futilitarian folly...

I'm the oldest of the three boys. He is the youngest.
I'm the one with the close-crop haircut, and habitual three-day-growth beard. He shaves his head.
The dermatological ecosystem resists deforestation. A mantle of cilial vines forms a canopy budding from beneath his t-shirt.
Perhaps, they seek to bask in the warm glow. Perhaps, they are mercenary strands determined to recolonize the artificial landscape at the summit.
Unconcerned, he calmly irrigates.

Bookish Bedlam...

This afternoon, we perused the pavilions and peeked at the personalities on display. A paucity of parchments gave way to puddled plots packed with people. The festival is not so much a pantheon of novels, anthologies, prequels, sequels, and biographies, as it was a celebration of authorship transliterated onto a landscape of tarpaulin, tents, and tabernacles. We spotted a few pen-folk. Rushdie and Gaiman were my favorites on-site. We even brushed up against two well-known buses, before turning the last few pages of our adventure.

If you want to scan the table of contents at your own pace, click here.


Epilogue: While walking home from the Metro, we reflected on the crosswalk button. Perplexed by the convex covered in drizzle, we synchronized our snapshots.

fanciful farrago...

This afternoon, I noticed that one of our Cherry trees had decided to blossom. The summer drought claimed many of its leaves, and perhaps left a spell of disorientation in its wake.
Other September miscellany...
(If you prefer to mingle in the medley, click here.)

13 years ago...

...at the Edson Hill Manor in Stowe, Vermont, we celebrated. The trees in the Green Mountain State were beginning to undress, their leaves blushing in crimson complexions and saffron shades. On this day each year, she and I often seek out those tinctures that consumed us then. We often dress our anniversaries in sushi, and reminisce...taking turns consuming those same hues, while plucking memories from thin air with sets of bamboo chopsticks.

September 24, 2008...

...September 24, 1995

Tornado Temerity...

Earlier this afternoon, the Tornadoes ran around the pitch. Their opponents, the Aces, took a 2-0 lead in the first half of the match. Then the wind changed direction. When the referee blew the final whistle, we led 6-2. A come-from-behind win is never easy, and the Tornadoes demonstrated a poise and maturity well beyond their years. Here is my favorite picture of the day.
If you want to admire the rest of "the beautiful game" at your own pace, kick here.

Baseball Bibelots...

Walking from the parking lot to the stadium, I glanced left and saw the man tunneling between the lines. While walking past him, I shot from the hip...hoping to seize an image of the artificial solitude sheltering him from the urban wilderness. Our forty-something trio of guys then headed into the ballpark, to enjoy the Friday night game against San Diego. The air was cool and crisp and the innings were many. They played ball well after the clock struck twelve. The Nationals lost, but the diamond provided a welcome terrain full of distractions, chances to: pick up a camouflage floppy hat game day souvenir, enjoy an over-priced burger, to fraternize with over-sized reptilians, to dream of catching a foul ball or an over-sized t-shirt, to forget that we are forty-somethings.
If you want to trade your old baseball cards for a seat along the third base line, click here.

Impasto Impressions...

Wednesday evening was back-to-school night at our local elementary school. The PTA made a presentation. The principal introduced new teachers, and some teachers covered the curriculum as scores of parents balancing awkwardly on diminutive IKEA-esque chairs.

I found it difficult to concentrate on the scholastic scene. Instead, I kept dwelling on this particular portrait posted in the hallway. Nestled amidst other student (art-class) portraits...lining the hallways, I noticed the face. Scores of realist self-portrayals faded into the background, as this one articulation of self...seized my attention.
Did the young artist intentionally portray...how she sees herself? How she is seen by others? How she wants to be seen? Is she anticipating her upcoming encounters with pores, puberty and Benzoyl Peroxide? Was the flecked facade a purposeful flurry meant to conceal an art accident? The intention is hidden somewhere behind those colored stains.

I enjoy contemplating this portrait. Her rendition reminds me of a quote I like: "Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary." (Cecil Beaton)

Triathlete #2095...

My cousin Margarita was in town this weekend representing Team in Training (Michigan). Team in Training, nationwide, raised $3 Million dollars for this event...$3 Million raised for a cure.

I met up with another cousin of her's this morning, Javier, and we headed toward the shoreline of the Potomac. Waves of athletes churned, floated and kicked through the murky tide. Today was miserably warm, 90+ degrees. And...

She swam.

She cycled.

She ran.

And through it all she was always smiling. Abrazos prima! It was great to see you.

If you would like to adopt a spectator's stance, park yourself along the route by clicking here.

Obama Orated and Rosie Ranted...

Last night we attended the Congressional Hispanic Caucus Institute's 31st annual Gala. Both Presidential candidates were invited to speak at the event, but only one showed up. I hauled my evening attire to work and changed into black and white during the late afternoon, even knotting my own silk bow. Sister in-law met me downtown, and morphed into fluid red elegance. Pichy and Jenny slipped into sequins, met up with us and led the way. (Daniela spun herself into a web of auburn silky linen threads and a complimentary shawl. She rode the subway cocoon into town and met us at the gala.)

The alchemy of formal attire set the mood and our senses glittered as we reached the DC Convention Center, north of Chinatown in DC. Change was the theme in dress, and oratory. Obama took the stage and seized our attention. Thirty feet from his teleprompters, I glanced at the candidate, focusing more on his aura of exhaustion than on the cadence of his exhortations. This political season has been lengthy, and the traces of fatigue surfaced in the limelight. Later in the evening, Rosie Perez received an award and took the stage. She stole the show ranting about a certain hockey mom, in heavily accented NuYorican nuances, essentially field dressing the barracuda for her comments about community organizers. Rosie, a former Soul Train dancer did "Do the Right Thing," in the end. She decided to "Fight the Power" and re-enact a great introduction from years ago.

If you want to promenade through the political panorama at your own pace, click here.

shadow wings...

We walked to school together this morning talking about his first week, and life in the third grade. (His sister has upgraded and roams the halls of middle school.)

I asked him about his favorite event so far. "Papa, there is this girl and, she talked to me...." Papa, she is in all my classes.... Papa, I like school." He's growing up. He's a bit taller. He has crushes. He looks forward to seeing her. His fancy for the feminine took flight.

On the return leg, I walked alone and paused to stare at a dragonfly perched on a steel cable. I expected it to fly away, but the insect remained grounded as I took the picture. Smiling, I thought to myself...this is a good omen.

Languishing on Labor Day Weekend...

Peaceful walks, birthday cakes, family gathering lechonada, fitness trails, and organic burgers...were all part of the spectacle as we said farewell to Summer. Here is a collection of random images from the long weekend. (If you prefer to grant Summer a reprieve, click here.)