo del dolore" (1894) sculpture--arrestingly beautiful especially for the angel's left arm and hand limply hanging down in front (http://www.flickr.com/...). The sculpture was designed for the tomb of the sculptor's wife, Emelyn Story (d. 1895), and the artist himself (d. 1895) is also buried beneath it.

Lastly: "What is death? Who dares to say that which will come after the grave?" (Shelley, "An Address to the People on The Death of the Princess Charlotte" (1817)) Hopefully, at least, no more poetic outbursts along the lines of, "I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!" ("Ode to the West Wind" (1819)).

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(note 1) Shelley's heart is not among those ashes; his heart "survived" the cremation (because, you know, that's how Romantic Poetry works) and was eventually given as a souvenir to his wife, Mary Shelley. If you'd like to visit his heart, check out  St. Peter's Churchyard, Bournemouth, Dorset, England, where it was finally buried along with his son in 1889. (For more on this, see E. P. Scarlett, MB. Cor Cordium: A Discussion of the Circumstances in Connection With the Cremation of Shelly, the English Poet. Arch Intern Med. 1966;118(4):406-412.)
(note 2) The [London] Courier had this to say: "Shelley, the writer of some infidel poetry, has been drowned, now he knows whether there is a God or not" (5 August 1822).

Behold. Gluten-free soy sauce travel packets: http://www.san-j.com/p...

"You don't have to carry around that big bottle of gluten free soy sauce any more."

(Note: The address is that of the company headquarters. I've found their bottles of soy sauce at most grocery stores (search here: http://www.san-j.com/w...) and have ordered the packets en masse online. If you're lusting after someone with celiac, seriously consider sending her a dozen boxes of these packets along with the roses.)

Thanks to the Clayroom, I am amassing a collection of Mondrian-themed plates.... and perhaps matching mugs, trivets, dinosaur figurines, bunny rabbits, and flower pots too. Luckily, the Clayroom is very easy to get to (T: half a block from the Summit Ave stop on the C line, just a few blocks from Coolidge Corner; driving: no trouble finding on-street metered parking) and pricing is very reasonable.

I've been to other pottery-painting establishments in DC, Atlanta, Florida, Cambridge, London, LA, and NYC, and although I enjoyed all the others, Brookline's Clayroom has that extra little bit of magic that's turned me into a repeat customer (four visits by now). As other reviewers have stated, Doug (the owner) is fantastic (ditto regarding his mom, who was visiting one evening). He's extremely personable, friendly, helpful, fun, funny, etc. One example of his going "above and beyond": Tuesday nights are free pizza nights, but before heading over, my friend and I ordered a gluten-free pizza (from Naked Pizza right down the road--I highly recommend it) because of my gluten allergy. When my friend arrived, Doug reimbursed her the price of the normal-people pizzas--totally unnecessary but also totally nice and much appreciated. We then chatted, chose our painting projects, uncorked the bottle of wine we'd brought (Trader Joe's is just a few blocks away, and there's also an actual liquor store half a block from the Clayroom), started in on the pizza, and began painting. Some other adults soon appeared, and everyone seemed to have a happy, relaxing time.

Although there were no children at Clayroom this time around, on Katherine C.'s and my first visit there were two admirably-behaved toddlers earlier in the evening. Emily, one of the employees, was superb with them (and with the parents and with us too). Seriously, this woman was everything I ever wanted in a camp counselor when I was a tot. So artsy and also so patient, and a pro at communicating with kids.

Be sure to check Clayroom's website for specials like Half-price Studio Fee Mondays, Wine & Cheese Wednesdays, Halloween Party night (reservations required), etc.

I, along with my untamable mane, appeared at BKH as a walk-in at around 6 PM on a Friday. The space is cool and hip, especially because it includes a dog (a very chill and unobtrusive dog, so fear not even if you're not a "dog person"). The vibe is distinctively un-stuffy. Brandon promptly greeted me and then introduced me and my untamable mane to my new favorite hair stylist, Sarah. Sarah asked me what I was thinking regarding my hair, and was wise enough to let me know that if she went as short as I suggested, the result might be less than ideal. Because I do not aspire to look like a mushroom-pompom hybrid, and because I trust her judgment over my lack of judgment in the hair realm, I was more than happy to have her determine a cut that might actually work. She did an amazing job, a fact that is especially impressive because I gave her quite a bit to contend with:

(1) There is my aforementioned untamable mane, which is obnoxiously thick and of which there was/is a massive amount--as in you could hack off at least half of it and I'd still have enough for me and for you and probably for Brandon's dog too. Just to give you an idea of the unruliness, let me refer you to Rubens' "The Head of Medusa": http://www.artknowledg....
(2) In addition to looking slightly homicidal thanks to an ovarian cyst going pop while I sat in the chair, I hadn't slept in two days and consequently was about as animated as Medusa after her unfortunate encounter with Perseus. I suspect I seemed less enthusiastic about the cut than I actually was.
(3) I hacked off my bangs a day or two beforehand. Damage control was seriously needed.

Despite all of the above, the results were great. Sarah took the time to ensure that everything was done well, which included layer-by-layer cutting of all 5892ish layers, blow-drying, flat-ironing, and then more snipping with close attention to detail. She didn't rush through it (even as the salon's closing time was swiftly approaching)--in fact, start-to-finish the taming of it took nearly two hours. It's now a few weeks later, and I haven't yet experienced any urges to go at my hair with scissors again. Generally, within a week or two of a haircut my hair will already begin to feel totally out of control, so I'm especially impressed that Sarah managed to make it more lastingly manageable. Thanks, Sarah!

