IPW

Pepperoni P. Maxim

I received an email from a gentleman named Pepperoni P. Maxim today. I don't know this man, but I would like to. What was the content of this email? Who knows? Why would I pervert my vision of who this character is by reading what he had to say? I wrote back and requested a picture from Mr. Maxim and almost immediately received a charcoal portrait he says was done by a Portuguese gypsy child outside of the Hagia Sofia. I present it here to you:

It occurs to me that I have been the recipient of several emails from persons of peculiar christenings, and I may have to start asking them for similar portraits as well.

It Was Easter's Fault

Blame Easter. When last we met, we were about to head to Costco where we would encounter what amounts to bulk shopping at the Olympic village. Minus the fit athletes, plus frumpy people of all backgrounds trying to lift overlarge cans of tomato sauce off of shelves. Alas, things did not go as planned. Magda, ever the planner, suggested I call Costco first to make sure they were open on Easter.

"Easter! Fa!" said I, "Everything is open on Easter."

I called and of course they were closed which threw our plans into turmoil. One thing you do not want to do is ruin my wife's plans, so Easter, let it be known that she is gunning for you. I will take this occasion to dress you down myself as not only did you ruin my plans, you forced me to admit my wife was right, which I dislike, but am forced to do on occasion. I try to keep these occasions to a minimal by agreeing with everything she says. Why I did not in this case is a mystery.

Easter, you are fake. There were no egg toting bunnies carrying brightly dyed eggs in the The Jesus' time, He would have had an unfair advantage during the Easter Egg hunts if there had been. He would have simply put a finger to his temple while his admirers were scurrying around looking under bushes and pronounced that he could see one hiding in the rafters of that manger over there. Then when they went to find it he would have rummaged through everyone's baskets and bitten the heads off all their chocolate bunnies.

Easter, as anyone with access to Wikipedia can tell you, has no relation to Jesus popping out from behind a rock (tada!) It is in fact the Jewish festival of Passover, with fancy baskets. In most languages, the name for Easter is a mutilation of the Hebrew word Pesach, for example in Italian it's "Pasqua". Our word Easter in English is named after the Pagan month of Eostremonat, dedicated to the fertility goddess Eostre. Why would They (random old men in robes) do this? Well it really helped the scruffy pagans, and any Jew who was tired of being beaten with sticks, get on board with Christianity if their cultures conveniently fit right in. And Christianity is, if nothing else, accommodating. I suggest it become more accommodating by keeping Costco open on this Holiday in the future. How do I know all this, I read it on the internet and everything on the internet is true. The history of Easter is a fascinating read actually, find it here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Easter

It was pointed out by "brap" one of the fine readers of this blog, that in France they have a tradition of the church bells delivering eggs. From Rome no less. Bells don't even have feet you crazy Frenchies! Much less arms to carry eggs. That's why delivery by our anthropomorphized man-rabbit makes infinitely more sense.

Having exorcised my Easter demons I will continue the story of my Mom's stay. Instead of going to Costco, we returned the car to Bryan and went by foot to the Botanical Gardens in Prospect Park. Lovely. My favorite bits were the bonsai trees on display. Some more than 150 years old, they have seen some things. They looked fresh and healthy, and for some reason really cheered me up. I like to think of multiple generations of people caring for and gradually sculpting these plants. Most of their original owners had died, but their pet projects live on in a greenhouse in Brooklyn, a hundred years after their deaths. In my quest for eternal life, I think I want a bonsai to be grown in my ashes. And maybe with my hand-bone sticking out to scare away the kiddies.

We continued through Prospect Park and took the train to Coney Island which is always a treat. For some reason, all the Chassids in Brooklyn were there, sunbathing in their black suits and long flowery dresses. Maybe because Costco was closed? I have a theory that Easter is like Christmas for them, they have the run of the place while all the Christians chow down on ham. For two days of the year, the city is cleared out of goyim and they finally have some elbow room.

The rest of the time my Mom was here we stayed busy, we went to the Czech beer garden in Queens for a late Easter dinner. On Monday we checked out PS1 (not as good as the last time I went) and had beers at both the Belgian pub in the West Village, and Chumley's, the phantom old New York bar that is so hard to pin down.