Also: merci beaucoup to Brandon for not naming this place something French.

When I had to plan my BFF's bachelorette party, I emailed Abortionplex to see if they had any special bride-to-be packages. I'm happy to report that they do! So if you're like me and are totally bored with parties that begin with a pole dancing class and end with a half-day visit to a spa, I think you'll find this place to be a fun alternative. (I can't wait until my other friends plan their weddings, so I'll have an excuse to go back!) Just make sure to send all your invitees "Save the Dates" far enough in advance so that those who are lesbian, abstinent, or reproductively-challenged can make appropriate arrangements with a turkey baster, sperm bank, IVF, etc.--and so everyone else will know when to schedule a little hanky panky. (Oh! My BBF's grandma didn't want to miss out on the fun, so she hired a surrogate.)

I chose the "Here Goes the Pregnant Bride" weekend package, which gave us the opportunity to spend the Saturday night playing Baby Pong at Abortionplex's super-hip "Got Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?" bar. I was particularly impressed by the giant flat-screened TVs showing around-the-clock live footage of other people's abortions (for some even larger larger-than-life cinematic entertainment, check out one of the many movie theatres)! And instead of cocktail stirrers, each drink came with a uterine curette. . . . It was such a cute touch and by the end of the evening, I'd amassed a whole collection of them to take home with me. Stop by the giftshop for some RU486 valuepacks and maybe a decorative fetus jar (preserved in formalin--heirloom quality), and you'll be all set with great souvenirs.  

After recovering from our hangovers the next morning, we pre-gamed at the "Say Goodbye to Eating for Two" brunch before hopping on the monorail over to one of the group abortion complexes. The best part of the whole weekend was how we all had our abortions done at the same time, on surgical tables right next to each other. (I can't wait to watch the DVD they gave each of us!) We all opted for vacuum aspiration with local anesthesia. In all my other abortions, I've opted for twilight anesthesia (love benzos and narcs!), but this time around we wanted to be able to chat about our last-minute plans for a "No Baby Shower" we had scheduled for that evening. And I'm so happy I was awake for the whole abortion; it was kinda like going to get manicures with all my girlfriends, but with stirrups!

Also be sure to reserve the "Coat Hanger Suite" for the bride-to-be. When my BFF's grandma saw it, she got all nostalgic, it was pretty touching. Please also note: if you book your weekend far enough in advance, you might even be able to reserve the "Back Alley Penthouse." I asked for it, but it's booked straight through 2014. . . .

During the (week)day, Grendel's is an ideal spot for reading/writing/grading--at least if one wants beer in lieu of lattes (and really, who doesn't?). At most other times, it's ideal for some casual after- school/work/whatever snacking and drinking, especially because they've got a gluten-free menu with a decent selection of items from the "normal" menu, meaning that I can do more than spectate while you eat your burger. Options include vegan chili, salads, wings, grilled chicken, and whatever the fish of the day happens to be, all of them reasonably priced: http://www.grendelsden...

Not only that, but they've also got gluten-free beer, and not one that I've seen anywhere else yet: "Saxon" (http://www.saxonbeer.c...), brewed by Sinebrychoff/Carlsberg Group. Like Estrella's Damm Daura (http://glutenfreepdx.w...), it's made from deglutenized barley, which I much prefer to the sorghum concoctions out there.

Last night, I tested out the beer as well as the nachos from the gluten-free menu, and came away delightfully unglutenated. Additionally: our waitress was lovely, knowledgable, and attentive; Robin L. claims that her Reuben was "the closest thing to a 'perfect Reuben' [she has] had yet"; the busy-but-pleasant basement atmosphere is, despite its quirky college bar aura, TV-less (thankfully); the restrooms are ungendered; and, last but not least, the name makes me think happy thoughts of besieged mead halls, West Saxon, and creatures having their arms torn off.

When I walked into Max Brenner last night, I immediately learned just how tragic it was that I'd left my extra sets of hands at home. (Never again....) No amount of double-fisting virtuosity was up to the task ahead of us. We were greeted by a crowd of the friendliest waiters, each holding a tray of drinks: chocolate martinis, guava margaritas, peachy vodka-laced goodness, red wine, white wine, bottles of Harpoon, champagne flutes of prosecco, and even glasses of ice-cold water. It was nearly impossible to decide what to try first. And once Keith S., Haley T., and I emerged from that liquor-lined entryway, more drink trays kept magically appearing--for the entire evening.

Trays of sliders, fish tacos, mini cheesesteaks, and Margherita panini also kept coming out. Chocolate-covered espresso beans/hazelnuts/pecans made the rounds. Later in the evening, trays of warm cookies and cute little science lab-esque glasses of milk were brought around. All that tasty fingerfood made it even more obvious that some extra phalanges would have been useful.

There were countless examples of the staff going above and beyond, whether behind the bar or walking around the restaurant ensuring we were all very well taken care of. For instance, after Round 1, Keith S. and I switched gears from fruity to chocolatey. A waiter approached us with a tray of beer and wine but overheard our chatter about the martinis, and 30 seconds later she reappeared with two in hand. Even as things were winding down, the same waiter approached our patio table out front, spotted my empty wine glass, and soon returned with a very full one.

Even had I tried nothing but water at this event, I would be coming back to Max Brenner simply on account of the seriously friendly, enthusiastic, gracious, and efficient staff. Thank you to them for putting on a mystifyingly stellar show, and to Damien for thinking it up and then some, and to Steph P. and Haley T. for the +1 slots that enabled Keith S. and me to come party with y'all.