With the exception of Jewish Pagan holiday of Easter getting in the way my Mom's visit went well. She left yesterday as we hugged her, said our good-byes, then stuffed her in a towncar, hopefully headed to JFK. We wish her the best on the rest of her trip, as from here she was headed to France and then London. She will have to watch for Roman egg totting bells.

You May Have Thought I Died

Not only were those Jesus' first words upon poking his head out from behind the rock, but they are also mine, as my blog is resurrected from a temporary hiatus brought on by extreme busyness. Not only have all my clients of Easter past decided to revisit, but also the clients of Easter future, rattling chains the whole time. In the midst of the onslaught, my Mom is visiting from Seattle and we are having a great, if hectic, time. She is getting a full frontal view of our life here in Williamsburg, complete with rampaging French Elephants upstairs and the wake-up call from the metal recycling plant next door.

"It sounds like a house just collapsed" Said she, as the first truck-load full of refrigerators fell into the bin full of wheelchairs.

For some reason I like the metal recyclers better than the Francophants. They don't give me the stink-eye.

We borrowed our old car this weekend from my friend Bryan, to whom we sold it and with whom we became friends after selling it. Some might say that is an awfully convenient friendship, but Bryan is a good guy with acidic humor and rabid left leaning tendencies. Nothing is sacred to him, which is why we get along. And to be fair we actually rented to car from him, for much much less than the rental cars available here in the city. You could put a down payment on a house for the price of a weekend rental here.

Yesterday we drove it up the Hudson River Valley under sunny skies and stopped in many quaint (quaint but they know it) towns dotted along the banks. Fill in the rest of the adventures for yourself, here; ( ) since my Mom has just exited the shower and we need to bust hump up to the Queens Chinatown where dim-sum awaits. There is also a Costco run in our immediate future which surely will inspire me to firehole you about why the Redhook Costco is the most hilarious place on earth.

Say Uncle

This entry has been edited to update the spelling of Anja's name, which as of the time of the last publication had not been publicly announced :) Her also is the 'press release' from Gabe:

Anja Elise Webster was born at 1:27 AM on 1 April 2006. She weighs 5 lbs. 6 oz., and is 18 inches long. Anja and Chieni are both just fine.

Anja was born at 35 weeks so she is technically premature, but she was breathing within a second of delivery, scored 9 and 10 on the 5 and 10 minute APGAR tests, and is probably a genius. Therefore, there is nothing to worry about on that score.

"Anja" is the Norwegian spelling of a name that is also Irish and Slavic. The same pronunciation (with tones added, first-third) in Chinese becomes "An-Ya", the characters for "peace" and "grace".

We hope this email finds you also well!

With love, Gabe, Chieni, Anja, and Mercy the cat

Sometime this morning, unless it is an elaborate April Fool's joke, I became an Uncle. My sister-in-law, sislaw (this newly coined word rates a 9) gave birth to a baby girl named Anja Elise Webster, instantly making my brother a father, Chieni a mother, my mom a grandmother, dad a grandfather and Magda and myself, Aunt and Uncle. In fact, most everyone in our immediate and extended family received, without the benefit of shiny commemorative medallions, interesting new titles. I personally plan on using my new designation for good. I will emulate my Uncle Jan who we saw infrequently but filled the role of the only person in my life who spoiled us rotten. During our yearly trips to L.A., he would take us on toy shopping excursions and trips to theme parks. He once took us to a Toys R Us* and told us to pick out whatever we wanted. Unprecedented largess in the history of my short life. Naturally I bought a box full of dinosaurs. I'm warning my brother now, I will be observing what they deny young Anja, and I will pop in from time to time to surreptitiously present her with it. Cookies, Dolls, Electric Guitars. Bow and Arrows. I'm going to be a goodies smuggler and will take on mythical proportions.
So Please join me in congratulating Chieni and Gabe on the birth of their daughter and the marking of a fresh new chapter in all of our lives. I rate Anja, her mother and her father an 11. And I haven't even seen her yet.

*Toys "R" Us has always annoyed me, even as a child I could see that I was being patronized by the backwards and grammatically precocious "R". But I've always been sensitive to people patronizing me so I declare here and now that I will not patronize young Anja, but treat her as a peer throughout her life. A peer to whom I give outlandish presents and boxes of dinosaurs.